Mr Wrong Number Novels & Stories

You still want me in your bed tonight, Daddy? I read it twice. Then again. It was obviously a mistake. Wrong number, maybe. Or a prank. But even through the glow of my screen, the message sent a pulse straight to my dick. There was no punctuation, just breath. Like it was whispered. My thumb hovered. I should’ve ignored it. But boredom makes you bold. Me:Wrong number. Me: …Unless you’re offering. It was stupid. A throwaway tease. The kind of thing you send to get a laugh and move on with your day. I didn’t expect a reply. Definitely didn’t expect the beat of silence that followed to drag, like whoever was on the other end was actually thinking.

Tan🌗 🏒: 😂😂😂 Ro🐺: 8036733022, my phone number Tan🌗 🏒: 8033504895, mine as well Ro🐺: saved Tan🌗 🏒: same here Ro🐺: goddess, texting you is so awkward. Tan🌗 🏒: I don't think it's awkward at all, I am enjoying it. Ro🐺: yeah, because you are obsessed with me. Tan🌗 🏒: yes and I wish I had smuggled you out with me back to my pack.

the stranger asks. My blood heats up. His voice sounds like he could talk me through an orgasm, soothingly pulling me over the edge. I am overwhelmed by an immediate desire to hear him whimpering my name in my ears as he nuts all over me. “Get out of here,” Mr. Green barks. With his jacket off, the hot stranger balls his fists. I notice the customized giant ring on his right hand with the letter Z as he storms up to Mr. Green and lands one punch on his nose.

She rushed to the reception desk and quickly pulled out her phone. “Excuse me.” She turned the screen toward the receptionist. “Have you seen this man?” The receptionist glanced at the photo and nodded. “Yes. He went upstairs with a woman.” Karina's stomach dropped. “What room?” “Sorry, ma’am. I can’t disclose that information.” “It’s urgent,” Karina pleaded desperately. The receptionist hesitated before leaning closer. “Room 56A,” she whispered. “I didn’t tell you anything. I’m not trying to get fired.”

That shouldn’t have been possible, and yet it sat in front of me like something undeniable, something no explanation or time could soften anymore. My fingers curled slightly at my side, not in anger, but in something quieter, more contained—like my entire reaction had been pulled inward instead of outward. “What did you do when you noticed it?” I asked. Mr. Pitt let out a slow breath before answering, his voice heavier than before. “I contacted Alpha Adrien, to tell him there was a mistake in the result provided, but he never answered my calls.” “So you stayed silent,” I said quietly, the words not rising as a question but settling as fact.

Mr Yang said in a rush and Kris rushed back to his desk and took a small paper that he placed underneath his keyboard on his desk. “Here's the number Mr De Luan,” Kris handed me the paper and I looked at the number. My eyes peered widely in shock as I keenly scanned and surveyed the number. The order of the digits carefully. Fuck! It couldn't be! It couldn't be! Hell no! Don't tell me I was fucked up! Mr Yang must have caught my shock and asked. “Do you recognize the number Mr De Luan?”

Sherman became impatient, "Mr. Wright must be very busy. Since he did not pick up your phone, he will not pick up my phone." "I have no special relationship with Mr. Wright, so it's normal for him to refuse to pick up my phone." The manager said. She refuted, "There is no special relationship between Mr. Wright and me, so he will not pick my phone up, either." Under the manager's monitoring, she made a call, but the number was not the same as the one she had saved before. It should be the office number. After a few seconds, no one answered the phone, and she was happy about this. when she was about to hang up, Kingsley picked up the phone and his voice was very magnetic, "Hello ..."

The announcer steps into the circle that’s drawn on to the ground. “Here we have on the left-Hand Contestant Jordan and to my right-hand side Contestant Nero.” The guy waves both of them into the circle standing opposite they both just nod at each other as they are ready to shift into their Wolf forms.

“I tried texting you, but it said it was undeliverable.” Argh. “That’s odd,” I tried. “You sure you gave me the right number?” “Um.” This was it. I needed to tell her. I’d hoped we might get through a glass of wine first, but here it was, the moment of truth. “So that’s the thing, El. I did give you the wrong number.” “I figured,” she laughed, interrupting me. “I do that all the time— transpose numbers, you know? You would think it would make for a bad accountant, but I actually think knowing I do that makes me pay closer attention.”