She stood in the doorway of his room, wearing only a crop top and tight little shorts.
In her hand — his phone.
“Did you save the voicemail?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
He smirked. “You said it yourself: ‘Oh my God, I can’t stand it without your tongue… It was a masterpiece…’”
Her eyes widened. “Delete it. Delete it or I’ll forward it to that girl you’re always texting.”
He leaned back in his chair, looking her up and down.
“Let her hear you moan,” he said. “Maybe then she’ll understand why I don’t text her back.”
She blushed — angry, turned on, unsure.
“You’re kidding.”
“I think you’re standing here in those little shorts, threatening to ruin my life…”
He looked her dead in the eye.
“And I honestly don’t know what I want more — for you to leave… or to sit down on me.”
She didn’t answer. She just step closer.
And then slowly sat on his lap.
The voicemail wasn’t the only thing that would make her moan tonight
