The shuffle of fabric overhead makes me wonder if I’m not the only one. Grabbing my phone from its charger, I pull up my text messenger.
Me: Can’t sleep. You up?
Leighton: Yeah, I’m awake. Why can’t you sleep? Everything okay?
Me: I’m good. More than good. I can’t stop thinking about your mouth.
Leighton: Please continue . . .
Am I doing this?My face heats with my naughty and inappropriate thoughts. Thank God we’re in different bunks and he can’t see me. Actually, it’s perfect. I never thought I’d be the girl to sext her man, but with Leighton this feels safe. And after making out for the last hour, my panties are soaked and my center pulsing with an unmet need. I’m feeling all sorts of bold.
Me: I got so turned on tonight kissing you. You’re really good with your mouth.
Leighton: I love kissing you.
Me: I’m imagining you going down on me. Right now.
A bang, like that of a limb against the bus wall sounds, and follows with a curse. “Fuck.”
Me: Are you okay up there?
Leighton: No. I’m reviewing my old geometry notes to see whether it’s possible for us to both fit in your bunk.
I fight to hold in a giggle.
Me: That so?
Leighton: No, you just surprised me.
Me: Good surprise?
Leighton: Very. Tell me more. I believe you were about to touch that pretty pussy.
My body feels hot all over. With a little reconfiguration of my legs I slide my left hand under the waistband of my shorts. My fingers scrape the outside of my panties, but my body begs for more pressure. I dip my fingers beneath my underwear and rub circles around my clit and the bundle of nerves ready to explode.
Me: Done. Next?
The little bubbles come up and disappear several times over before his next message comes through.
Leighton: That’s hot. Hotter than hot. Please tell me you’re really touching yourself and not fucking with me.
My texting speed is dramatically slower with only one hand, but I don’t think he minds. I imagine my fingers are his, that he’s touching my wet, sensitive center, and it elevates my arousal.
Me: The only fucking I want to do is with you.
My cheeks heat. Was that too much? I have to fight back the shame that threatens to steal everything good about this moment.
Leighton: I want to touch you. Taste you. Make you come with my mouth.
Me: Yeah? I’m so wet.
Leighton: I’m stroking myself thinking about it.
My pulse speeds with the visual. My heart hammers in my chest so hard I’m surprised no one can hear. He doesn’t even wait for me to reply.
Leighton: Keep touching yourself. Get yourself off. Let’s come together.
Yes. I bite my lip so I won’t groan. Dropping the phone, I press my head back into my pillow with my eyes clenched shut and slide my other hand beneath my waistband. The thought of him doing the same right above me is inescapably erotic. The shuffle of fabric coming from his bunk spurs my fingers faster as they circle my clit. I’ve done this before, but never with a partner knowing, and somehow it’s more intense. Intimate.
