Page 46 of Breakaway Hearts

His soft, low voice.

And the dirty talk.

Fuck. The dirty talk.

I really need to get better at that. Usually, I don’t have a lot to say in bed, but the way Reese was talking to me last night? It makes me want to be just as good at that as him.

Everyone else in the lounge has already gone back to talking about their own thing or eating their lunch in silence, scrolling on their phones, or just decompressing from the elementary students—whom we all love, but who never fail to tire us out.

I find a quiet spot in the corner of the teachers’ lounge and eat in silence. But I can’t mute the echoing of Reese’s voice last night inside my head, so I surreptitiously pull my phone out of my purse once I’ve finished my chicken and pasta salad.

If I’m going to do well with these lessons, I need to be proactive.

I open my notes app and start writing down some of the best dirty talk I can think of from the many romance novels I’ve read. The thought of saying some of these things out loud makes me blush so hard that I hope no one notices. Would any of this sound even slightly sexy coming out of my mouth, or would it just sound stupid? Would Reese laugh at me?

As if he can sense that I’m thinking about him, a text pops up from him a second later.

REESE: Hey, Firefly. I’m heading to the grocery store. Do you need anything?

I type out a quick response that I’m good for now but thank him for asking. Then I quickly grab my Tupperware container and take it to the sink to rinse it out and dry it before stashing it back in my bag.

There’s about half an hour left in our lunch period, and instead of pulling out a book like I usually do, I grab my phone again and start typing out a phrase I was thinking of earlier. It’s not a direct quote from a book this time, although it’s inspired by several sexy scenes I’ve read.

I need you,I type.I want to know what you feel like in my mouth.

I hit enter to start typing a new phrase, but the text disappears.

What?

My brow furrows in confusion for a second, and then my stomach just about drops out of my body.

I didn’t switch over to my notes app like I mean to. This is still the messaging app.

And I just sent Reese an explicit text asking to give him a blowjob.

I drop my phone on the table, and the loud clatter prompts several of my fellow teachers to glance my way.

“Sorry, sorry,” I mutter. When they return their attention to their food and their conversations, I pick up my cell phone with trembling hands.

Shit. He’s seen the message. And he’s typing.

I hold my breath as his next message comes in.

REESE: Keep going.

My heart flutters, nerves racing through me.

ME: Um, I was just practicing. That wasn’t supposed to be a text. I don’t know what to say.

REESE: Really? Because it sure as hell seemed like you knew what to say when you told me you wanted my cock in your mouth.

I squirm a little in my seat, angling my body to make sure none of the other teachers in the lounge will accidentally get a glimpse of my screen. My thumbs shake a little as I start to type out a message, then I tap the backspace button, deleting it. I try again. And again.

After a second, the little bubbles that indicate Reese is typing appear on my screen.

REESE: I can hear you overthinking all the way from here. But that’s the thing about sexting. It doesn’t have to be perfect. There’s no one on this text thread but me and you. No one to impress. So you can say whatever you want.

I chew on my lip, reading over his message. My heart is thundering, and I’m blushing so hard that I’m worried one of the other teachers will think I’m getting sick or something, so I grab my bag and throw it over my shoulder, then slip out of the lounge. I head quickly toward the front doors and slip outside, pacing a little way down the sidewalk before I pull up the messaging app on my phone again.

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