Page 22 of Sexting the Pakhan

I set the untouched glass aside and walk toward the bedroom.

Yet?

Her answer appears:Depends what you’d do with younger.

I stop at the foot of the bed.

There it is. Not an accident. Not nervous banter drifting over a line by mistake.

A deliberate step.

I sit down slowly, elbows on my knees, phone in one hand.

You ask that like you want an honest answer,I type.

The dots come back almost instantly.

I do.

My jaw tightens.

I look down at my knuckles, still swollen, a little raw. An hour ago I was beating answers out of a traitor. Now I’m sitting on the edge of my bed getting hard over a woman with no name and too much curiosity.

Life does have a sense of humor after all.

I unbutton the rest of my shirt.

Younger isn’t the interesting part,I write.The interesting part is that you keep making this easier than you should.

No answer.

Then:I can just stop replying to you.

Go ahead, I say.

Bossy. You talk like you already own me.

My cock hardens, sudden and heavy, pressing against my trousers.

I look at the screen for a long moment before I answer:Would you like me to?

The pause stretches.

Not retreat. Anticipation.

Then:Yes.

One word.

How?I ask.

Her reply is slower:I don’t know.

That, more than anything, makes my body tighten.

Not because she’s innocent. She isn’t. Not in the ways that matter. Because she’s honest enough to admit what she wants before she knows the shape of it.

I open my belt.