Can't Touch This (Can't Touch This #1)

“Who the hell are you texting?” Fiona craned her neck, trying to see my screen. “You look as if you’re about to pass out from smiling.”

I angled it away. “Not for your innocent eyes, Fi.”

“Ahh, I get it. You’re not texting. You’re sexting.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t talk dirty to Markus.”

She sighed. “Used to before children stole our fun time.”

I gave her a pitying look before reading Vesper’s new message.

Vesper: You have to pass my rigorous exam before you get to kiss me.

Me: What is it with you and tests? Polly made me do one before giving me your phone number.

Vesper: She did, did she?

Me: So…back to the pussy. We aren’t talking about the part of you I want to lick. That upsets me.

Vesper: You, Mr. Carson, are impossible.

Me: Using the last name card, huh? I must’ve affected you with all the pussy and licking talk.

Vesper: Look, enough. I’ve already dealt with my previous results of texting you. I don’t have the energy to do it again. Don’t give my pussy catnip. I can’t handle her in this crazy mood.

I dropped my phone.

Did she just—?

Yes, I think she did.

Scooping the device up and pushing away an eager Bogle with his wriggling butt, I typed: Did you or did you not just admit to one-on-one pleasuring? P.S., I love it when you use the word pussy.

Vesper: Holy shit, how did I type that? Forget it. I blame it on the cold and flu medicine you’re making me take. P.S., I just groaned loudly at your high-school level of maturity.

Me: Now I’m hard and in desperate need of some self-pleasuring of my own. By the way, I bet I could make you groan in other ways.

Vesper: I doubt it.

Me: Is that a challenge?

Fiona interrupted my volley of texts, growing increasingly erotic by the second. “You must really like her.”

My attention snapped up. “What?”

“You’re beaming.” She leaned forward, putting the cap on the eye drops. “Who is it? Do I know her? This is amazing. I didn’t think you’d give anyone in this town a chance. You’re so busy all the time and never pay attention to the women throwing themselves at you.”

“Hold up. Women throw themselves at me?” I looked around conspiratorially, wrapping a hand over my head as if I was in recon. “Where? How come this hasn’t happened and how do I make it so?”

She giggled. “You know what I mean.”

“Lucky for you, I don’t. Because if I did—that would mean I was a pompous asshole.”

She smirked. “Well if the hat fits.”

My phone buzzed.

Vesper: Not a challenge. An absurdity.