A shiver runs through me.
Me: That’s unfair.
Ethan: Life usually is.
Another message follows.
Ethan: Now tell me what you’d say if you weren’t afraid?
I stare at the screen as my heart runs a million a minute.
Me: I’d say I think about you more than I should.
The dots appear instantly.
Ethan: How often?
My breath catches.
Me: Every time you say my name.
Ethan: Every time I look at you?
I hesitate, then type.
Me: Yes.
A pause.
Ethan: Good.
That word again.
Ethan: Because I think about you when I shouldn’t, too.
My body reacts like he’s physically touched me, like he’s holding my face in his hands.
Me: You’re lying.
Ethan: I don’t lie.
Me: Then what you’re saying is dangerous.
Ethan: So are you. So here’s the truth, baby girl—if you were in front of me looking like that, I wouldn’t wait. I’d pin you down and bury myself so deep inside you, you wouldn’t remember your own name. You’d take every inch while I held you there, grinding slow, fucking hard, growling in your ear how you’re mine. The question is, is that what you’d want?
A shudder racks through me, his words slicing into my core like a blade of heat. I can hear that deep, gravelly voice, thickwith possession, as if he’s right here pinning me to the bed. My fingers tremble over the screen.
And then, in that moment, the final sip of wine makes me type the unthinkable.
Me: Yes.
The screen lights up again.
Ethan:Take off your bra.
My breath catches. Notdo you want to,it’stake it off.
And I do. I reach under my shirt and unhook it, slow and careful, like he can see me through the screen. The weight of my breasts shifts and the soft scrape of the fabric sliding off makes my skin feel hypersensitive.