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

“That doesn’t mean he’s off the market.”

“Whatever, Ves. Go to bed before I get mad at you.” She laughed. “Sleep well. See you at seven tomorrow.”

She hung up before I could argue.

Not that I would argue. It was past midnight, and we had to be fresh for the Papillon’s sake tomorrow.

I needed to rest.

But that was before Ryder somehow sensed my phone was no longer in use and another message popped into my inbox.

Ryder: I’m hard and thinking about you. My hand wants to help out with my problem, but my imagination is telling me to wait until I have you beneath me again.

Me: Beneath you or on all fours?

My lethargy switched to prickly heat.

Me: Perhaps your cock and your imagination can have what they both want.

Ryder: Oh, I love a problem solver.

Me: What problem would you like to solve? I’m here to please.

Ryder: How about the hard pressing issue currently in my fist?

Me: Oh dear, it sounds rather drastic. I would recommend studiously relieving the pressing issue.

Ryder: And what should my imagination be doing?

Me: Picturing me naked and my mouth inching closer and closer to your pressing issue.

Ryder: Jesus, woman.

Me: Even swearing on messenger is hot when I know what you’re doing to yourself.

Ryder: How do you know? Do you have cameras in my home?

Me: I can imagine. I’m picturing you naked on your bed with your cock in your hand and sexy face all scrunched up as you jerk.

Ryder: Nailed it. Want to come around and see the real thing?

Me: No.

Ryder: Why not?

Me: Because I’m elsewise engaged in my own pressing problem.

I bit my lip, unashamedly stroking the wetness he’d conjured. I could’ve said I had an early work appointment (which was true) or been coy about sexting, but this was too much fun and I’d promised myself to have fun from now on.

Ryder: Thanks for that.

Me: Thanks for what?

Ryder: My pressing problem is sorted.

Me: Just the thought of touching myself got you, huh?

Ryder: Just the thought? Ves, just the memory of you makes me so fucking hard. Just the replay of our time together makes me ache in so many places. You’ve ruined me and now I have to sleep to get over this fact.