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My phone buzzes once more. Looks like he spared me the trouble of figuring out an opening line.
Trouble sleeping? his message reads.
I glance at my bedside clock and my eyes widen. Shit. It’s almost 1am already. When did that happen?
I peer back at the app.
CallMeClove: Eventful night. I’m finding it pretty hard to doze off now, yeah.
AtYourService: Me too. I keep thinking about this beautiful woman who I had to save from a raving madman.
CallMeClove: Sounds exciting. What happened next, did you sweep her off her feet?
AtYourService: Believe me, I wanted to. Sadly, I think she only sees me as an employee. Bodyguard, maybe.
CallMeClove: I find that hard to believe. You seem like you have a lot more than just one side to you, under that uniform.
AtYourService: Trust me, there’s a lot more than you see under this uniform.
CallMeClove: Don’t tease me.
AtYourService: You mean like this?
That last message comes with a photo attached. I recognize the background—wow, our doormen have long shifts. He’s downstairs, in the mail room, which I’ve only ever seen from the other side of the counter. He’s leaning back on a stool, his shirt untucked, his pants hanging loosely on his hips.
I swallow hard.
CallMeClove: Exactly like that.
I hold my breath when I hit send on this. The alarm bells are still ringing in my head, bad idea, bad idea, but it’s late and I’m getting punch drunk on exhaustion, not to mention my hormones are still raging from earlier.
AtYourService: So you don’t want to see what’s underneath?
Another picture comes through. In this one, he’s pulled his shirt up, just far enough to show his washboard abs and the waistband of his boxers. Goddamn. His stomach is flat, rippling, and looks even more delicious close-up than it did in that beach photo. I want to run my hands over those abs. Trace that glorious V-line straight down into those boxers and…
Argh.
CallMeClove: I thought I said don’t tease me…
AtYourService: My bad. In that case, are you allowed to tease me instead? Because I have to admit, I’ve spent all night wondering what was underneath my damsel in distress’s clothes…
I shiver. Cast a glance down at myself. I’m in PJs now, and they’re not exactly sexy. Just a baggy T-shirt and my gym shorts. But my dresser is within reach, and inside it, the lacy lingerie that I reserve for special occasions.
I take a deep breath. What could it hurt? Just one picture. It’s only polite after all. He sent me one first.
I pull off my T-shirt, slip on the lingerie and arrange it so it doesn’t actually show anything—not my face and not anything completely untoward either. The result is sexier than I expected, to be honest. It’s all black lace and a hint of cleavage, and when I hit send, I’m actually not even embarrassed. Because hell yeah, I look hot.
He replies almost instantly. There’s no message this time, just a photo of him standing beside the stool in the mail room now, his boxers on full display. And through them, I can already make out the outline of his hard cock, straining against the fabric. I trace my fingers along my phone screen, and I’m surprised to find a trickle of sweat inching between my breasts. Because goddamn, I want to touch him. Feel that cock with my own hands.
AtYourService: Still want me to quit teasing, naughty girl?
CallMeClove: I might be coming around to it. I’d need one more photo to be sure…
He doesn’t disappoint. I open the next picture with a skip in my breath. Holy hell. He’s huge.
His cock is thick, swollen with lust, and wrapped in his strong fist. To judge by him, they aren’t kidding when they say large hands equal large everything else. He’s glorious, long and curved slightly upward, with thick veins that stand.
More than anything, I want to taste him. Lick along his length, swirl my tongue around the tip of him, then slowly take him into my mouth… Would he even fit?
