Page 29 of Sexting the Boss

Me: You’re alone, aren’t you?

Her reply comes quickly.

Unknown Number: Maybe.

Me: That’s not a yes.

Unknown Number: That’s not a no, either.

I chuckle, dragging my hand down my face.

Me: Tell me what you’re wearing.

A pause. Then?—

Unknown Number: Why? You planning on picturing it?

Me: I’d rather see it.

A long beat. Then my phone buzzes.

An image attachment.

I click it open.

And fuck.

She’s in a dark bra, lacy and delicate, barely covering the soft curves of her breasts. No face—just her body, the angle taunting, like she’s daring me to react.

My cock twitches, heat surging through me as I grip the phone tighter.

I shouldn’t be this affected.

But I fucking am.

Me: You really are a naughty girl, aren’t you?

Unknown Number: I can be. Depends on who’s asking.

I exhale sharply, the ache between my legs turning unbearable.

I don’t think. I just act.

I shift, leaning back against the headboard, phone in one hand, the other slipping lower, unbuckling my belt.

Then I take a picture.

A filthy one.

My cock, hard and thick in my grip, straining against my palm.

I send it.

Her reply takes longer this time, but when it comes?—

Unknown Number: Jesus.

I smirk, stroking myself slowly, the anticipation a sick kind of thrill.

---