Now it's your turn, pretty girl.
My breath catches. My entire body goes rigid, and I grab one of the cushions on the couch to ground myself. It’s like catnip when he calls me that.
Mason’slike catnip.
He’s sitting in his truck, thinking about me. And he came—I just know it.
I can’t believe I told him I was wet.
What an understatement.
My phone pings.
Mason Rivera
Where are you?
Your bedroom?
Living room
Couch
Mason Rivera
Dressed?
Yeah
Mason Rivera
Unzip your pants.
Slide your fingers into your slit.
I gasp. I feel shy—I barely text anyone much less sext. But Mason’s giving me a safe way to test the waters. And—damn it—I want him badly.
Before I can overthink it, I do as he asks. My fingers shake as I slip my hand beneath the waistband of my panties. I'm so wet, the fabric clings to me.
Okay
Mason Rivera
You wet, Lily?
A whimper escapes my throat. I press my fingers against my clit, and the sensation is almost too much.
I have been since we kissed.
Mason Rivera
That’s my pretty girl.
Rub your clit for me, like it’s my tongue.
I can’t wait to lick into you. You gonna let me?
“Oh God.” I moan, my gaze relentless on the screen, my fingers brushing over my clit. I can picture him between myknees, his tongue working down into my crease, his dark eyes cataloguing what I’m feeling.
