And then? Who ends a message like that?
I'm afraid to even ask, but my fingers are moving before my brain fully registers it.
Me
What?
WN
Go commando.
That is so far out of my comfort zone that it is not even funny. Still, my treacherous fingers type away. Except what I type is not the "no" that should be more than expected.
Me
For how long?
Why did I send that? It is not like I will do it...
WN
The day.
Nope.
I'm not going to do it. Not a chance!
I have flirted for him, ordered made-up drinks with racy names. I have even sent a cleavage shot—in a bra and low-cut top.
But this?
This is taking it to the next level.
It doesn't matter if I'm wearing a below-the-knee pencil skirt, someone is bound to notice the lack of a panty line.
I stop.
Shit. Does that mean the office is staring at my butt? There are a lot of guys...
But that would mean I'm worth staring at. And I'm not.
Text Lola is a total ten and a bombshell. Me? Not so much.
Could I spend the day commando?
WN
Go. Take off your panties.
I breathe and press my thighs together.
My fingers start typing.
I swear they have a life of their own now.
Me
I will show you mine if you show me yours.
