Page 20 of The Roommate Subtext

It was such a man-on-the-internet thing to say, and she rolled her eyes. I keep myself in line, thank you very much.

His reply came quickly. But tonight, you’re asking me to do that for you.

She swallowed, her smugness fading. That’s what she’d asked for. No pictures, she wrote quickly. No identifying info.

That’s fine.

And we stop if either of us wants to stop.

Of course, he added. It can just be fun. It doesn’t have to be the end of the world.

She took a deep breath and let it out. He was right. She didn’t have to worry.

His next line followed immediately. Are you in your bedroom?

Yes.

Alone?

If I weren’t alone in my bedroom, I wouldn’t be on this chat with you.

Good point. Take off your clothes.

They were getting to it now. She stripped down and tossed her clothes onto a chair near the bed. Done.

Now lie back on your bed and open your legs.

The cooler night air brushed against her like a touch. No one could see her from the bed but she imagined someone watching her anyway.

OK.

Do you like someone touching your nipples? Does that feel good?

She’d never thought of it as a particular hot spot, although it was pleasant enough. It’s OK. I’m not opposed.

All right. Spend the next minute playing with your nipples, and I’m going to take off my clothes and stroke myself.

Maggie was blushing again. She ran her fingers lightly around her nipples, which peaked at her touch. A minute was a long time. She brushed the tips, then squeezed gently, then harder. Pleasure jolted down her spine. She pinched more intensely and let the feeling wash through her. This position exposed her to whatever or whoever wanted to see her, and that exposure turned up any sensations to a higher decibel.

Her phone vibrated next to her arm and she read his messages, her nipples pulsing with her heartbeat. How do you feel?

Turned on, she admitted. Being limited to only that action made it a lot hotter.

Gentle or rough? he asked.

Rough. So weird to type this. I liked it when it hurt. And it’s weird sitting here with my legs open.

Imagine being tied like that and blindfolded. Your door open, people filtering through, touching you however they wanted, as long as they wanted.

He was filthy, and she loved it. Fucking hot, she wrote, and her heartbeat pulsed between her legs.

Do you want to touch your clit?

She did, but admitting it in a text gave her a tiny prickle of embarrassment that maybe was a turn-on in itself. Yes.

Ask me.

She stared at the screen before typing. May I touch my clit?