The Pact (Winslow Brothers 2)

A breath gets caught in my lungs, and I open and close my mouth several times in an attempt to form words. What the hell? Is he…is he sexting me?

“I can’t be sure…but…are you sexting me?”

“You want it to look real, right?”

Numbly, I nod, the words on the screen still burning into my eyes.

“I’m expecting a response,” he adds.

Okay, Daisy, you said you wanted this. Well, the ball is officially in your court…

I’ve never sexted with anyone in my life. Kind of sad, I’m sure, but true—I am a sexting virgin.

Maybe the only sexting virgin left on the planet at this point in the modern-technology age.

Don’t make a big thing out of it, Daisy. Just…sext him back.

I glance down at my clothes, and when I see that I’m still in the skirt and blouse I put on for work this morning, I decide that this isn’t nearly sexy enough for this conversation. And before I know it, I’m stripping out of my work clothes until I’m left wearing something that feels appropriate for the sexting cause.

An imaginary notification bings dramatically in my head: Libido has entered the chat.

New York

Flynn

Daisy: Your favorite white lace panties and a tank top.

If this conversation weren’t intended for fake purposes, those words would probably make me hard.

Me: Fuck, I want to taste you. I’m about ten seconds away from hopping on a plane to LA…

“Holy moly, that was really good,” Daisy whispers, almost like USCIS has our apartments bugged or some shit, and I have to work not to laugh audibly over the open line. “Like, really good. I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Simple. Say whatever you think the Daisy who’s in love with her husband would say.”

“Okay…” she whispers, and when it sounds like her fingers are tapping across the screen of her phone, I wait patiently for her response. I’m just about to pull the phone away from my ear to look when she shouts, “Oh no! Oh my God! I didn’t want to send that! Ignore that one! Don’t look at that one!”

It’s too late, though; the text is already on the screen of my phone before she can stop it.

Daisy: I want to see your big penis.

When I read her response, I have to bite my lip over how fucking adorable and awkward it is. Almost as good as telling me I could call her while I’m rocking out with my cock out.

But also, that message, oddly enough, made you hard.

Me: If I were with you right now, where would you want my big cock? Between your pretty lips or inside your wet cunt?

Her breath hitches. But to my pleasant surprise, instead of dissolving into another hysterical spiral, she sends another message through.

Daisy: Both

Me: I need you to do something for me right now, babe.

Daisy: What?

Me: Slide your hand down your belly, beneath your panties, and push one finger inside your cunt so you can tell me how wet you are.

She moans a little into the phone, and my cock jerks.

Daisy: Wetter than the first night you fucked me on your kitchen counter.

Fuck me. The visual is immediate and potent. I couldn’t forget that night if I tried. Every moment, every memory, like how tight and perfect Daisy felt wrapped around my cock and how damn mesmerizing she looked when she came, is available for instantaneous recall.

Me: Pump your finger in and out of your perfect cunt. And each time you slide it out and back in, I want you to pretend it’s my cock filling you up.

Her soft moan bounces from the speaker, and my cock twitches beneath my boxer briefs.

I imagine her hips shifting to accommodate me as she works herself, and a throbbing ache starts to form below my stomach.

Okay, yeah, the soldier is officially at full attention.

And our pretend messages don’t feel at all pretend anymore. The drive to make her come is intense and overwhelming, and I know without a shadow of a doubt, I won’t be able to sleep without hearing it.

In the interest of keeping both of our hands free, I click my call over to speakerphone and lay the phone on the bed next to me.

“Your pussy is a perfect fit around my cock, Daisy,” I say, reaching into my boxer briefs to stroke myself lazily.

Her breath catches on my name, and I swear, all I need is one word to know all the things she’s thinking. Pleasure, excitement…panic over the fact that I’m switching up the carefully crafted plan from messaging to outright phone sex.

“Are you wet enough that my cock will melt, baby?” I ask roughly, wishing like fuck that I could feel the juice of her perfect pussy rather than the dryness of my hand.

“Oh yeah,” she hums, her words shifting from a moan to a groan. “Mm-hmm.”