I’m halfway through wrestling my way back into the dress, one eye still on the clock above my bed—an hour to go, and just a half an hour drive to the event space with no traffic, I should make it in plenty of time—when my phone buzzes. I spare it a single, distracted glance, expecting it to be Jayne, updating me on the progress of her own event. She was supposed to be running a birthday party for some billionaire’s daughter at the top of a skyscraper downtown, in a helipad he’d rented for the night and turned into his own private event space.

To say I’m a little jealous would be a massive understatement. The event I’m getting ready for is in a mall food court. Though at least I hear a rumor there’ll be a rented ball pit.

Some people have all the luck.

But to my surprise, the name that appears on my phone isn’t Jayne’s. No, it’s another name, one that makes my stomach clench in anticipation.

Killian.

I take a deep breath and, before I can think better of it, snatch up my phone and open the message.

I can’t stop thinking about you.

I lick my lips and hesitate, glancing at myself in the mirror. My cheeks are already flushed. With my dress half-undone, it’s easy to picture myself as he must have seen me last night, naked and prone before him when he laid me down on his bed.

Thinking what, exactly? I reply after only a moment’s hesitation.

About all the things I wish I could do to you.

I bite my lower lip and sit down on my bed in a cloud of tulle, forgetting getting dressed altogether for the time being. You’re going to need to be a little more specific.

It takes him a moment to type out his reply this time. When it comes, it’s not just my face that feels flushed anymore. My whole body has gone hot with anticipation. Well, first, I’d kiss you as I peeled you out of whatever you’re wearing. … What are you wearing right now, Tilly?

I pull up the top of my gown, just far enough to cover my breasts, and snap a quick selfie in the mirror, smirking in the photo. Just a princess getting ready for another of her famous parties, I caption it, with a winking face. But I could be persuaded to take a little longer to get ready…

The first thing this particular knight would do, then, would be to undo the princess’s corset… one… lace… at a time… before I knelt to tug the whole thing down your hips, until I could kiss your smooth, bare stomach… Tracing your navel with my tongue.

My breath hitches in my throat. This seems a little unfair. Don’t I get to see what you’re wearing, Knight?

A moment later, his reply comes, and I catch my breath again. He’s standing in what appears to be a real bedroom, not the guesthouse he took me to last night. He’s wearing a dress shirt and a loosened tie, but the shirt is completely unbuttoned over his suit pants, which are half undone themselves. I’m afforded a perfect view of his sculpted chest and washboard abs. Not to mention that sexy, to-die-for V-cut of his muscles arching over his hips to point directly toward the dark happy trail there. I want to run my hands over his muscles, trace every inch of that V, follow it to its destination.

My heart beats faster as I tap out a reply. Not bad, I say. I’d keep the tie, but lose the shirt. And the pants.

His response is another photo, this time of him completely shirtless, and his pants gone. He’s just down to boxers now. Well. Boxers, and the tie still dangling around his neck. I notice him typing and wait.

I’d use my tie to wrap around your wrists. Pin you back against the bed before I finished pulling your skirts the rest of the way off.

And then what, once you have me at your mercy? I reply with a winking face.

Well, first I’d take a moment to admire the view, he responds, and my heart speeds up.

After a moment’s consideration, and a glance in the mirror, I slip the dress off further. I’ve sent dirty pics before, but somehow this makes my heart beat faster than ever. Because I can picture Killian on the other end of the phone. The way those steady, steely gray eyes of his will be waiting to devour whatever pic I send his way. He looked at me last night like he could devour me whole, and it was sexy as fuck to see on his face that he wanted me as much as I want him. Now I feel that flutter in my stomach again, just remembering how he touched me, kissed me, fucked me like he’d never be able to get enough of me.

So I slide the dress off, then reposition myself on the bed, the dress strategically draped to just barely cover my breasts, then leave the rest of my body exposed down to my hips, where another puff of tulle hides just as much as I want to. I snap another photo, and send that to Killian with another caption. Hope you like what you see enough for a round two.

I lie there watching him type, my heart in my throat. Why is he affecting me like this? Normally sexting doesn’t get me all hot and bothered. And normally I don’t care what guys think about the sexy pics I send—if they don’t like it, then it’s their loss. On to the next guy.

This time, for some reason, I want to know. No, more than that. I can’t wait. I practically hold my breath until his reply appears, quick enough that I know he’s as invested in this as I am, at least.

Believe me, I’ve thought of nothing else all morning. I want to be where that dress is, right between your thighs. I want to lick you, taste you, savor your sweet scent as I listen to you moan and scream my name again and again…

I swallow hard, my heart racing. But I type out a reply all the same. Not fair. Last time you stopped me before I could really have my fill of you.

Thirsty, aren’t we? This time I’ll let you swallow, dirty girl. As long as you behave.

I remember the way his cock felt in my mouth, the way he gripped my hair when he started to lose control, and fucked my face with abandon, nearly making me gag—but I loved the sensation, the knowledge that he was losing his grip because of me. I want to drive him wild like that again. Still… And if I don’t behave?

Well, then I’d have to think about spanking that perfect little ass of yours.

I shiver in anticipation. Damn, you do know how to give a girl hard choices.

Only fair, after you left me so rock hard this morning I had to fist myself in the shower thinking about you.

My hand inches between my legs. I can already feel myself growing wet at the mental image of him naked in the shower, the water pouring over that sculpted body of his as he wraps a fist around his thick cock, thinking about me as he strokes himself. What did you picture in this shower of yours?

I pictured you pinned against the wall beside me. Soapy and naked with those long legs of yours wrapped around my waist. And then I pictured how I’d lift you up, hold you there as I pushed my cock inside your tight little pussy again.

My hand reaches my mound, slides over it to my pussy, and I find myself already wet, just from reading his words. I stroke a finger along my slit, imagining it’s his hand touching me, his thick fingers parting my pussy lips the way he did when he stroked me last night. I shut my eyes, and I can almost smell his scent again, taste the salty musk flavor of his skin on my lips.

Are you touching yourself now, thinking of me? His message comes a moment later, and I catch my breath at how well he knows the effect he has, even without my saying a word.

Yes, I type out with my wrong hand, slowly, as I slide my index finger into my pussy.

Keep doing it, he says, and even over text I can practically hear the command in his voice. Another message arrives an instant later. Use two fingers.

I add a second finger to my pussy and gasp faintly, feeling myself tighten around the two digits. I am, I reply, though typing is getting harder, as I start to stroke myself faster, sliding my fingers in and out.

Three, he answers, after a few seconds, enough time for me to start to build up a rhythm. I slide a third finger into myself, as he says. I don’t even bother replying. He seems to know I don’t have the concentration for it. A few moments pass, and I’m just rolling back on the bed to adjust and give myself a better position when my phone lights up once more.

Fuck yourself faster, Tilly. Picture my cock inside you, where your fingers are now.

I obey. I shut my eyes and imagine it’s him inside me, filling me, stretching my walls as he lifts my hips and drives into me again and again. I thrust my fingers into my pussy, back and forth, easily, since I’m soaking wet now. After a few moments, I lower my thumb to press gently against my clit with each thrust. Before long, I’m at the brink, gasping.

I want you to come for me, Tilly. I just manage to glance at my phone, read his words, before the climax hits.

I cry out as the orgasm sweeps through me, making my pussy contract around my fingers and a pleasant, tingling warmth shoot through my whole body. When I pull my hand out, I sink back against the bed, my fingers soaked, my body feeling warm and buzzing. But despite the orgasm, despite the image in my head of Killian on top of me, it still doesn’t compare to the real thing.

I want him.

No. I need to have him again. I roll over to watch the little typing icon on my screen, and wait with my breath held, my heart still racing from that climax, until he responds once more.

I need to see you tonight.

I swear it’s like this man can read my mind sometimes. Yes, I reply.

Are you working? Can I pick you up?

I hesitate, biting my lower lip. All at once, reality slaps back into place. Fuck. Working. Yes. I’m supposed to be working—right now in fact. I glance at the clock on my phone and fling myself off the bed, cursing. I race into my bathroom and quickly wash up, then sprint back into my bedroom to tug on my dress, one eye on the clock over the door the whole time. I was doing so well—I had a few minutes to kill. Now there’s no way I’m not going to be late to the event I’m supposed to be running.

Shit shit shit. This is what I get for letting myself get distracted by Killian. My boss just told me this morning that she was pleased with me, and planning to help me out with my book stuff, and this is how I thank her? By blowing off my job to sext with the guy I met yesterday—the guy I met while working for her on a gig?

Dammit.

I finish lacing up my dress, then grab my car keys and stuff them into my purse, barely glancing in the mirror. I’ll have to apply my makeup in the car.

Only then, as I’m about to sprint out the door, do I remember the last message on my phone. Can I pick you up? he asked. It’s still sitting there, waiting on Read, for me to reply.

I swallow hard and take a deep breath. But somehow, even with my impending lateness and the trouble I’m going to be in if my boss gets wind of my being tardy, I can’t bring myself to stop the way my heart races, or the way my stomach clenches in anticipation of seeing him again.

Yes, I answer, and then, without another word, figuring we can plan more later, I stuff my phone into my purse and race out the door.