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It takes a moment for Mr. Monroe to reply. In that time, I add his number to my contacts.
AM: What are you doing right now?
Me: Lying in my bathtub reading a book on my phone.
AM: Are your parents home?
Me: Out for the night. It’s their anniversary.
I hold my breath, waiting for his reply. Wondering if he’ll ask me to touch myself. The thought of sexting has never appealed to me, but doing it with Mr. Monroe definitely has its appeal.
I draw my legs up and slide them back and forth together. I’m already turned on by his messages so far. I’m going to be a mess if he asks me to touch myself. As intimidating as it would be, I wouldn’t be opposed to him calling me. That way I could hear his voice and could tell if he was as turned on as I am.
Will he touch himself too?
I close my eyes, picturing his hand sliding up and down his cock. The cock in my mind is blurry because I haven’t actually seen his, but they sorta all look the same, right? I mean, except for the size, of course.
I open my eyes a moment later to look down at my phone and realize it’s been several minutes since I sent my last message. My last message shows as read, but there’s no reply.
I frown as disappointment hits me. Maybe he got a phone call and can’t reply yet. Or maybe he received a visitor. Or it could be that he’s not into sexting.
After another ten minutes go by without a reply, I set my phone back on the shelf. No longer in a relaxing mood, I quickly shave my legs and pull the plug to the tub. I stand and grab a big, fluffy towel to dry off with.
I’ve just finished putting on my night clothes when the doorbell rings. Picking up my phone on the way out of the bathroom, I check the time. Who would be knocking on the door at eight-thirty? Except for the occasional delivery, we don’t get visitors.
Walking to the door on bare feet, I lift to my toes and check the peephole. Seeing the fishbowl head on the other side of the door has me falling back to my feet and my heart thumping heavily in my chest.
I unlock the deadbolt and grip the door knob, pulling the door open a second later.
Mr. Monroe stands there, one hand shoved into his pocket, while the other rests on the doorframe. He looks entirely way too sexy. His brown hair is a mess, like he’s recently run his fingers through it. I haven’t seen him in two days, and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in that time. The scruff on his cheeks and chin surprisingly appeals to me. He’s wearing jeans that look like they’ve been through the washer a few too many times, and a dark gray Henley with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
It’s his eyes though, that have me vibrating with need. They pin me in place with the intense way he runs them up and down my body. I have virtually no experience when it comes to sex, except for what he’s shown me, but even I can recognize the need in his eyes. He looks as though he’s on the verge of pouncing.
He doesn’t say a word as he stalks over the threshold leading into my house. I let the door go and take a couple of steps back.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my breathing turning to pants.
“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to, Luna.”
The gravel in his tone does delicious things to my body.
He kicks the door closed behind him and reaches back to lock it. “How long are your parents gone for?”
“A few more hours probably.” My answer comes out breathy.
“Good.” His eyes track down my chest, over my groin area, down my legs, and then back up. They stop at my breasts. I’m pretty sure my nipples are easy to see through the material. “That gives me just enough time to teach you a few more dirty things.”
His words send a shot of lust straight between my legs.
I’m forced to stop moving backward when my back meets the couch. He doesn’t stop though. He keeps coming until our chests are smashed together.
I tilt my head back and meet his intense gaze. He lifts one of his hands and sets his palm at the base of my throat. His eyes move to the mark he left on me Friday.
“It’s fading,” he notes before meeting my eyes again. “Looks like I’ll need to leave another.”
He slides his palm up so his fingers curl around my neck, adding a slight amount of pressure. Not enough to cut off my breath, but enough to hold me in place.
He dips his head until his lips are at my ear. “Take me to your room.”
