And maybe all I need is a dark-haired tattooed biker to do just that.
17
I send off the message before I can talk myself out of it and toss my phone onto the mattress beside me face down. Why I sent the text, I have no idea but now I’m wondering if it was a mistake.
It’s gone midnight and I’ve been tossing and turning for hours, my racing mind refusing to slowdown enough for me to go to sleep.
I pick up my phone and see the message has been read and my heart stutters in my chest as I watch the three little dots appear as the bottom of the screen.
My phone buzzes with a reply.
I stifle a laugh as I shoot off another message.
He replies back quickly followed closely by a second message.
My belly flutters.Why do I like it when he uses that nickname?
I stare at the screen, waiting for those dots to appear as he types out a response, but they don’t come. Instead, my phone starts to ring, Killian’s name flashing bright across my screen and I panic, almost dropping my phone onto my face.
Shit.
I answer the call. “Hello?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asks.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Because it takes two hands to text and my other is otherwise engaged.”
“Why, what are you doing with the oth—?” The words die on my tongue. It doesn’t take a genius to guessexactlywhat that hand is doing in the middle of the night.
“You really wanna know?” I don’t miss the suggestive playfulness in his voice.
“Sure.”
A moment later, my phone buzzes with an incoming photo and I’m hesitant to open it, but inevitably curiosity gets the better of me.
“Oh,” is all I can say as I stare at the photo.
It’s a picture of him lying in bed among his crumpled white sheets, the camera angled down his body. He’s naked except for the black boxers he’s wearing, his right hand disappearing beneath the cotton, gripping his visiblyveryhard,verylong cock that’s tenting his underwear.
It looks…huge.
Arousal zaps through my body, heat pooling low in my belly, but I’m not going to let on how much the thought of him touching himselfaffects me.
“Am I supposed to be impressed? See, you talk a big game, Killian, but now I’m not so sure you can deliver. It’s smaller than I thought it would be.” I tease.
Did I really just say that?
“Were you not listening the other day, butterfly? There’s nothing small about me.” There’s a short pause before he continues, and even through the brief silence and despite us only being connected through the phone, I feel a shift in the atmosphere. “Tell me what you’re wearing right now.”
He catches me off guard. “What?”
“Just tell me.”
“I—I can’t,” I stammer.
“Why not?”
