And it’s not even my wedding!
“What am I doing?” I whisper.
Shifting in the chair reminds me what I’m craving.
Giving one last furtive look around, I pull out my phone, slip it under the table, and spread my legs.
It’s a quick video—just five seconds—as I slip my fingers under the lace panties, pulling and tugging at them, seeking that delicious friction as I rub myself over the soaking wet fabric. Sucking in a sharp breath as I brush against the hard nub, I let my fingers explore then inadvertently let out a moan.
Shit.
My mouth is dry, and I look around, apprehensive.
Hopefully, no one heard that. I’m still alone, right?
My panties are officially trash.
I hurry next door into the bathroom and work them down my legs and toss them into the garbage.
Then, before I can chicken out, I compose a text message to Graham.
Dani:Thinking of you.
Sent.
Crap.
Maybe I should have said something sexier, you know, focus-grouped that sex message. “Thinking of you” sounds stalkery. Like I’m in love with him or something.
“Can you retract a text message?” I google as I hurry back to my desk.
I stupidly sent a boy sexy photos before.
My mom caught me, though, and told Colette’s mom. And Colette told the whole school.
But the guy did say that he jacked off to them. So I have that going for me.
Is Graham going to jack off to this video?
Is he going to race over here and fuck me in the bathroom?
I stare at the phone.
There are three little dots like he’s typing.
Then nothing.
Is Piper wrong?
Was I just too gross for him to want to sleep with?
My seat neighbor is coming back to her desk with tea. I slap the phone down on the desk, and she gives me a dirty look.
I jump when my phone beeps.
But it’s just my mom wanting to know if I want to go to Colette’s parents’ house for cocktails.
As if.
