Mr. Wrong Number:Please, do. Make me daydream, sweetheart.
I toss my phone onto the bed and snag the purple teddy. I strip, tossing my clothes in the hamper, then slip on the new lingerie. I don’t bother with underwear. I want to show him exactly what’s waiting for him when we finally meet.
I slip the soft, silky fabric over my head, and the material flows down my body, hiding my body just enough to drive him crazy. Taking my hair down, I run my fingers through it and fluff the roots to give me some volume.
“Okay, getting there, getting there.” I look at myself in the large antique mirror I have propped up on the floor so it can lean safely against the wall.
Since I’m not going to be showing my face, I don’t have to worry about freshening up my makeup. Grabbing my phone from the bed, I start finding angles that tease him just enough, but I’m careful not to show my face.
I arch my back, tilt my head, run my fingers through my hair, and place my phone where my face is to hide it. One leg is bent, and my hair cascades down, nearly touching my lower back. He’ll be able to see just the curve of my cheeks before they’re covered by the teddy.
I bend over, and the material rides up my back, revealing my legs. Nothing is covering my ass now, but he’ll only be able to see the side. I lie down, arch my back, drag my hand up my side, and cup my breast as I take another photo.
Standing, I slip a strap off my shoulder, hide my face again with my phone, and add it to the photos I hope he likes.
I think I’ll save the other outfit for when he sees me in person. If we get that far—and I hope we do.
The sound of a notification goes off on my phone. Glancing down, I see it’s another message from him.
Mr. Wrong Number:I’m too impatient. Tell me. You’re killing me here.
Me:Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?
Mr. Wrong Number:Torturous little minx.
Me:You have no idea just how torturous I can be.
I send all the images at once.
The message is read instantly but his reply doesn’t come right away. I settle on the bed, phone in hand, hoping I didn’t make a complete fool of myself by sending him lingerie pictures. I’m getting lost in my head, the worry, fear, and anxiety taking hold.
And then my phone vibrates, finally putting me out of my misery.
Mr. Wrong Number:Fuck, sweetheart. You’re going to be the death of me. You look fucking gorgeous. I can’t wait to see you in that. I want to fuck you with it on, then take my time slipping it off your body, and fuck you all over again. I want to leave you in an absolute mess. Your throat will be raw from shouting. Your lips will be raw from my kisses. Your body will be limp in my arms by the time I have you coming on my cock for the third time.
“Third?” I mutter to myself. “Confident, much?” No man has been able to get me to orgasm back-to-back. Only my toys have ever been that good.
Mr. Wrong Number:See? Look what you’ve done to me while I’m at work. How am I supposed to work in this condition?
A picture comes through and I gasp when a deep ache throbs my clit. I wish he was here to take care of me. All those muscles. All that power. Those tattooed arms grabbing onto me while he drives in, over and over and over again.
God.
I press my thighs together as I stare at the image.
He’s in a bathroom stall by the looks of it. He’s grabbing himself through his scrubs; the outline of his hard cock is thick. So he works in the medical field, maybe? I can’t be sure. We haven’t talked about it, but I’m curious if the man I’m talking to works at Warrick General.
What if this entire time he’s been right under my nose?
No. No way. The chances of that are slim to none. New York is a big city with millions of people. That would be impossible.
I lose focus when my gaze drops to his picture again.
I can see the outline of the crown pressing against the thin fabric. My mouth waters for a taste. I’d love nothing more than to drop to my knees and take him into my mouth, swirl my tongue around the flared tip before taking him down my throat.
Mr. Wrong Number:Fuck. I’m not going to last long. I can’t stop looking at the pictures you sent. You have no idea how much I want to see you greet me when I walk into the door after a long day. You’d be leaning against the wall, legs spread, toy between your legs to get you ready and wet for me.
I slip my hand between my legs, my fingers rolling my clit in soft, easy circles.
