Because he was there.
Because he saw me.
Because he wanted me to know it.
And the truth is I can’t stop thinking about him.
The burner phone waits where I left it, face down as though that might lessen its pull. It doesn’t. Not tonight.
My fingers slip around it before I bother convincing myself otherwise, and the moment the screen brightens, his thread is right there, open, waiting, impossible to resist.
My fingers move before I think.
You were in the courtroom today.
His reply hits almost instantly.
Today and yesterday. You were incredible. Watching you work made my dick hard.
A slow breath slips from me, heat pooling. My legs press together, an instinctive attempt to calm the sudden rush sweeping through me. The warmth has nothing to do with today’s win.
This…
This is something else.
My thumbs hover over the screen, the warmth from his last message tightening low in my body. The filter between impulse and action thins until there’s nothing left to hold it back.
I wanted to run after you when you passed me today.
The bubbles appear immediately.
But that would end the mystery far too soon, and we’re only at the beginning.
What turns you on more? The mask or what happens when it finally comes off?
The truth folds out of me before I can cage it.
A part of me loves the mystery. Another part is ready to see who you are.
The typing bubble appears, disappears, and appears again.
You’ll see my face when you’ve earned it.
A slow ache builds beneath my ribs, something between frustration and desire and an unsettling awareness that he means every word. My mind turns over the idea—earning a man who gives nothing away, a man who hides everything except the hunger he aims at me.
I should resent it.
I don’t.
It sinks deeper than it should, threading through me in a way that feels dangerous. And I want more.
The conversation hangs open on the screen, his last message pulsing with challenge. My thumb hovers, breath shallow, pulse tapping at my throat. I shouldn’t send what I’m thinking.
But I send it anyway.
Come to me tonight.
Not a question. Not a plea.
