Page 12 of Text Me A Kiss

Chapter Five

Graham

K_Kitten: Sure. Will tell you where after you land.

L’Art_of_Illusion: Well, in the meantime. Text me a kiss.

K_Kitten: No. You have to wait for that in person.

She had agreed. My Kitten had agreed to meet with me.

I’d thought it was too soon. Three days ago, I had known that I would fly to Manhattan on Friday, but each time I’d typed out the message to Kitten to tell her, I’d deleted the words. After all, we had only been talking for a few short weeks.

My hand squeezed my phone as if I could feel Kitten through the only way I had to talk to her. During our conversations, I’d told her so much about me and learned so much about her. We had so many things in common, and so many similarities. Her passion for ballet rivaled mine for business, we shared a deeply ingrained love for Chicago, talk of performances and stars could occupy our conversations for hours on end, and we never, ever ran out of things to talk about.

I’d never met another human being I could just talk to. Someone to whom I could open my mouth and say anything, everything, without being judged according to my position. This feeling of having someonetherefor me… I hadn’t known I needed it this desperately.

And Kitten’s body…. The first time she had sent me that picture of her cute, sexy little body in that lacy bra, holding her hair away from her shoulders with a smirk that told me she knew exactly what her body was doing to mine, I had lost all knowledge of vocabulary and only been able to type “damn”.

When I said some of this to Mary after she asked for status report on Mission Dating App, she just nodded and shook her head at the same time and told me to thank her by not blowing it.

I didn’t think I could blow it, not with this girl. Kitten knew what she wanted and she wasn’t shy to ask for it. Decisiveness was something I valued, and for Kitten to tell me straight up that she wanted to see my body… I loved it. To think my demure little ballerina Kitten could be so demanding and take control like that.

Everything about Kitten was intoxicating, teasing, and beautiful, and that was why I had to tell her that I was flying to NYC and ask if she wanted to meet up. Even if she said no— even if this set what we had back—I had to ask before the pictures of her round ass hanging out of high-cut leotards and cleavage bouncing between the cups of her sexiest bras drove me insane.

And the stretching pictures…. I still hadn’t figured out how to control myself after one of those popped up in our messages. Sometimes, if Kitten was feeling particularly flirty or teasing, she would take a picture of herself stretching in panties and bras. The edges of her underwear gripped her thighs just at the joint, perfectly cupping what lay between her legs and showing not even a tiny sliver of the lips that lay between.

Her smooth, tensed thighs, flat, arching stomach, and flawless chest—I wanted to kiss every single part of her while she used that dancer flexibility to stretch her perfect body for me.

Unable to resist, I’d even sent her a picture of myself—and she hadn’t recognized me. She’d seen my real face and my real body, then made that body shiver with lust when she told me all the things she wanted to do with me.

But, my name…. I couldn’t tell her that. My Kitten was from Chicago, and more than that, she used to dance here. I had a reputation for sponsoring up-and-coming dancers and attending shows, so if she heard my name….

Well, I just wouldn’t tell her, no matter how much I longed to hear her perfect lips moan my name.

I leaned back in my chair. My eyes crept to my phone and watched for one, two, then three seconds, but no notification light flashed. Tenting my fingers curbed the urge to check it anyway.

To distract myself, I checked my schedule for this weekend and frowned, then went to find Tracy.

My appearance at her office door was so rare that her posture improved dramatically as she shot upright in her seat, surprise driving the languid indifference from her face. “Mr. Emerson! What can I do for you?”

“I just noticed that my meeting Saturday morning was pushed back an hour,” I told her. “Why?”

“Mr. Summers requested it,” Tracy said, pulling up my schedule on her computer. “He cited business reasons but didn’t give specifics. Since he’s an old partner of yours and a loyal client, I decided you would accept the time change. I planned to update you today after your 2:45.”

“You were right.” My inward sigh didn’t make it into my voice or face. “The new time is fine, and I do want to accommodate Alex.”

Tracy looked relieved, but only a little. She knew my decisions better than I did myself sometimes, and she knew it. “Perfect. That meeting is your only one, unless you’d like to—”

“I’d like to keep the rest of the weekend clear, please,” I interrupted.

“Of course,” she agreed, subtly closing the tab she had opened on her computer.

“Thank you.” Since this entire floor had a very sophisticated system of security cameras, I squashed the childish urge I felt to kick up my heels and run back to my office—although really, the sight of the CEO of Midwest running through the halls might break the monotony of a perfectly ordinary, emergency-devoid day for security monitoring the cameras.

I even managed to pause for a moment and politely greet a fairly new hire, ask how she liked her office, and listen to her thank me more times than necessary. That one, I counted as a personal success; I was in control of myself and I absolutely did not need to be around my phone every second of every day at the office.

Bullshit. I lunged for my phone the moment I entered the privacy of my office.