Secrets of Desire
I was curled on my couch in nothing but the old Harvard tee, the same gray one I’d worn when he messaged me twenty-four hours ago, when the phone buzzed against my bare thigh.
Unknown number:
Put me in your contacts, Kiera.
Name it whatever makes that pretty pussy clench, then send me proof you’re still dripping my cum between your legs.
My hands shook slightly as I saved his contact, “J ” and added the spade emoji.
I spread my thighs on the couch, angled the phone, and took a close-up of swollen lips glistening, with his cum still dripping out slowly on my inner thighs, fresh wetness already leaking at the thought of him.
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