Look who’s texting me this morning.
I sit up abruptly, a stupidly large grin on my face, as I scroll through the text. Just Dominic wishing me a good morning, and asking me what I’m going to be doing later today.
It was only yesterday that we snuck out of the Carlyle Hotel and back to our own homes, after a bout of morning sex that was sublime. I had to work back to backs, yesterday evening and then again early this morning, and I should be exhausted.
I was exhausted…three minutes ago. Now I’m just grinning like an idiot.
I bite my lip in hesitation. I could be a good girl and just tell him that I’m going to be getting off work and spending the evening catching up on my bills…
Or I could be a very naughty, naughty girl and tell him that I’m going to be getting off work and spending the evening sucking his dick.
I glance up at the utilitarian clock on the wall in the staff break room at the New York Presbyterian Hospital. Five minutes left. What to do…
My fingers hesitate over the screen for just a moment and then I type it, the dirtiest text I’ve ever written in my life:
I’m getting off work at three and then I was going to see if my stepdaddy will meet me at his house, so we can fuck like rabbits.
Send.
Okay, so maybe that isn’t OTT for some people, but it is for me. Roger wasn’t much of a dirty talker in bed (which apparently was because I didn’t have the right body parts for his tastes) and I was with him for so long, I’ve forgotten what it was like to date anyone else. I had a couple of boyfriends in high school, but boys that age just don’t have enough confidence to talk dirty to their girlfriends.
Hopefully something that isn’t true about older guys.
I hold my breath, waiting for a reply. Hurry, hurry, I have a catheter to become best friends with in approximately 45 seconds…
Finally, finally, a response.
Do you always fuck your stepdaddy? You sound like a naughty little girl who needs to be spanked.
I turn off my phone and sit back with a gasp, staring at the blank screen sightlessly.
Okay, so, it turns out, older men do know how to dirty talk.
I can feel my panties getting wetter by the moment as I imagine what, exactly, Dominic’s text means. I push the cheap mauve chair away from the table, throw my empty yogurt container into the trash, and shove my phone into my pocket.
I can do this. I can so do th
is. I can operate on patients and insert catheters and lots of other very interesting medical procedures without killing anyone, even though the chances of my brain being focused on what I’m doing is going to be about 0.00341 percent.
Totally.
I feel my phone buzz in my pocket as I head down to the operating room to wash up. With a guilty look around me, I slide my phone out of my pocket to take a quick peek. I’m not supposed to be texting while on the clock, but I’m not actually texting, right? I’m reading. That’s totally different.
I roll my eyes at my own splitting of hairs and then eagerly skim down the lock screen.
Do you want to be treated like a naughty girl at your place, or at mine?
Ummmm … uhhhh…
What a choice. I swipe the phone open and quickly text back, “Yours,” then shut it off and drop it into my pocket again. It’s time to get to work.
I can feel my phone vibrating in my pocket over the next hour as I move around the hospital, checking on patients. I want nothing more than to pull my phone out, or put it further into my scrubs, right up against my clit.
Oh my God, now that is a naughty thought. Using my phone as a vibrator?
I finally get five minutes to myself to slip into the bathroom, and I eagerly pull out my phone to read over my messages. I lean against the bathroom stall wall, my heart going a million miles a minute.
While you’re at work, waiting to come here to be spanked like you deserve, I want you to sneak into a private place—your office, a bathroom, a broom closet—and finger yourself.