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"Look at me," he demands, and when our eyes lock, something profound passes between us that transcends the physical act. My inner muscles clamp down on him as another climax builds, stronger than the first.
"Come for me wife," he whispers, reaching between us to circle his thumb against my swollen clit. I shatter around him, crying out his name as waves of pleasure pulse through every nerve ending. He follows seconds later, his body tensing as he empties himself inside me with a guttural groan.
I look over at his night stand, and notice that Roman framed our first ‘accidental’ text:
While you're out finding someone who “pushes your boundaries,” I'll be busy getting bent over kitchen counters and coming so hard I forget my own name. You want to know what “predictable” looks like? It's the way you're going to wish you were the one pinning me against bedroom walls and hearing me beg for more.- Cassie
Beside it, Roman’s reply:
Wrong number, sweetheart. But whoever Camden is, he's clearly an idiot. Also—impressive fantasies. Do tell me more about these kitchen counters and the wall sex scenario. And thanks for the preview, by the way. That dress does incredible things for your tits.- R
Roman follows my gaze and smiles. "Best wrong number in history."
I curl against him, content and complete. "Who knew a typo could change your life?"
"Our lives," he corrects, pressing a kiss to my temple. "And it wasn't a mistake. It was destiny."
"Since when do you believe in destiny, Mr. Pragmatic CEO?"
His arms tighten around me. "Since you. Since us." His voice drops to a whisper against my ear: "Keep texting the wrong number forever, sweetheart."
I smile against his chest, already drifting toward sleep. "Promise."
As consciousness begins to fade, my phone buzzes once more. Roman reaches for it, chuckling as he reads the screen.
"What is it?" I mumble, already half-asleep.
"Text from an unknown number," he says, a note of wonder in his voice. "Addressed to both of us."
My eyes flutter open, curiosity temporarily overcoming exhaustion. "What does it say?"
Roman shows me the screen, the message simple but somehow laden with possibility:
Congratulations on your wedding. Some wrong numbers lead to the right beginnings. Others lead to new chapters. Ready for your next adventure? -G
"Who's G?" I ask, suddenly wide awake.
Roman shakes his head, equally perplexed. "I have no idea."
We stare at the message, the echo of how our own story began sending a shiver of anticipation through me. As Roman's eyes meet mine, I can see he feels it too—the sense that another adventure might be waiting for us, just a text message away.
The End