Page 43 of Right Number, Wrong Man
Isn’t that a bit too much? And what is it for?
Jax
Don’t question me. Get ready to go out. You’re wearing a long dress today, but no panties. I want video proof.
Phew, okay. That’s very demanding. Very rude, too.
And very sexy.
I want to play along, but it’s hard to resist the part of me that screams to disobey and make him mad, simply to see if I can. Colt was right. I bet I have my hippie parents to blame for my lack of respect for authority figures.
Just to prove Colt wrong, I get up and open my closet.
Ew, no brain. We do not think about Colt!
I put on a pale peach sundress with fluttery, short sleeves and a large floral print. Twirling, I scrutinize my reflection in the standing mirror by the dresser.
Is it obvious that I’m going commando?
I spin around myself like a dog chasing its tail, putting a painful knot in my neck from staring at my ass.Everythinglooksnormal, but I feel so exposed I might as well be going out naked.
I slip on a pair of comfortable sandals with a kitten heel and grab my phone to record my reflection in the mirror. Like I’m doing a striptease, I pull up my skirt, revealing inch after inch of my calf. Then my knee. My thigh. I keep the cloth across my center, showing off the side of my hip.
While I send the video, I give an impression of my best villain laugh.
Jax made a fatal mistake. He didn’t specify which parts of me he wanted to see, only that he wants proof I’m not wearing panties. I’m giving him what he demanded, but the juiciest parts are hidden. If he wants to see more, he has to earn it.
Time to remind Daddy that I hold some power in this game, too.
Jax
You ought to be thankful I’m not there with you right now.
If I was, I’d bend you over that bed in the background and spank your ass raw before I fuck your pussy until it’s sore. Then I’d make you run errands with my cum dripping down your legs.
My pussy quivers. I read the message thrice before I can breathe again.
Jax
Drive to the address I’ll send over in a minute. Let me know when you arrive, but no texting behind the wheel. Safety first.
The address comes through and my brows rise. I don’tknow the street, but I know Burtonville. It’s the largest city near Sunridge Hollow. Until I lost my job as a secretary, I commuted there every day and the drive will take about forty-five minutes.
My pulse going haywire, I grab my car keys and head out. Every muscle in my body is tense as a bow string as I run down the stairs and step out of the front door of my apartment building.
The short walk to my beat-up, old SUV down the road feels like a marathon.
It’s not windy, but I can’t stop worrying about my skirt flying up and I swear every person is staring at me. When I look closer, I realize they’re too busy with their own lives to notice me, but the sensation of being stalked lingers like an icy finger drawing along my spine.
Finally, I get in my car. When I catch a reflection of my face in the rearview mirror, I laugh. My cheeks are red and my eyes shine with mischief. I’m nervous but I’m having fun, too—like a slutty spy on a sexy secret mission.
I pop my phone in the holder suctioned to the windshield and copy the address into the maps app. A shudder runs through me as I turn the key and the motor purrs to life.
If those vibrations are already doing it for me, I’m in for a torturous morning.
I parkand double check the address, but this is definitely the right location. Confused, I send a message to Jax.
Me
