Page 5 of Sin in My Inbox (Sexting Spark #1)

Avery

Unknown Number: show me more. what's under that dress

My face went up in flames the second I read his reply. Holy shit. I'd sent that first photo on a whim, just a tease, but this guy? He was hooked, and his blunt demands were hitting me harder than I expected.

Him: ur body.

Another message, even bolder, popped up right after.

And here's the weird part—I wasn't pissed.

Not even a little. Instead, this twisted, electric thrill shot through me, buzzing from my fingertips to my toes.

Someone wanted to see me. All of me. That thought made me want to crawl under a rock from embarrassment, but at the same time, it had me hooked, like some kind of forbidden high.

He doesn't know who I am. That fake layer of anonymity gave me a reckless kind of courage I'd never felt before.

Screw it. Before my brain could catch up with my body—or my regrets could kick in—I grabbed my phone.

I tugged the hem of my nightgown higher, angling the camera to capture the bare skin at the tops of my thighs and the black lace panties clinging to that sensitive spot between my legs.

Click. Sent.

His reply came so fast it was like he'd been glued to his screen, waiting for me to give in.

Him: damn, good girl. now spread those legs, slide ur hand in there, and part those soft folds. touch urself for me

My whole body lit up like a match had been struck. He wanted me to… what? Get myself off right here? I glanced around the plush private room. Just me. Door locked. Not a sound from outside.

Some wild, primal urge took over, shoving every rational thought out of my head. My hand moved like it had a mind of its own, slipping under my skirt, past the damp lace of my panties, until my fingers brushed against the slick heat of my core. Fuck, I was already soaked.

Me: so hot. so wet.

My fingers were trembling as I typed out the truth, my heart pounding like a drum.

Him: now, slip a finger inside

I squeezed my eyes shut. Shame was screaming at me, threatening to swallow me whole, but my body?

It was all in. My fingertip slid inside, and holy hell, the tight, wet warmth of my own body clenched around it, like it was just as turned on by his words as I was.

I'd never explored myself like this before.

I mimicked what I'd seen in those late-night porn clips, moving my finger slowly, in and out, chasing that sweet spot that could make the world disappear for a little while.

Goddamn, it felt good. A helpless moan slipped out as I kept going, the heat and pleasure building so fast it was like my body was melting. The wet sounds under my skirt were loud in the quiet room, obscene and undeniable.

I must've taken too long to respond, because my phone buzzed again.

Him: how's it going, baby?

That message sent a fresh jolt through me, like his eyes were on me, watching every move.

The thought pushed me over the edge. A wave of pleasure crashed hard, and I bit my lip so hard I nearly drew blood, trying to keep the moans from spilling out.

My thighs shook as I felt the slick rush between my legs, completely out of control.

Panting, I stared at the mess I'd made, the sticky warmth coating my fingers. Fuck it. I typed out the truth, no holding back.

Me: wet as fuck, sir

Him: one finger's got u this worked up? oh, darlin', im gonna blow ur mind

The words on my phone screen burned like a red-hot brand, making my fingertips go numb.

This man's meaning was way too blunt—just one look had me trembling with shame from head to toe.

I practically launched myself off the floor and fled into the bathroom, frantically splashing cold water on my slick, sticky fingertips and the wetness between my thighs.

The woman staring back at me in the mirror had flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, and parted lips—clearly still caught in the afterglow of desire.

I quickly looked away, not daring to meet my own gaze for another second.

But even that brief glimpse in my peripheral vision left me feeling utterly mortified and like a complete stranger to myself.

What the hell was I doing?

I was wearing some guest's forgotten nightgown—something that cost more than my entire year's salary—taking photos of myself in the mirror and sending them to a complete stranger!

Who was he? Where was he? Why was he texting me like this?

Even though I knew absolutely nothing about this mysterious man, I'd been fantasizing about him and touching myself, all because of some ridiculous impulse from one of my fictional stories!

Jesus Christ! Avery, have you completely lost your mind?

But I couldn't lie to myself. I couldn't stop responding to him. I touched my burning face, my heart hammering like it was trying to break out of my chest.

Me: big talk... how u gonna prove it to me? ^ ^

I was waiting for his response.

But one minute passed. Five minutes. Ten minutes. The phone stayed silent.

Cold reality hit me like a bucket of ice water, brutally extinguishing the tiny spark of unrealistic fantasy that his text had ignited. He must have gotten bored. This wasn't a novel. This wasn't some fairy tale. I needed to get back to the real world.

My gaze fell back to the silent phone. The black screen stared back at me like a cold, accusing eye. This damn phone—I should take it straight to lost and found right now!

Then pray that the man thought it was all some prank, or better yet, just forgot the whole thing ever happened!

Yes, that's it! Pretend nothing happened.

Go back to my regular life—cleaning rooms, putting up with Jimmy's bullshit, visiting Mom in the hospital, secretly writing pathetic fantasy stories under my desk lamp late at night.

That was the life I was supposed to live. Quiet, humble, but at least safe.

After making up my mind, I bent down and very carefully picked up the cold phone with two fingers, like I was handling a bomb that might go off at any second. I didn't dare look at the screen, didn't dare think about any messages that man might have sent. I just gripped it tight.

Okay, get out! Get out of this room! Turn it in!

Oh, right, and this damn dress. I started frantically trying to get out of the black lace nightgown.

The silky fabric felt like a clingy snake—the more panicked I got, the harder it was to remove.

My fingers were stiff and clumsy with nerves, and the bow at my shoulder seemed to have turned into a permanent knot.

Footsteps echoed outside the door like a death knell.

Why now, of all times?

Who the hell was that?

My rough fingernails scraped against my skin, bringing a sharp little sting that was nothing compared to the razor-sharp fear cutting through my chest.

The door suddenly burst open from the outside.

The light from the hallway was much brighter than inside the room, making me instinctively squint. A tall, imposing figure filled the doorway completely, like some god who had suddenly descended from above .

Time seemed to freeze.

I looked up in shock, meeting the eyes of the man in the doorway.

They were ice-blue.

That gaze was like a frozen lake in the Siberian tundra—deep and cold as death.

They were set in a face that looked like it had been carved by ancient Greek sculptors—impossibly handsome, with a sharp nose and thin, pressed lips.

His hair was perfectly styled, the gray at his temples only making him look more mature and dangerous.

He wore an expertly tailored, expensive black suit that hugged his broad shoulders and narrow waist, radiating pure masculine power.

Dangerous. Deadly.

The word slammed into my brain immediately.

This man was breathtakingly gorgeous, but dangerous as a loaded gun.

He was the perfect embodiment of every fantasy I'd ever had about mysterious, powerful men who controlled everything around them.

This was exactly what the male leads in my teenage dreams should look like.

But when that kind of fantasy appeared in the flesh, radiating such intense predatory energy, it didn't bring excitement—it brought pure, paralyzing terror!

My breathing stopped completely. All the blood in my body seemed to rush to my feet, leaving me ice-cold. My brain went completely blank. His gaze pinned me in place like a butterfly on a board.

Who was he?

My eyes unconsciously swept over his expensive suit, over his coldly beautiful face, finally landing on the hand casually tucked into his pants pocket—long fingers, strong and elegant. Then I saw what he was holding in his other hand. A phone. The screen was still glowing.

A terrible thought made every drop of blood in my body turn to ice.

Was it him?

The man who'd been controlling me with words through text messages! He'd found me! He'd actually found me! And he was standing right in front of me!

I instinctively stepped back, not knowing how to handle this mortifying situation, frantically trying to pull the opened nightgown back together.

The man's gaze slowly swept over my face.

His ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly, thin lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile.

He didn't say anything, just casually reached back and shut the door with a decisive click.

He took a few steps forward until he was right in front of me, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallowed me whole.

The soft sound of the door closing was like a guillotine blade falling, completely cutting off my connection to the outside world and severing my last hope of escape. The air in the room seemed to be instantly sucked away, leaving only the crisp scent of his cologne.

"Who are you?" I tried to keep my trembling voice steady.

"You don't know me? Ella?" His voice was deep and smooth, echoing in my ears like velvet.

Damn it, even his voice was sexy. I could feel heat pooling between my legs, my knees going so weak I could barely stand.