18. Monroe
EIGHTEEN
MONROE
I KNOW THIS MAN’S DICKPRINT HAS TO BE MASSIVE…
Me:
Are you in bed?
Trouble:
What does it matter to you?
Me:
Answer the question, Graciella.
Trouble:
Fine then. Yes I’m in bed.
Trouble:
Happy?
Me:
No
Trouble:
Wow. Shocking. You’re not satisfied AND you send a single-word response.
Me:
You want to satisfy me, Trouble?
Three little dots appeared and disappeared, but no message. My heartbeat kicked up. I shot off another text, chickening out on waiting for her to respond.
Me:
Send me a picture of you in bed to prove you’re there…
There, that would work. She thought I took too long to text, anyway. She probably wouldn’t even consider that the first one was sent in a horny haze. I scrubbed my hand down my face.
What the hell was I doing? With this, with the fake relationship business…with Graciella. My phone buzzed on my chest, and I nearly dropped it on my face, scrambling to unlock and see what she’d sent. I’d be lucky if it wasn’t her telling me I was being creepy and to get lost.
My stomach looped.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
She was in her bed, nothing but a thin sheet and a white tank top that ended only a few inches past her breast landing high on her ribcage. And those fucking silver barbells taunted me. I wanted to lick them with my tongue, play with them until she was panting beneath me.
Warmth spread through my chest, extending all the way to my cock, precum dampening my boxers.
What the hell do I say back?
Nerves thrashed through me as I typed and deleted a response, finally hitting send before I could overthink it.
Me:
Look how well you follow directions
I scrubbed my hand over my face again, lungs filling with doubt and dread.
Too much. It was too much.
I might as well have sent her a picture of my cock, that message was so clearly horny. My thumbs hovered over the screen, typing out, “I’m sorry. I understand if you never want to talk to me again” when her response came through.
Trouble:
Jesus, Monroe. Add an innocent smiley face or something next time.
Trouble:
You’ve got me all worked up, and I’m sure you’re in your bed scowling at me.
I smiled. A full-fledged smile over a damn text from the woman who drove me wild.
And that was a fucking problem.