Chapter 1 #2
I read your message three times. The first was for context. The second was disbelief. The third was because I needed to step away from my desk before I got visibly interested in a woman I’ve never even seen.
And since we’re just being honest…
I’m hot for you, Amelia. There, I said it. I have no business thinking about your mouth the way I am, but here we are.
You don’t scare me, but you do make me want to say things I’ve never said and do things I’ve only imagined.
To you.
With you.
For you.
Yours (if you’ll have me),
Adam
P.S. If you're going to keep writing with one hand, I want a full report next time. No skipping details.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Your move, sir
You asked for a full report. So take a seat or don’t. I don’t really care if you’re standing up, pressed against a desk, or pacing your kitchen.
Let me set the scene because I’m nothing if not extra and dramatic.
It was late. I was in bed shirtless (you said you wanted details), just a pair of lace panties (pink, if you must know). I’d just read your email. Yes, the one where you said you’d distract me so badly I wouldn’t finish a sentence. You were right. I didn’t, not at first.
I reread that line— “You wouldn’t be able to finish your sentence” —and my hand was already sliding lower. I was thinking about your mouth, your hands, your voice (a deep baritone) in my ear telling me not to stop.
Two fingers, slow at first. I imagined your palm on my thigh, holding me still while you watched and made me wait.
Then I imagined you leaning in, whispering, “Come for me.”
I came thinking about your hands in my hair, on my neck, between my legs. I came thinking about the sound you’d make the first time I bit you (not just a little, for sure). That growl I so badly wanted to hear.
I didn’t even try to be quiet. I sort of hoped a neighbor heard. You know, let them know I’ve got something worth moaning about now.
Now, Adam, it’s your turn. What are you going to do with that image in your head? Be a gentleman? Or prove how not innocent you really are?
Still panting and messy,
Amelia
P.S. I still haven’t told you what I did after.
P.P.S. Should I?
From: [email protected]
Subject: You gave me no choice
Amelia,
I was going to wait before writing back. Thought I’d take a walk or a freezing shower, cool off, and be reasonable.
You ruined that plan completely.
I read your email, closed my laptop, sat back in my chair, and stared at the walls for a minute. Then I gave up trying to be composed because it’s impossible to read the word “panting and messy” and stay calm.
And since you asked for it, here are the details.
I was in my home office. Still in a button-down from a virtual meeting. It’s one you would’ve liked—dark gray, sleeves rolled, top buttons undone.
I imagined you just like you described. Laid out, needy, breathy with my name on your tongue. So I leaned back in my chair, undid my belt slowly—because I knew you’d want that pace—and wrapped my hand around my cock while replaying every line, especially the part about you not being quiet.
I pictured your hips lifting, your mouth parting, your thighs trembling while I watched and didn’t let you come until you asked … sweetly, of course.
I thought about your tongue on my skin, your nails down my chest, your pussy fluttering around me. And I came hard.
You did that with just your words.
Tell me something, Amelia. If that’s what we’re doing from a distance, what happens when I get my hands on you?
Because I don’t want another email, not right away. I want you. I want those sounds, the biting. I want it all.
And I think it’s time we stop pretending we’re content with just writing.
Say the word and I’ll make it happen.
Yours—without a doubt now,
Adam
P.S. Tell me what you did after.
From: [email protected]
Subject: You win, but…
*wheezing and aggressively squeezing my squishy pig toy*
Okay, okay. All right.
I had to reread your email because holy guacamole, I was violently aware of every filthy little sentence you crafted. I read it once with my hand halfway down my pants (don’t judge me), and then again after I caught my breath and realized you might actually want to meet me.
I was running late to my event, but whatever. It’s fine.
So now I have to ask you one small, very unsexy question.
What is your full name?
You know, just in case I need to run a background check.
Or give it to my best friend in case you ARE a serial killer who lures women in with gorgeous grammar and deeply vivid fantasies that make them forget their good judgment.
I don’t really have good judgment to begin with but that’s TOTALLY beside the point.
But here’s the thing. I really, really want to say yes.
Your words have been in my head for days. The way you describe touching yourself? Hot . My thighs are currently crossed because of you. My thoughts are undeniably filthy because of you.
And you want to know the worst part?
I haven’t been able to sleep without picturing you over me, between my legs, holding my wrists down and telling me to be a good girl. (It’s the rolled-up sleeves, fyi.)
So. Full name. Give me that, and maybe I’ll tell you where to find me.
Eagerly waiting, slightly squirming, definitely hot and horny,
Amelia
P.S. After I came? I said your name out loud. You owe me a ruined pair of underwear, sir.
From: [email protected]
Subject: For background check purposes
Amelia,
It’s Adam Rhys Reeves. Born on August 5. No criminal record. Single. No kids, no ex-wife, no bitter ex-girlfriend who might strangle you in your sleep or wait for you in the parking lot.
Now give me your full name because the next time I say it, I want it to be while you’re shaking underneath me, back arched, mouth open, begging me not to stop.
Waiting,
Adam
From: [email protected]
Subject: OH GOD ALMIGHTY THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING
Adam Rhys Reeves.
Okay, so now I know what name to scream when you finally have your mouth between my legs and your cock deep inside me. And the name to give my best friend in case you do turn out to be a psycho (jury’s still out, but damn, you’re tempting).
Here’s mine: Amelia Moore. Fun fact: My best friend, Rina, calls me AMOR. Because AM (Amelia) and MOR (Moore). Get it? Oh God. *facepalm* You might have just reconsidered meeting me.
Added my number at the bottom. Text me. Call me. Hell, breathe near your phone and I’ll probably answer.
When and where?
See, Adam, I’m done pretending this is just a pen pal thing. I want to see the man who made me ruin three pairs of panties in one week and see how the real thing compares. Ya know, for research purposes.
XOXO,
Amelia
From: [email protected]
Subject: Be there
Amelia,
I’ll call.
You asked for me. Now you’re getting me.
Yours,
Adam