Page 4 of Dirty Little Secret

2

Andrew

Her: You have no idea how twisted and messed up my little mind is.

Well, fuck me.

My cock twitches as I glance again at the unfamiliar number, still having no clue who it is. The only thing I know for sure is that she’s female. I have no shortage of women in my life, but I can’t think of any who would send me a text like this.

No matter how much I wish I did.

God, how I wish I were twenty years younger right now, and it wasn’t, in fact, a wrong number. Back then, I’d have given this woman exactly what she was begging for and then some, but these days, with an adult son, I’m supposed to be grown up and tamed down. Too bad my dick doesn’t seem to agree. All the blood in my body seems to have diverted to him instead of my brain, and I’m already considering how to respond.

Pressing the heel of my palm against the front of my jeans, I shift in my seat like the trouble is my position rather than the throbbing erection straining the material. Rereading that last text, I’m haunted by what I want to do and what I should do.

Fuck it.

It’s not like I’m attached to anyone, and opportunities like this don’t come along too often. Who gives a damn if it’s a wrong number? Maybe something will come of this conversation. And if nothing happens, then at least I won’t die wondering what the hell would have happened if I didn’t chicken out like a little pussy.

Me: Careful what you wish for, or you might end up in way over your head.

Her: I trust you.

I bolt upright in my seat. If this is a wrong number, it’s a convincing one. Some woman must think she’s texting her boyfriend or something, because giving a stranger that kind of control is just asking for trouble. This girl needs to be taught a lesson—

Jesus, I need to get a grip.

Me: Is there a reason you’re telling me all this right now?

Her: Full disclosure, I was playing truth or dare.

My heart tightens at her response—I knew this was too good to be true. Kids play that game. Who the fuck am I talking to? God, what if she’s underage?

Me: And let me guess, you were dared to text a stranger some twisted fantasy? That’s a dangerous game for a little girl to play.

I squeeze my eyes closed and drop my head onto the back of my chair, not bothering to hide my disappointment. The thought of my hand sliding around the back of this woman’s neck as I force my cock deeper into her throat has me almost ready to explode.

Her: You’re far from a stranger, and just because it’s a dare doesn’t make it untrue…

Releasing a short, sharp laugh, I shake my head, still having no fucking clue who this chick is. God, just the thought of burying my face in a sweet, wet, willing woman is almost too much. Lightheaded from all the blood refusing to circulate in my body, I inhale a deep breath, then let it out in a slow hiss as I try to bring my pulse down. I’m going to have a fucking heart attack if this keeps up. Reading her text again, I let out a soft curse before standing up and pacing back and forth around the room.

Me: So, truth or dare, huh?

Her: Yep. You wanna play with me?

God, yes. In more ways than one.

My legs are on the verge of forgetting how to work and my brain has left the building. I should put a stop to this right now. Except… I can’t.

Me: Fine. But I ask first. Truth or dare?

Her: Truth.

My cock pulses painfully and I struggle to let my brain lead. I need to figure out more about this girl without letting on I have no idea who the fuck she is. Maybe if I ask the right questions, I can get a clue who’s sending these cock-teasing messages and if they’re truly meant for me. Not that I think there’s any chance of that.

Me: When was the last time you had an orgasm?

It’s a risk asking her something so bold, but it’s the only way I can think to discreetly figure out whether she’s in a relationship with someone else right now. I tap my foot against the floor, impatiently waiting for her to reply.

---