Page 26 of Texting the CEO's Obsession
For him.
Shit, that shouldn’t be so hot. Maybe I have more of an exhibitionist streak than I thought.
Mister Mystery: I want you to finger yourself, stretch yourself out for me. Imagine me between your thighs, think about what I’d do to you if I walked in on you like that.
My breath comes out slow and shaky, my eyes slipping closed behind my glasses as I trail my hand up the inside of my thigh. I jolt at the first brush of my fingers against my panties, the fabric already wet enough to slide teasingly against my clit.
It’s not hard to conjure up an image of him, all broad-shouldered and muscular with demanding eyes and a wicked smirk.
I let my mind run wild as I slide my panties to the side and drag my fingers through the wetness gathering between my legs. It already feels incredible, and by the time I circle my fingers around my clit, I’m biting my lips to stop myself from making any noise.
My phone buzzes again, and I lift it with my free hand, panting softly as I read the text.
Mister Mystery: I want you to come thinking of me splitting you open on my cock, and then I want you to lick your fingers clean for me.
My clit throbs against my fingertips at the words, and I don’t bother trying to make this last.
Maybe it’s just because I’m at work, or maybe it has something to do with Nick being on the other side of the wall, but I’m so keyed up I can hardly think straight. My mind circles, throwing fantasy after fantasy at me as I slide my fingers inside myself slowly, enjoying the stretch and wishing for more.
Memories of that Halloween party flash behind my eyelids, and I clench down around my fingers as I remember how that man’s fingers felt inside of me.
He was built similarly to both Nick and my mystery man, muscled and tall and sure of himself, and he worked me into an orgasm with hardly any trouble. Maybe I have a thing for masks, or maybe it’s just men who remind me of my boss, but I let myself meld everything together. The man from Halloween flows into the masked man from the gala in my imagination, and he magically has Nick’s eyes, his voice, and his domineering aura as he pins me against a wall and makes me scream.
By the time I work a third finger inside of myself, my thighs are trembling and I’m biting back desperate noises on every exhale.
I type out a message with only half my attention on my phone.
Riley: I’m so close, please can I come?
My mystery man doesn’t make me wait.
Mister Mystery: Come for me, Miss Morgan.
I drop my phone to my desk with a clatter and clap a hand over my mouth to muffle the shout that tears from my mouth as I come, my whole body tensing as my orgasm tears through me.It’s like lightning in my veins, leaving me shaking and panting against my palm as I wait for the world to come back into focus.
My instructions don’t slip my mind, and even though I’m still floating on my afterglow, I fumble for my phone and pull up the camera.
I twine my tongue between my fingers, lapping up the taste of my own wetness smeared there as I take a quick photo. My cheeks burn hot with embarrassment, and I don’t even look at it before I hit send, only glancing back at my phone when it buzzes again.
A photo sits on my screen, just suggestive enough to get my pulse racing again and just bland enough to not give me any clues to who he might be.
It’s a shot from his hips to his thighs, expensive black slacks bulging around both muscle and the hard length of his cock. I clench around nothing at the sight, wishing for nothing more than to let him fill me up with every last inch of it.
Another text comes in seconds later.
Mister Mystery: Such a good girl for me.
I guess my daydidget better.
CHAPTER 8
RILEY
“Hold the door, please!”
I reach out to stop the elevator from closing, a smile curling my lips as I look up to see Cassie rushing over. Her short black bob moves with every step she takes, dark eyes glittering with interest as her round face splits in a wide smile.
“There’s the girl of the hour,” she teases as she steps onto the elevator with me, her low pumps clicking against the tile floor. “Stayed late again?”
