Page 78 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
Lucian: Mmm. Can’t wait to test your limits when I get back.
Olivia: You test them every freaking day, and just so you know, I’m not some weird challenge to conquer.
Lucian: Oh, you are—the best kind. Smart mouth, sharp comebacks, and legs I think about way too often.
Olivia: Flattery won’t get you anywhere.
Lucian: Not trying to get out of it. Just hoping when I get back, you’ll be the one making me sweat.
Olivia: You’re beginning to digress. This isn’t subtle at all.
Lucian: Subtlety is for men who don’t know what your moan sounds like in their imagination.
Olivia: You’ve officially lost your mind.
Lucian: Or maybe I’m just losing patience. You have no idea what it’s like, being out here, waking up hard every damn morning, thinking about you in my bed—wearing one of those ridiculous little sleep sets I know you pretend are just “comfortable.”
Olivia: Comfortable and practical.
Lucian: Comfortable, sure. But I bet they ride up your thighs when you roll over. I bet the fabric barely covers your ass. I bet if I pulled the covers back, I’d find you spread out, skin warm, lips parted, begging to be touched.
Olivia: That’s an extremely vivid imagination.
Lucian: That’s from memory, sweetheart. You forget I saw you that night. Tank top. Bare legs. Hair a mess. You looked like sin and sleep and something I wanted to put my mouth on.
Olivia: Lucian.
Lucian: Say it like that when I’m between your thighs, and I won’t stop until your voice breaks.
Olivia: You’re insufferable.
Lucian: And I bet you’re soaked right now, right? Lying in bed, phone in your hand, heart pounding because you want this. You want me.
Olivia: I’m at the dog park, playing fetch with Sarah . . . but nice try. Your sexting does nothing to me.
Lucian: It does everything for you. I know that later you’ll get home and you’ll imagine me home, sliding that tank top up, and dragging my tongue over your nipples until you arch. You want my hand between your legs, fingers deep inside you while I whisper all the filthy things I’m going to do to you next.
Olivia: That’s quite a scenario . . . It’s still not doing anything to me. Not at all.
Lucian: I’ll pin your wrists above your head, fuck you slow and deep until your legs shake and you forget your name. You think you’re tough? We’ll see how tough you are when I have you coming on my cock while I tell you how good you take it.
Olivia: Nothing. I’m immune to your texts.
Lucian: You’re not. Now be a good girl and tell me what you’re wearing. Or better yet—take a picture and show me.
Olivia: Okay, you asked for it.
Lucian: What the fuck? You sent me a picture of Sarah wearing a sweatshirt?
Olivia: Imagine us wearing matching sweatshirts. Now, stop bothering us. We’re busy.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lucian: Check your messages in about 2 minutes.
Olivia: Should I be concerned?
Lucian: Only if your taste in walking music is tragic. Sent you something. Enjoy the vibes, Doc.
