4. Sasha
4
SASHA
Brittany deflates when I don’t get a reply.
It’s subtle—just a flicker of disappointment across her face, gone in a second—but I catch it.
Like she was expecting something.
Or hoping for something.
The group groans, half-disappointed, half-amused.
James shrugs. “Guess they weren’t interested.”
“Or they’re asleep,” Tara chimes in, stretching her legs out on the carpet. “Maybe they’re like, a dad of three who goes to bed at nine.”
Ryan snorts, nudging my arm. “Guess you’ll never know.”
“Guess not.” I fake a casual shrug, but inside, I’m relieved.
Because really—what did I think was going to happen? That some random stranger would text back, and suddenly my night would take a wildly inappropriate turn?
No thanks.
The game continues, the dares getting sloppier, messier, people laughing a little too loud, Brittany still sneaking glances at me, like she’s waiting for something.
When I finally escape, Ryan offers me a ride home, but I wave him off, opting for fresh air and a moment to myself instead.
Brittany calls after me before I leave. “No reply?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
She hums, twirling her empty wine glass between her fingers. “Shame.”
I don’t know why, but the way she says it makes my skin prickle.
Still, I force a smile, say my goodbyes, and head home.
Melanie is asleep when I get back—at least, I assume she is, since her door is shut, and the faint glow of Netflix is leaking from underneath it.
I toe off my heels, sighing as the cold hardwood soothes my aching feet.
The party wasn’t as bad as I expected.
It was…weird.
But I made friends.
Or, at the very least, people who don’t seem actively opposed to my existence.
I peel off my dress, change into sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, and collapse onto my bed.
Finally.
My body sinks into the mattress, exhaustion wrapping around me, my limbs heavy, my brain already halfway to sleep?—
Buzz.
My eyes snap open.
I blink at the ceiling, confused for a second before I reach blindly for my phone on the nightstand.
A single new message.
From the unknown number.
My stomach tightens.
Slowly, I swipe it open.
Unknown Number: I could show you.
I stare.
What. The. Hell.
My heart thumps against my ribs, adrenaline flooding through me way too fast for someone who was half-asleep two seconds ago.
I sit up, the dim glow of my phone screen the only light in the tiny room.
I read the message again.
And again.
It’s not a joke.
It’s not a whoops, wrong number reply.
Whoever this is…they want to play.
I swallow, my fingers shaking.
I should ignore it. I should turn off my phone, roll over, and go to sleep like a normal person.
But I don’t.
Instead, I sit there, my heart pounding way too fast, staring at the words glowing on my screen.
I could show you.
I chew the inside of my cheek.
This is a bad idea.
The worst idea.
But for once in my life, I don’t want to be responsible. I don’t want to be the girl who always makes the safe choice—who budgets, who plans, who takes the most logical path because she has to survive New York at any cost.
For once, I want to do something stupid.
Something reckless.
My fingers hover over the keyboard.
Then, before I can stop myself, I type back.
Me: Oh yeah? What would you do?
I hit send.
And immediately regret it.
My phone buzzes almost instantly.
I suck in my breath. He was waiting.
Unknown Number: That depends. Are you the kind of girl who likes to be told? Or the kind who likes to be shown?
Oh.
Oh.
I exhale slowly, pulse roaring in my ears.
This is not some drunk stranger laughing behind their screen.
This is someone controlled. Calculated.
The kind of person who doesn’t rush their words.
I should stop. Shut it down.
But I don’t.
Me: Maybe I like both.
My thumb barely leaves the screen before I get a reply.
Unknown Number: Good girl.
My breath catches.
Heat coils low in my stomach.
My fingers twitch, ready to type something back—something equally teasing, equally dangerous?—
But then my brain catches up.
What the hell am I doing?
I don’t know who this is.
This could be anyone. A creep. A lunatic. A coworker who will make things weird forever.
I drop my phone onto my lap like it’s radioactive, pressing my palms into my eyes.
Jesus.
I need to sleep.
Me: Sorry, wrong number.
Then I throw my phone onto the nightstand, flip onto my stomach, and bury my burning face into my pillow.
A few seconds later, my phone buzzes one last time.
I don’t look at it.
I won’t look at it.
I absolutely will not?—
I peek.
Unknown Number: Liar.
The word sits on my screen, a challenge, an accusation, and something far worse—an invitation.
I should end it.
I should block the number.
I should do literally anything except what I’m about to do.
But my fingers are already moving.
Me: And what if I am?
The response comes instantly.
Unknown Number: Then you’d have to prove it.
A slow heat spreads through my body, and my breath shakes as I tilt my head back against the pillow, thighs falling open.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I know that.
But right now, I don’t care.
Not when my fingers are gliding lower, teasing over the slick heat pooling between my thighs. Not when my pulse skips at the next message that appears on my screen.
Unknown Number: Spread your legs wider for me.
A fresh wave of heat rolls through me. I shift, obeying, my heart pounding.
Me: Like this?
Unknown Number: Slide a finger in. Slow. I want to know how wet you are.
A soft gasp escapes my lips as I do what he says, my free hand gripping the sheets. My walls clench around my own touch, pleasure coiling hot and heavy in my stomach.
Me: So wet. I’m making a mess.
Unknown Number: Good. Now, use two fingers.
I let out a shaky breath as I slide another finger inside, my hips shifting, a whimper slipping free as I stretch around the sensation.
Unknown Number: That’s it, printsessa. Fuck yourself slowly. Let me hear you.
My thighs tremble as I press my lips together, trying not to make a sound.
Me: I can’t. My roommate…
Unknown Number: Then be quiet. Or don’t. Let her hear how desperate you are.
A small, strangled sound catches in my throat.
I bite my lip, dragging my fingers in and out, curling them against the spot that makes me see stars.
Me: Feels so good.
Unknown Number: Rub your clit while you do it. Nice and slow. I want you right on the edge before I let you come.
I’m already there.
My free hand slides down, fingertips brushing over my swollen, aching clit, and my body jerks at the touch. I have to bury my face into the pillow to muffle the moan that rips from my throat.
Me: I need more.
Unknown Number: Not yet. Make it last.
I let out a frustrated whimper, my legs twitching as I slow my movements, even though every nerve in my body is screaming for release.
Me: I can’t. Please.
The response comes immediately.
Unknown Number: That’s better. Beg for it, printsessa.
A sob of need escapes me.
Jesus.
My fingers work faster, the tension inside me winding tighter and tighter. My back arches, toes curling, breath coming in desperate, uneven gasps.
Me: Please. Let me come. I need it.
Unknown Number: Come for me. Now.
The command sends me spiraling.
A deep, shuddering moan catches in my throat as pleasure crashes over me, making my body jerk and tremble, waves of heat rolling through my limbs. I barely manage to stay quiet, my lips parting on a silent gasp as I ride it out, fingers still moving, hips twitching from the aftershocks.
My body melts into the mattress, heartbeat erratic, skin flushed and damp.
I can barely keep my eyes open as I fumble for my phone, typing with shaky hands.
Me: Holy shit.
A second later?—
Unknown Number: Good girl.
A sleepy, satisfied smile pulls at my lips.
I barely manage to type one last message before my eyes flutter shut.
Me: Goodnight, stranger.
My phone buzzes one last time, and I blink blearily at the screen.
Unknown Number: Sweet dreams, printsessa.
And then I let sleep take me under.