Page 13 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

I blink up at her. “What?”

“You heard me.” She points toward the hallway. “I need sleep. You need to go to your room with your vibrator and let that man remotely give you an orgasm. Lord knows you’re overdue one.”

I laugh so hard, my stomach hurts. “You are unbelievable.”

“I’m also right.” She bends down and kisses the top of my head before stumbling toward the linen closet for blankets.

My phone buzzes again.

Where’d you go?

Heat curls through me instantly.

Dani notices my face and lets out a loud groan. “Oh, you’ve got it bad. Better go upstairs before you start humping the couch, or you try to make out with me like that one time in college.”

“That was one time, and it was your idea, you wanted to impress that bass guitarist, remember?”

She tilts her head to one side. “Oh yeah, still the best kiss of your life,” she winks, blowing me a kiss.

I flip her off affectionately while typing back:

My friend says I need sleep before things get too heated.

The response comes immediately:

Too late for that, sweetheart.

My stomach tightens again. God. Nobody has talked to me like this in years.

Another message appears.

Dream about me. I know I will about you.

I stare at it, smiling, before I can stop myself. I finally type:

Goodnight.

Night, trouble. Speak to you tomorrow.

The promise of continuing our conversation makes my stomach flip. I help Dani make the couch bed while trying very hard not to think about the picture still sitting in my messages, trying and failing.

The storm has finally abated, but rain still taps steadily against the windows as I brush my teeth upstairs. The house feels quieter now without Dani laughing downstairs.

My bedroom lamp casts soft amber light across the room while thunder rolls low outside, growing fainter. I lie staring at the ceiling thinking back to the earlier conversation. Unable to resist, I grab my phone again.

I reread the conversation from the beginning, and the more I read, the stranger it feels. This doesn’t sound like Tyler. Not the Tyler I know anyway. Tyler has flirted with me at the gym for weeks now, but this version of him feels different. He’s funnier, wittier, confident, sometimes teasing, and sometimes strangely dominant, and somehow far more seductive than the polished gym-trainer version I know in real life. Also, the response he gave when I sent him my photo made it seem like he was surprised at my appearance. He’s seen me numerous times before, he knows what I look like.

I stare at the messages while rain taps softly against the windows. Then I can’t help but look at the picture again. Heat blooms low between my thighs. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this aroused.

“Oh my God,” I whisper to myself.

I haven’t done this in forever. Not properly, I thought that side of me was gone, that I had hardly any libido left. It’s been a long time since I wanted someone this badly. My body already feels tight and restless with it, thighs pressing together beneath the blankets almost instinctively. The vibrator hidden in my bedside drawer suddenly feels impossible to ignore. I hesitate maybe ten seconds before reaching for it. After that, thinking becomes significantly harder.

I allow my body to take the lead, touching myself as I think about the conversation and the photo of Tyler. But soon his face disappears from my mind, as if blurred, replaced by a mixture of men I’ve fantasized about in the past. Mostly, I focus on the words and imagine that perfect cock thrusting in and out of me. I picture a man solely focused on my pleasure—a man who is confident and skilled in bed without being selfish.

The orgasm hits me harder than I expect. Sharp and overwhelming after so long untouched, that I actually have to bite down on my hand to keep quiet as I shudder with the waves of pleasure.

Afterward, I lie there breathing hard beneath the blankets while rain rolls outside and my phone glows beside me in the dark. Still warm with messages from a man I suddenly can’t stop thinking about. Dani’s right, I’m totally done for.