Damn.
It’s been too long since I’ve even kissed a woman.
My thumb swipes back and forth across my bottom lip, getting lost in a dream of what her lips would feel like on mine. I bet they’re soft, pliant, even timid, even though she has such a strong, bold personality.
I hate that she’s on a fucking date.
Reaching beneath the table, I squeeze my cock to give myself some relief, glancing around the break room to make sure I’m alone. Angling the phone so she can only see from my waist to my knees, I snap a photo, gripping my cock to show her what she fucking does to me.
It’s not like me to send dick pictures. I’m not the type. But with her? I want to be anything she needs me to be. Her boldness has me feeling bold.
I send her the picture, my heart hammering in my chest like I’m a teenager doing something I’m not supposed to be doing.
Me:You look fucking beautiful. If I was there, there would be no way I could keep my hands off you.
And it’s true. I wouldn’t even sit across from her at the booth, I’d slide in beside her.
She sends another picture, this time of a red flush that has gone down her neck and chest.
Miss Wrong Number:Look what you do to me. I’m all flustered. I can’t go back to the booth now.
I shouldn’t love that so much, but I do. I might not be there physically, but when she sits across from him, she’ll be thinking of me. The warmth she feels all over her body is due to me.
Not him.
I find a sick, twisted satisfaction in that.
Me:How far does that blush go?
Miss Wrong Number:That’s for me to know and you to find out.
I run my hands through my hair, heat and desire pulsating through my entire body.
God, it’s been too long.
My phone vibrates again before I can send a reply.
Miss Wrong Number:I have to go back out there, but I’ll be telling him I won’t be seeing him again. You should wait up for me later. You’ve caused a problem I need you to fix.
Me:And what problem would that be?
I squeeze myself again, then take a deep breath to calm myself. My heart is racing and a sheen of sweat breaks out over my body, buzzing with arousal.
Miss Wrong Number:My panties are soaked and now I have to sit across from a guy I can’t stand while thinking about you. You better take care of me later.
Me:Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you multiple times. I’ll ease any ache.
Miss Wrong Number:You better. Okay, wish me luck. I need to go. I’ll be thinking about you.
I tuck my phone into my pocket, dropping my face in my hands as I laugh. “What the hell are you doing, Elias? What are you doing?” I say out loud to myself, rubbing my hands through my hair.
The door to the break room swings open and Nurse Jackie is staring at me with wide, worried eyes.
I stand, all evidence of arousal gone. “Nurse Jackie, what’s going on?”
“You have a guest demanding to see you. I don’t know who it is. He just keeps asking for Elias. He’s in the emergency room and he won’t stop shouting.”
My jaw sets, rage replacing the happiness I was feeling moments ago. I toss my cup in the trash, preparing myself for a conflict I didn’t think I’d ever have to relive again. I know who it is. I hope I’m wrong, but I know I’m not.
