Still a little tipsy, or maybe just giddy with excitement, I decided to send him a quick text.

Me: Thank you again for a perfect evening. It was exactly what I needed.

Cole: You’re welcome.

Me: Well, I’m already in bed, so goodnight!

Cole: Night.

I set my alarm and put my phone on the charger, giving my pillow a fluff before lying back and pulling the covers to my chin. Closing my eyes for a moment, I pictured Cole’s blue eyes and broad shoulders, imagining what it would be like if he were next to me right now. In my head, I heard his deep, sexy voice repeating his words from last night: Your body is fucking perfect, Cheyenne.

God, what I wouldn’t give to hear it again. This time, I’d say it right back to him.

Without thinking, I picked up my phone again and started to type a fantasy text like I had last night. Even if I never sent it—and I wouldn’t, of course I wouldn’t, I wasn’t that tipsy—it would feel good to pretend I was the girl who would. To see the words on the screen. To imagine what he’d say if he ever read them. It would take the fantasy one step further.

My fingers moved frantically over the letters.

I can’t sleep, because I can’t stop thinking about you. This might come as a surprise, but it happens a lot. And it’s been going on for years.

When I was a teenager, I used to dream about kissing you. Touching you. Feeling your body on mine in the dark. I used to lie awake and picture you in your bed next door, and I’d fantasize about sneaking into your house and up to your room. I’d have let you do anything you wanted to me.

I still would.

I could never, ever say these things out loud to you, so I’m hiding behind this text I will never send, but it’s the truth.

I lie in bed at night and crave you. Your body. Your mouth. Your hands. I fantasize about them on me.

I fantasize about a lot of things.

You arrest me. Put me in handcuffs. Force me into the back of your car. Take me somewhere no one could find us.

You’re angry with me for being bad. You say I need to be punished. You take that baton off your belt and rub it between my legs until I beg you to fuck me.

You’d take off your—

And it happened.

I don’t know how it happened, but it happened.

I hit send.

I saw the giant blue block full of white text show up on the screen and gasped. My heart screeched to a halt and then raced ahead. I dropped the phone, covered it with the quilt, and put my hands over my face, screaming internally.

Could I get it back?

Even though I knew it wasn’t possible, I frantically dug my phone from the blankets and stared at it, desperately wishing a RETRACT option would appear. Why didn’t they make one of those? Imagine how much better the world would be if we had a chance to take back words we never should have said and never meant to send!

Oh God, oh God. This couldn’t be happening. A sweat broke out across my neck and back and chest. I kicked my feet under the blankets in a tantrum fueled by regret and humiliation.

What was I supposed to do now?

I should apologize, right? Apologize and then beg him to forget he’d ever read those words and make him promise he’d never speak of them again.

Then I’d move to Montana.

No, no, that wasn’t far enough.

Mumbai. That should do it.

Choking back tears of shame, I typed OMG I AM SO SORRY! PLEASE FORGET YOU EVER—

But before I finished what I wanted to say, my phone buzzed in my hand.

Cole: My belt.

Huh? For a second, I just stared at his text in confusion.

Then he wrote again.

Cole: My gun belt. That’s what I’d take off next.

Oh.

My.

God.

Cole: If I’m in uniform and I had the baton, I must be wearing it.

My pulse roared like a freight train. My fingers trembled.

Cole: Keep going.

I took a deep breath and began to type.

Me: OMG. You were not supposed to see that.

Cole: Too late now. Are you going to tell me the rest?

Me: Do you really want to hear it?

Cole: Yes.

Biting my lip, I jumped out of bed, rushed over to my closed bedroom door, and locked it. Climbing back under the covers, I paused, my heart galloping out of control.

Could I really do this? Did he really want me to? He must, I decided. Because Cole did not play games. He didn’t really flirt or even make dirty jokes. When he said something, he meant it.

And I might never get this chance again.

I tapped the blank text box, my fingers poised, my breath coming fast. But I was terrified to dive in. I had to sit next to him at the Thanksgiving dinner table tomorrow!

Cole: Did you forget where you left off?

Me: No. I have stage fright.

Cole: You were begging me to fuck you. What happens after that?

Okay. Okay. We were doing this.

I made up my mind right then to just let go.

Me: You take off your belt. Unzip your pants. You take your cock in your hand.

Cole: I’m so fucking hard.

I dropped the phone and fanned my face. Did he mean right now? Or in the story? Either way, my entire body flushed with heat. My nipples grew stiff and tingled with pleasure.

I picked up the phone again. I’d never sexted anyone before, but I knew this story front to back. I’d imagined every little detail.

Me: You tease me, stroking yourself and making me watch. I want you inside me.

Cole: I want your clothes off.

Me: I’m only wearing a T-shirt and panties. It’s the middle of the night, remember?

Cole: Take them off.

I smiled as I typed.

Me: I can’t. You cuffed me, Officer Mitchell.

Cole: Take them off. Right now.

The smile faded from my lips. I’d never heard him be so demanding before. I did what he asked and lay back.

Me: Now what?

Cole: Keep going.

I bit my lip.

Me: First tell me something. Are you really hard?

Cole: Yes.

Me: You’ve got me so hot, Officer. Hot and wet and desperate for you.

Cole: Spread your legs.

I did, imagining it was him pushing my knees apart.

Me: What are you going to do to me?

Cole: First I’m going to taste you. Then I’m going to fuck you.

My jaw dropped. This wasn’t the path my fantasy usually took. Somehow Cole was controlling it like a Choose Your Own Adventure book.

Cole: Put your hand between your legs.

Me: I won’t be able to type.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated. He was calling me.

Oh my God, he was calling me.

“Hello?” I whispered, pulling the covers over my head.

“Do what I say.” His voice was so low I could barely hear it.

“Okay.” Licking my fingers first, I reached between my thighs.

“Can you feel my mouth on you?”

I rubbed my wet fingertips over my clit in soft, slow circles, imagining it was his tongue. “Yes.”

“I can taste you. I swear, I can fucking taste you.” He sounded different, and not just because he had to be so quiet. There was something in his voice I’d never heard before—an urgency, a quiet intensity that had me burning up from the inside out.

“Cole,” I whispered, the flames licking higher inside me. “It feels so good.”

“I want to make you come.”

“Yes,” I whimpered, unable to believe what I was hearing, unable to stop my hips from rocking beneath my hand to the soundtrack of his heavy, ragged breath in my ear. In no time at all, I was hovering on the brink. “I’m so close.”