Ramona:maybe I’d want to tease you, though. I have a feeling you’d be fun to tease
(hypothetically)
(for practice)
The parentheticals barely register. That goddamn whisky, driving him to make bad choices. It’s a good thing he’s almost out of it.
You could, he types.Or you could let me drag my hands up your thighs and push up your skirt.
Ramona:I’m wearing a skirt?
Nick:Yes. To show off those gorgeous legs.
And to make it easier for me to touch you where you’re aching for it.
Ramona:because you’d want to feel how wet I am.
Nick:And are you?
He doesn’t know if she’s mocking him when she replies,
yes.
very.
And he doesn’t care. He grips his dick harder, moves his hand faster. Her texts go quiet, and now he’s certain she’s doing the same thing, and that makes him feel less filthy as he strokes himself, wondering if she’s using her hand or a toy, if her pretty face is twisted in pleasure. If any of this has made her blush or if she keeps that stoic, mildly amused expression even as she’s spreading her legs.
If she does this all the time, or if he’s her first.
Their messages are barely PG-13, and yet they’ve turned him feral. She’s always so in control that picturing her surrendered like this nearly makes him short-circuit. Maybe they’re similar in that way—determined to hold on to power at all costs.
He’s so close, a frantic spark of tension building at the base of his spine.Christ, she’d be so beautiful, with her incredible hair sprawled across the pillow and his face between her legs. He bites out a groan as he imagines her hips arcing off that pristine white bed. A deep flush to her cheeks. The way she might tremble as she tries to hold on a little longer,not yet,almost there.
A few more strokes—and then he’s unraveling, coming in his hand with a gritted curse and a rush of hot breath.
Slowly, reality drips back in. The Velvet Underground on his record player. The pile of assignments in front of him.
He is in so much fucking trouble.
And then his phone blinks one more time.
Ramona:good night, professor ;)
11
That…was unexpected.
Ramona swears she’s still blushing when she wakes up the next morning, skin tingling like she can somehow feel him between her legs instead of a vibrating slip of silicone.
Unexpected, satisfying, and a little reckless—the perfect combination.
Maybe it’ll be the end of her crush, she thinks as she showers, unable to stop picturing Nick all hot and bothered, reading her messages with a mountain of papers in front of him. Maybe she’s cured, she hopes as she blends her smoothie. She even rereads their thread in the harsh light of day, and it’s nottame, exactly, but it’s hardly explicit.
It’s possible that all he did before her last text was return to grading.
Still, just because it’s warmer than usual for early October and not because of what he texted her, she shaves her legs, slicks them with lotion, and puts on a skirt that hits mid-thigh. Something she would have worn without a second thought in theBefore, and she finds that she still likes the way it looks. She drives to class, humming along to Arlie J’s Grammy-winning album.
She’s determined not to feel embarrassed—until Nick shows up a few minutes late, and her heart drops all the way to the floor.
