I swallow hard and find myself wishing that my phone had a higher resolution display. I’d like to zoom in on this photo, see exactly where that V is pointing, if you can see the outline of him through those trunks…
I shake myself. Tap back on his profile page.
“The only people for me are the mad ones.”
I grin. Okay, sure, maybe an On the Road quote is a little bit cliché, but there’s something almost adorable about it here.
Plus, he reads. That’s a bonus.
And, I have to laugh at his username. AtYourService. Fitting for a doorman.
I hesitate, finger hovering over the screen. I remember the stern talking-to I gave myself in the lobby earlier tonight. This is a bad idea.
But I rarely ever listen to myself. Especially not when confronted with a guy like Zayne. So I slide my thumb right, and hit yes on him.
My phone buzzes almost immediately.
You have a new match!
He already swiped right on me too.
I lick my lips. Open the chat window that’s popped up. My fingers hover over the keys. What do I say? Thanks again for saving my ass tonight? You look better without the uniform?
Then again, he looks pretty damn good in the uniform, too.
My phone buzzes once more. Looks like he spared me the trouble of figuring out an opening line.
Trouble sleeping? his message reads.
I glance at my bedside clock and my eyes widen. Shit. It’s almost 1am already. When did that happen?
I peer back at the app.
CallMeClove: Eventful night. I’m finding it pretty hard to doze off now, yeah.
AtYourService: Me too. I keep thinking about this beautiful woman who I had to save from a raving madman.
CallMeClove: Sounds exciting. What happened next, did you sweep her off her feet?
AtYourService: Believe me, I wanted to. Sadly, I think she only sees me as an employee. Bodyguard, maybe.
CallMeClove: I find that hard to believe. You seem like you have a lot more than just one side to you, under that uniform.
AtYourService: Trust me, there’s a lot more than you see under this uniform.
CallMeClove: Don’t tease me.
AtYourService: You mean like this?
That last message comes with a photo attached. I recognize the background—wow, our doormen have long shifts. He’s downstairs, in the mail room, which I’ve only ever seen from the other side of the counter. He’s leaning back on a stool, his shirt untucked, his pants hanging loosely on his hips.
I swallow hard.
CallMeClove: Exactly like that.
I hold my breath when I hit send on this. The alarm bells are still ringing in my head, bad idea, bad idea, but it’s late and I’m getting punch drunk on exhaustion, not to mention my hormones are still raging from earlier.
AtYourService: So you don’t want to see what’s underneath?
Another picture comes through. In this one, he’s pulled his shirt up, just far enough to show his washboard abs and the waistband of his boxers. Goddamn. His stomach is flat, rippling, and looks even more delicious close-up than it did in that beach photo. I want to run my hands over those abs. Trace that glorious V-line straight down into those boxers and…
Argh.
CallMeClove: I thought I said don’t tease me…
AtYourService: My bad. In that case, are you allowed to tease me instead? Because I have to admit, I’ve spent all night wondering what was underneath my damsel in distress’s clothes…
I shiver. Cast a glance down at myself. I’m in PJs now, and they’re not exactly sexy. Just a baggy T-shirt and my gym shorts. But my dresser is within reach, and inside it, the lacy lingerie that I reserve for special occasions.
I take a deep breath. What could it hurt? Just one picture. It’s only polite after all. He sent me one first.
I pull off my T-shirt, slip on the lingerie and arrange it so it doesn’t actually show anything—not my face and not anything completely untoward either. The result is sexier than I expected, to be honest. It’s all black lace and a hint of cleavage, and when I hit send, I’m actually not even embarrassed. Because hell yeah, I look hot.
He replies almost instantly. There’s no message this time, just a photo of him standing beside the stool in the mail room now, his boxers on full display. And through them, I can already make out the outline of his hard cock, straining against the fabric. I trace my fingers along my phone screen, and I’m surprised to find a trickle of sweat inching between my breasts. Because goddamn, I want to touch him. Feel that cock with my own hands.
AtYourService: Still want me to quit teasing, naughty girl?
CallMeClove: I might be coming around to it. I’d need one more photo to be sure…
He doesn’t disappoint. I open the next picture with a skip in my breath. Holy hell. He’s huge.
His cock is thick, swollen with lust, and wrapped in his strong fist. To judge by him, they aren’t kidding when they say large hands equal large everything else. He’s glorious, long and curved slightly upward, with thick veins that stand.
More than anything, I want to taste him. Lick along his length, swirl my tongue around the tip of him, then slowly take him into my mouth… Would he even fit?
I want to find out.
CallMeClove: Should you be undressing like this at work? Seems very unprofessional of you.
AtYourService: Going to lodge a complaint? ;)
CallMeClove: Oh, definitely not.
AtYourService: That’s good. Because it’s your fault, you know.
CallMeClove: My fault? How so? I am perfectly innocent here.
AtYourService: That lacy nightgown says otherwise. And now you’ve gone and made me rock-hard just thinking about peeling it off of you…
CallMeClove: Well, you’re the one who started it. Now I’m getting wet just looking at how hard you are.
AtYourService: Definitely seems like you’re the one doing the teasing. Because now I’m thinking about spreading your thighs and tasting exactly how wet you are. I bet you have a tight little pussy, don’t you, naughty girl?
I slide my hand under the covers. Touch myself as I respond one-handed.
CallMeClove: So tight. I wonder if your thick cock would fit inside me…
AtYourService: I’d go nice and slow. Lick you until you couldn’t stand it anymore, until you were begging for me, and then I’d push into you slowly, an inch at a time…
I spread my pussy lips and swirl my finger through the thick juices accumulating there, all the while imagining it’s him. His finger, his strong, capable hand down my panties. My hand trembles as I type out my reply.
CallMeClove: I’d be so tight and hot and wet around you, and when you finally slid all the way inside me, I’d wrap my legs around your waist, let you fuck me however you want.
AtYourService: I’d fuck you all night, Clove. Every way you want. Hard and rough enough that you wouldn’t be able to walk straight the next day.
CallMeClove: Fuck yes, Zayne. That’s what I want you to do to me.
I barely manage to finish typing the last sentence. I’m too concentrated on my pussy, sliding my fingers in and out of myself, while I press down hard on my clit with the heel of my hand, rubbing it at the same time.
AtYourService: I’m fisting my cock right now, thinking about you. Are you touching yourself? Please tell me you’re touching that sweet little pussy of yours, Clove.
That reply is enough to send me over the edge. My body shakes as I come, and I let out a faint cry, alone in the darkness of my apartment.
But now that I have, and the hormones still continue to rage, as frustrated as I am, I grimace. What am I doing? Exactly what I promised myself I shouldn’t.
Seeing my name on the screen next to his makes me realize just what a terrible idea this is. I love this apartment. It’s my home. I can’t risk it for a fling, even if it is with a hottie like Zayne.
CallMeClove: I have to go. I’m sorry.
I log out of the app before I can give into temptation any more. When I roll over to shut off my light, I squint at the time and grimace even harder. Shit. Past two in the morning.
Tomorrow is going to be a very long day.