I rolled my eyes as I read the text from Dante.
I arrived less than fifteen minutes ago.
Did that answer my question?
No, I’m not fucking done yet.
What sort of old lady doesn’t take care of her man when he’s suffering?
It’s a self-inflicted suffering. Grow up.
You’re very needy when you’re hungover. It’s your most unattractive quality.
Your sarcasm is your most unattractive quality, and that rears its ugly head much more frequently than my hangovers.
You love my sarcasm. What you actually hate is your own ability to match it. You’re projecting. Again. Keep your insecurities to yourself.
That felt unnecessary. Did I mention I’m suffering?
I laughed out loud.
Did I mention I was suffering in bed? If you were here, you’d be able to join me.
I was in the middle of replying when a text came through, and sweet baby Jesus, all logical thoughts left my brain when I looked at it.
Dante had sent me a picture, and who fucking knew he was a master of the thirst traps.
He was naked but had pulled the sheet up to cover his lower half, leaving only the V of his hipbones disappearing under the sheet, pointing to my prize. His hand was under the sheet, and the photo cut off in the middle of the very sizable bulge at the bottom.
His other arm was thrown lazily over his head, his muscles bulging, the tattoos covering his arms and chest beckoning me to trace them with my tongue.
You don’t look like you’re suffering, Mr King.
Oh, that’s the first time you’ve ever said my name. Say it again.
My breath hitched in my throat. Why was that so fucking sexy? I knew the mood he was in, and knowing he liked it when I called him by his full name sent a thrill straight through me. I clenched my legs as I began to throb and fired off a reply.
Go and get your kicks elsewhere. I’m busy.
Say it again.
I grinned widely and then looked around to make sure no one was watching me all but salivating over my phone.
No.
Do you know what happens to bad, bratty women who don’t know how to behave?
Do you know what happens to men who issue threats they can’t deliver on?
Say it again.
Make me.
Are you challenging me, Miss Brooks?
Yes, fucking please!
Do your worst Mr… Dante.
