Page 31 of Sexting the Boss

My jaw clenches. I can hear her in my head, those little whimpers, her body trembling as she fucks herself to my words.

Me: Rub that pretty clit for me. Make yourself come.

Unknown Number: Only if you do too.

My grip tightens.

Me: Together.

I hear my breath hitch, feel the familiar heat racing up my spine.

I groan, hips jerking, pleasure shattering through me just as my phone buzzes again.

Unknown Number: Fuck. I’m coming.

I exhale, chest heaving.

Pleasure slams through me, my cock pulsing as I come, hot and thick, my groan low and wrecked as I spill over my stomach.

For a second, I just breathe, chest heaving, the tension in my body slowly dissolving. I wipe my hand across my abdomen, shaking my head, a smirk tugging at my lips.

Me: That was fucking filthy.

Unknown Number: That was amazing.

I huff out a low chuckle, leaning back against the headboard, still catching my breath.

I expect her to disappear after the sexting. It’s mindless, it’s fun, but it’s all there is.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, by mid-morning, my phone buzzes again.

Unknown Number: Is there a reason why corporate life feels like actual hell? Or is this just a personal experience?

I smirk, leaning back in my chair, already intrigued.

Me: That depends. What fresh torture have they unleashed on you today?

Unknown Number: I just sat through a 45-minute meeting that could have been an email. And now, I have to make edits to a report I already finished because someone suddenly had a vision at 2 a.m. and decided they need five extra slides.

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head.

Me: Sounds like you work with idiots.

Unknown Number: Oh, I do. And they get paid way more than me to be idiots, which is the real crime here.

I glance at the stack of contracts on my desk, a multi-million dollar deal sitting in front of me. Yet somehow, I find myself far more interested in whatever bullshit she’s dealing with.

Unknown Number: Do you ever sit at work and wonder if anyone would notice if you just left? Like, walked out and never came back?

I glance at the screen, smirking as I take a sip of my coffee.

Me: No. But I assume you do, since you’re texting me instead of working.

Unknown Number: Oh, I finished my work. I just refuse to look productive until the exact moment someone important walks by. It’s an art.

Me: Sounds like you hate your job.

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