FLIRT (Dirty Brothers 1) - Page 17

Next time I’ll be the one on my knees.

My mouth is watering just thinking about tasting you.

I feel the flush rising under my skin, and I put the phone down quickly. The heat from those texts goes straight to my pussy, and I cross my legs to put some pressure on it. Maybe I should have stayed with Thomas a little later this morning, because last night was clearly not enough.

Dad comes back bearing cupcakes and tea, and I settle in to tell him about our plans, and to definitely not think about Thomas Logan.

7

The bell above the door rings as the customer leaves, and I feel relieved. It’s been a few days since we’ve started implementing our plans to bring in customers. We’ve had a few, but not nearly enough to make the difference we’re hoping to make.

I found some paint in my dad’s garage and spent a sweaty day in the sun brightening up the exterior. It looks like a place you might actually want to come to now, and not like a building that’s falling apart. It’s a small step, but a good one. We placed small ads in local shopping circulars. Nothing that will break the bank, but enough to get some visibility. I also started up some social media pages hoping that pictures of pretty pastries might draw people in.

But the fact of the matter is, location, location, location is a phrase for a reason, and we’re not in a good one. Some of the stuff I’ve been posting on the web have had good responses, but an equal amount said something along the lines of ‘I wish you weren’t so far away!’

It’s frustrating. But I keep a smile on my face for Dad’s sake. He’s so hopeful that I can’t bear to disappoint him. It’s not what he needs, but I’ll give it a few more days.

Thomas and I haven’t stopped texting even though we haven’t seen each other again. It started with those three texts, and I didn’t respond, so he sent some more. I asked some questions about the loan, and he sent me more sexy texts. Every one he sent riled me up more, and last night I gave in. I texted him back something sexy. My hands in my panties gave me a perfectly adequate orgasm, but it was nothing compared to the other night. And even though I shouldn’t, I want more.

Like he’s reading my thoughts, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. It’s a text, but it’s not just a text. It’s a picture of him, lying in bed, shirtless.

Home for the day.

A second picture comes through. This time his chest and hips. My body heats up a few degrees because he’s clearly naked.

Thinking about you.

The third picture comes through. It’s a picture of his hand wrapped around his cock, which is rock hard.

Send me something to help me out?

It makes me smile in spite of myself. I text him back.

Don’t you know it’s rude to send dick pics?

The phone buzzes almost immediately.

After everything we texted last night I thought it was expected.

He’s got a point.

What do you want to see?

All of you.

I can’t believe I’m actually considering this. But I am. I’ve never sent a nude photo before, and the thought of Thomas sitting on that beautiful bed and jerking off to a picture of me is so hot that I want to drive over and join him. Except that my car still won’t start. Dammit.

I go to the office and close the door. My father is so engrossed in perfecting his latest glaze that he won’t come looking, and Fiona is out on an errand. I lean against the door and pull up my shirt, take a quick shot of my bra and send it back.

My phone buzzes.

You can do better than that, sweetheart.

Okay. I pull up my shirt again, and this time pull my bra up over my chest so I can hide it from the camera. This is turning me on—I can feel the tingling wetness gathering. I angle the phone camera down my body and I put my hand down my jeans. I’m tempted to get myself off right now. It wouldn’t take long. But the risk of getting caught is too high. I snap the picture and send it. Buzz.

Fuck, baby. Yes.

There are no more buzzes, and the fact that I know he’s getting off to me right now is driving me mad. The bell on the door jingles, and I hurry to fix my clothes.

“Rosie?” My sister calls, pushing the door open just as I finish rearranging my shirt. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Wardrobe malfunction. Had to adjust my bra.”

She nods. “I get that. Any customers?”

I wince. “One.”

“This isn’t working,” she says. “We can’t up the revenue if we never sell anything. The problem is that people just can’t find it. No one but the local neighborhood comes to this shopping center. It’s so hard to find if you’re not looking for it. It’s hard to find even if you are looking for it.”

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