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It could be because he’s a leftie, but that posture is too… unearthly. Damn that perfect, aesthetic posture.
I zoom in to erase everyone in the pitch except for him.
After a few seconds of staring like a creep, I exit Instagram altogether and cover my head in exasperation.
I’m turning into something I hate because of the bastard.
My phone dings, and I lunge for it expecting it to be Kim.
Aiden.
Wait. Aiden?
Of course. He had my phone for a whole day after all. If he can crack the code, he can save his number.
I’m tempted to toss my phone and crack it to pieces, but curiosity gets the better of me.
I swipe the screen to read the text.
Aiden: Asleep?
I contemplate sending him a ‘fuck you’, but decide to ignore him instead. I seriously don’t know what he’s thinking by texting me.
It’s not like we’re old friends or even acquaintances.
Another text comes in.
Aiden: I’m not.
Obviously.
My phone dings again.
Aiden: I’m picturing you naked, screaming my name while I pound into your tight little pussy.
A tingle warms its way down my body and between my legs.
Aiden: If you don’t reply, I’ll keep telling you about my fantasies.
I purse my lips. He won’t get to me.
Aiden: I’m thinking about your pouty lips around my dick as I face-fuck you while you stare up at me with teary blue eyes.
The explicit image draws a shudder from my spine.
Aiden: I miss your full tits and how perfectly they fit in my palms. Are your nipples sore?
My nipples harden against the soft cloth of my PJ’s and I cross an arm around them as if he can see them.
Aiden: I know you’re not asleep, sweetheart. Last chance. You’ll regret it if you don’t reply.
When I remain silent, he sends another one.
Aiden: As you wish.
He stops sending texts. I wait for five minutes, but nothing comes out. My hands tremble as I put the phone on the nightstand.
Why did he stop texting?
