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I involuntarily clenched my thighs together as a sudden rush of heat enveloped me. How in the hell did one simple sentence from him cause such a visceral reaction in me?
That sure as hell wasn’t a simple sentence.
Mina
I don’t think my ass can handle it. You left me pretty sore afterward.
I didn’t add it was a good kind of sore.
Carter
Your smart mouth makes my cock so fucking hard.
I closed my eyes and held in my moan. Was I seriously sexting in the middle of a damn café in broad daylight?
I felt my phone vibrate with a new text and opened my eyes to see what kind of filth he sent me now.
Carter
Are you wet right now?
And then…
Carter
Be my good girl again and tell me how wet you are, thinking about me spanking you and then fucking your tight little pussy.
I shoved my phone back in my purse, stood, and got the hell out of the café. Because truth be told, I could have orgasmed reading that obscene shit.
I was walking toward my apartment building when I felt my cell vibrate again. I shouldn’t have checked it, but I reached inside my bag and looked at the screen.
Carter
You can ignore me, sweet girl, but I’ll just keep track of how much you’re disobeying me and give you a proper punishment next time I see you.
I bit my lip, feeling myself blush.
Mina
You’re pretty arrogant to think you’re going to see me again.
I smirked as I sassed back.
Carter
Not arrogant. Confident. Because it will happen.
And just from that one last text, I knew he was serious.
Chapter
Nine
MINA
I pulled up to my dad’s house and cut the engine, staring at the lit front porch and really not wanting to go through with this.
I knew as soon as I got in there the annoyance I felt toward Amber would have me praying to a higher power for some self-restraint.
I hadn’t heard from Carter again since our nasty little sexting session a few days ago, and I didn’t know if I was glad or if it annoyed the hell out of me. And I was too stubborn to be the one to text him after this much time had passed.
I climbed out of the car and headed to the front door. Three knocks on the wood later and it opened. Amber stood on the other side, looking like a ’50s housewife all dolled up to go out on the town.
Hair in some crazy-ass updo, little red dress hugging her curves—she was gorgeous. But then again, when you had the ugliest personality known to man, there had to be a little yin to your yang, I supposed.
“Oh,” she said and looked me up and down. “Didn’t you know this was a more formal dinner?”
I looked down at my outfit. She made it seem like my skinny jeans and cardigan set was something I pulled out the bottom of a barrel.
“Didn’t realize dinner at my dad’s house meant I had to go all June Cleaver for everyone.” I gave her my best resting-bitch face and moved past her.
She huffed out an annoyed breath, and I smiled to myself. I followed the sound of pots and pans clanging and stopped in the kitchen's entryway. My father stood by the stove wearing a pair of slacks and a dark-gray button-up shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, and he wore an apron.
When he turned around, I couldn’t help but laugh. A bare-chested, jean-wearing, ax-wielding cartoon male body was screen-printed on the front of the apron, cut off at the neck so it looked like that drawn body was my father’s. I covered my mouth and saw him smirk as he looked down at the apron.
“Cheesy, isn’t it?”
“It’s great. You pick that out yourself?”
“Got it at the ski lodge’s gift shop, much to Amber’s dismay.”
Oh, I could imagine how much she scowled at this purchase.
Speak of the devil.
Amber breezed past me, making a dismissive sound as she flicked an acrylic-tipped nail toward the apron. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted on getting it.”
“I’m glad you bought it.”
Amber cut me a snotty look after I said that.
I gave her a bright smile, and while staring at my stepmother, I said, “I love that you still have your sense of humor, Dad,” and he chuckled.
Amber narrowed her eyes on me, but then, because she was catty, she turned and faced her husband and planted a sloppy, way-too-intimate-to-do-in-front-of-guests kiss on his mouth.
I turned and rolled my eyes, opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water, and went over to the table. “Need me to help with anything, Dad?”
“I’m good, sweetheart,” he replied, and I glanced up to—thankfully—see he was no longer sucking face with Amber and was back to cooking.
“When is he supposed to come?” my dad asked Amber.
“Any minute.”
“Who’s joining us for dinner?” I asked, and he stirred the pot of water, added salt, and put the pasta in before facing me.
