The small medallion rests in the hollow of Laurette’s throat. But the photo frames more than that—her collarbone, the soft curve of her shoulders, the swell of her tits teasing me.
Intentional and inviting. Intoxicating.
My lips curve.
I clench the phone in my hand, every muscle drawn tight. Fuck, how am I supposed to not drive straight to her house?
I meant to give her time, let her marinate in the game, let the obsession sink deeply. But this?
She isn’t backing down. She’s beckoning.
That necklace carries meaning now. And this is bait she knows I can’t resist.
It isn’t just an invitation. It’s surrender.
Naughty girl, you knew what this picture would do to me.
Yes, I did.
My initial rests on that sweet throat like it’s always belonged there. You wear it like you were made for this, Babygirl. Next time, that necklace is all you’re allowed to wear.
When will I see you again?
I’ll see you before you see me.
When will you come to me again?
Eager for me?
Yes.
Soon, Laurette.
A familiar sound—tires whispering over concrete—pulls my focus to the drive. Matt’s new Porsche eases in, the last light of evening slanting across the windshield, turning glass to gold.
He steps into the garage. I wasn’t expecting him, but a visit from my brother never needs a reason.
I slip the burner into my pocket. “This is a surprise.”
Matt shrugs, heads to the garage mini-fridge, and grabs two beers. He hands one to me without a word.
“Just want to hang out with my big brother,” he says, popping his beer open.
The caps clink against the counter. We take that first sip in silence. The fizz sounds loud in the quiet.
“She’s finally running,” I say, nodding toward the Stingray.
Matt circles the car, his fingers gliding over the paint. “Damn. She looks dangerous.”
“She knows she’s the prettiest girl in the room.”
We climb into the seats and the leather wraps around us.
Matt nods at the wheel. “Well? Fire her up.”
I twist the key, and she roars to life.
Matt laughs, shaking his head. “Aimee would’ve hot-wired her just for the thrill.”
