Beautiful Player
Page 28
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I drew a total blank.
Well, actually I’m not dressed yet, I typed. I was standing here trying to decide if it’s against the rules to go without underpants because I think my skirt shows all the lines but I hate wearing thongs.
I stared at the phone as the little dots indicated he was replying. Shit that was pretty good kid. But don’t say underpants. Or blouse. Never sexy.
Don’t make fun of me. I don’t know what to say. I feel like an idiot standing here naked texting you.
I waited.
A few moments passed before my phone lit up again. OK. So you’ve obviously gotten the hang of it. Now say something dirty.
Dirty?
I’m waiting.
Oh God. Did I have time to google something? No. I searched my mind and typed the first semi-dirty thing I could think of: Sometimes, when we’re running and you’re controlling your breathing and lost in the rhythm of it, I wonder what noises you make during sex.
So maybe that was a bit more than semi-dirty, and for what felt like an eternity, he didn’t reply. Oh God. I put my phone down, convinced that Will was going to walk away and not reply ever again. He probably wanted something playful and not so . . . honest.
I walked into the bathroom, pulled a brush through my wet hair, and then piled it into a knot on top of my head. In the other room, I heard my phone buzz on the desk.
WHOA, was the first message.
The second message: Way to just . . . dive on in there. OK I’m gonna need a minute. Or five.
OMGIMSOSOEEY I typed, with stupid fumbling fingers and completely ready to climb into a hole and die. I MEAN SORRY I CANTBELIEVEISAIDTHAT
You’re kidding me, he replied. That was like Christmas. Clearly I need to up my game. Hold on, I might need to stretch first.
I rolled my eyes. Waiting.
Your tits looked great today.
That’s all you got? I typed. Honestly, he’d said more perverted things to my face. To my boobs. Did he really think he was schooling me in being sexy right now?
Really? You’re completely unimpressed?
Zzzzzzzzzzz, I wrote back.
Can I SEE your tits next time?
Well. I felt a little warmth in my cheeks but there was no way I was admitting that.
Yawn. I smiled like an idiot at my phone.
The little text bubble appeared in the window to show that he’d started typing. I waited. And waited. Finally, Can I touch them? Taste them?
I hitched my towel up higher over my br**sts and swallowed, shaking. My face wasn’t the only thing that was warm now. I replied, That was a little better.
Can I lick them and then f**k them?
I dropped my phone, and scrambled to pick it up. Pretty good, I typed with shaking hands. I closed my eyes, struggling to push away the image of Will’s hips moving over my chest, his c**k sliding over the skin between my br**sts.
I could almost feel his determination through the phone when he said, Let me know when you need a minute of ALONE time. Are you ready?
No. Absolutely not. Yes.
You were wearing this shirt the other day, the pink one. Your tits looked f**king phenomenal. Full and soft. I could see your ni**les when the wind picked up. All I could think about was what you’d feel like in my hands, your ni**les against my tongue. What my c**k would look like against your skin and how it would feel to come all over your neck.
Holy shiiiit. Will? Can I just call you?
Why?
Because it’s hard to type with one hand.
He didn’t reply for a minute and I let myself imagine he’d dropped his phone this time. But then he replied: YES! Are you touching yourself??
I laughed, typing, Gotcha, and then threw my phone to the side and closed my eyes.
Because yes, I absolutely was.Since at the end of our run I’d agreed to meet Will for breakfast at Sarabeth’s, after I finished “thinking” about his texts, I hurried to dress and ran out the door. Despite the temperature and the snow starting to fall, I felt the heat of my blush all the way to Ninety-third, and wondered if it was possible to sit across from him and not have him figure out I’d just masturbated to his texts. Things felt like they were veering off course, and I tried to remember when it had happened. Was it the run earlier this morning when he’d hovered over my body, looking as if he were climbing on top of me? Or was it a couple of weeks back, at the bar when we’d started talking about p**n and sex? Maybe it was even before that, the first day we went running together and he’d slipped a hat on my head, giving me a smile that made me feel like I’d just been f**ked against a wall?
This was not going well. Friends, I reminded myself. Secret agent assignment. Learn the ways of the Ninja, and escape unharmed.
Well, actually I’m not dressed yet, I typed. I was standing here trying to decide if it’s against the rules to go without underpants because I think my skirt shows all the lines but I hate wearing thongs.
I stared at the phone as the little dots indicated he was replying. Shit that was pretty good kid. But don’t say underpants. Or blouse. Never sexy.
Don’t make fun of me. I don’t know what to say. I feel like an idiot standing here naked texting you.
I waited.
A few moments passed before my phone lit up again. OK. So you’ve obviously gotten the hang of it. Now say something dirty.
Dirty?
I’m waiting.
Oh God. Did I have time to google something? No. I searched my mind and typed the first semi-dirty thing I could think of: Sometimes, when we’re running and you’re controlling your breathing and lost in the rhythm of it, I wonder what noises you make during sex.
So maybe that was a bit more than semi-dirty, and for what felt like an eternity, he didn’t reply. Oh God. I put my phone down, convinced that Will was going to walk away and not reply ever again. He probably wanted something playful and not so . . . honest.
I walked into the bathroom, pulled a brush through my wet hair, and then piled it into a knot on top of my head. In the other room, I heard my phone buzz on the desk.
WHOA, was the first message.
The second message: Way to just . . . dive on in there. OK I’m gonna need a minute. Or five.
OMGIMSOSOEEY I typed, with stupid fumbling fingers and completely ready to climb into a hole and die. I MEAN SORRY I CANTBELIEVEISAIDTHAT
You’re kidding me, he replied. That was like Christmas. Clearly I need to up my game. Hold on, I might need to stretch first.
I rolled my eyes. Waiting.
Your tits looked great today.
That’s all you got? I typed. Honestly, he’d said more perverted things to my face. To my boobs. Did he really think he was schooling me in being sexy right now?
Really? You’re completely unimpressed?
Zzzzzzzzzzz, I wrote back.
Can I SEE your tits next time?
Well. I felt a little warmth in my cheeks but there was no way I was admitting that.
Yawn. I smiled like an idiot at my phone.
The little text bubble appeared in the window to show that he’d started typing. I waited. And waited. Finally, Can I touch them? Taste them?
I hitched my towel up higher over my br**sts and swallowed, shaking. My face wasn’t the only thing that was warm now. I replied, That was a little better.
Can I lick them and then f**k them?
I dropped my phone, and scrambled to pick it up. Pretty good, I typed with shaking hands. I closed my eyes, struggling to push away the image of Will’s hips moving over my chest, his c**k sliding over the skin between my br**sts.
I could almost feel his determination through the phone when he said, Let me know when you need a minute of ALONE time. Are you ready?
No. Absolutely not. Yes.
You were wearing this shirt the other day, the pink one. Your tits looked f**king phenomenal. Full and soft. I could see your ni**les when the wind picked up. All I could think about was what you’d feel like in my hands, your ni**les against my tongue. What my c**k would look like against your skin and how it would feel to come all over your neck.
Holy shiiiit. Will? Can I just call you?
Why?
Because it’s hard to type with one hand.
He didn’t reply for a minute and I let myself imagine he’d dropped his phone this time. But then he replied: YES! Are you touching yourself??
I laughed, typing, Gotcha, and then threw my phone to the side and closed my eyes.
Because yes, I absolutely was.Since at the end of our run I’d agreed to meet Will for breakfast at Sarabeth’s, after I finished “thinking” about his texts, I hurried to dress and ran out the door. Despite the temperature and the snow starting to fall, I felt the heat of my blush all the way to Ninety-third, and wondered if it was possible to sit across from him and not have him figure out I’d just masturbated to his texts. Things felt like they were veering off course, and I tried to remember when it had happened. Was it the run earlier this morning when he’d hovered over my body, looking as if he were climbing on top of me? Or was it a couple of weeks back, at the bar when we’d started talking about p**n and sex? Maybe it was even before that, the first day we went running together and he’d slipped a hat on my head, giving me a smile that made me feel like I’d just been f**ked against a wall?
This was not going well. Friends, I reminded myself. Secret agent assignment. Learn the ways of the Ninja, and escape unharmed.
