Page 6 of Sexting the Billionaire

"I deleted his contact," I say, but I'm already reaching for my phone.

"But you know his number," Olivia counters. "Don't tell me you don't."

She's right. Despite deleting his contact, Camden's number is burned into my memory after two years of texting.

I start a new message, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

"What do I even say?"

"The truth," Olivia says simply. "All the things you just told me. All the wants he never knew about because he never bothered to ask."

I start typing, slowly at first, then faster as the words begin to flow.

You know what, Camden?

My fingers tap against the screen, the wine making them slightly clumsy but the rage making them precise.

While you're out finding someone who ‘pushes your boundaries,’ I'll be busy getting bent over kitchen counters and coming so hard I forget my own name. You want to know what “predictable” looks like? It's the way you're going to wish you were the one pinning me against bedroom walls and hearing me beg for more

.

Olivia reads over my shoulder, nodding enthusiastically. "Yes! Get specific!"

I'm going to find someone who throws my legs over his shoulders and makes me scream his name loud enough to wake the neighbors you were always so worried about. Someone who doesn't need a fucking calendar invite to touch me like he owns me.

I continue listing fantasies I've kept buried for two years—things I'd wanted to try but Camden had dismissed with that condescending little smile. The words pour out of me, explicitand raw and honest in a way I've never allowed myself to be with him.

Want to know what else? I'm going to walk into bars in that black dress you always said was “too much” and let strong hands slide under it in dark corners. I'm going to kiss a man who tastes like whiskey and danger, and I'm going to let him take me home and do all the things you were too boring to try.

Part of me can't believe these words are coming from my fingers, but it feels like releasing pressure that's been building for years. Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's the humiliation, maybe it's just finally being free to say what I really want.

And while you're stuck with your “supportive and stable” next girlfriend, I'll be discovering exactly how many ways a man can make me lose control. Spoiler alert: it's more than the pathetic two tricks you had in your repertoire.

"Jesus," Olivia breathes, reading along. "You're writing erotica right now."

"I'm not done." My thumbs fly over the keyboard, the message growing longer and more detailed with every wine-fueled thought.

So thanks for 'outgrowing' me, Camden. Because I'm about to grow right into the kind of woman who remembers what it's like to be desired, not just tolerated. The kind who says yes to everything you were too weak to ask for. The kind who realizes that 'comfortable' was just your word for 'too cowardly to handle a woman who knows what she wants.'

I pause, rereading what I've written. There's a small voice in the back of my mind—the old Cassie—whispering that this is too much, that I'm going too far. But I silence her with another gulp of wine. What do I have to lose at this point?

Enjoy explaining to your next girlfriend why she's not allowed to make noise during sex. I'll be too busy making someone else lose his mind to care.

"This is legendary," Olivia declares, refilling my glass in celebration. "Send it!"

I squint at the screen, my vision blurring slightly from the wine and unshed tears. I carefully enter Camden's number, pressing each one carefully, determined to get it right. I’m proud of myself for remembering all ten digits despite my current state.

"Send it!" Olivia says without hesitation. "Send it and burn that bridge to glorious ashes."

I squint at the number I've entered, my current state making the digits swim slightly.

7...2...5...

My vision blurs slightly. Is that the right sequence? I rub my eyes and try to focus.

...5...9...0...8

Wait, that doesn't look right. Is Camden's number 5908 or 5098 at the end? I can't remember.

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