Sext Me (Book Two): Sext Me, #2

By Layla Valentine

I like to be filthy. I talk dirty for a living.
But I never meet my clients.
Not until now…

Cole Hardcastle.
He's a hot-as-all-hell SEAL with a body to die for
And a tongue as filthy as my own.
But there's a problem:
His navy buddies signed him up to my sext line.
He thinks I'm just an ordinary girl.
And he's got no idea he's on a blind date with a professional phone sexter…
Looks like I've got some explaining to do.
But that can wait.
We're gonna dial the steam up to eleven,
And I can enact my every last fantasy…

This is the second book in the Sext Me series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Layla Valentine
• Release date: Mar 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201686017

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

IVY

Ivy hadn’t been joking about the invite to the ball being a great excuse to go shopping. She literally had nothing she could wear for such a formal event. If Ivy wasn’t wearing scrubs and a lab coat in some of her more hands-on classes at school, she was in comfy jeans and a sweatshirt at lectures or running around the city on various errands. At home, it was always pajamas. Especially when she was lounging on the couch, working on Whisper Line.

She remembered some of the initial literature she’d read when she was first getting into the sexting trade, saying that it was helpful for some operators to get into the mood of things by lighting candles and slipping into some sexy lingerie, but that wasn’t Ivy. She could turn her carnal appetites on and off, for the most part, like flipping a switch.

It probably had more to do with having a pretty healthy appetite to begin with than anything else. The fact that it was always on, buzzing low in the background of most interactions. She wasn’t blind to the handsome guys vying to become doctors right alongside her in class, or the way they looked at her, wondering which, if any, of them was going to be the first to make it with her.

She wished they’d saved their energy for their studies. That was what she was doing, at least. She wasn’t opposed to some casual dating, especially when it meant that she’d get some physical pleasure out of it. But she couldn’t devote the time required to have a real relationship with anyone. She was too busy.

And none of the guys at her school were really her type, anyway. Pale, skinny, and terrible gossips.

No, she’d been lucky to find the dress she’d worn on her first date with Cole in the back of her closet, a little musty from disuse. Ivy knew that, as much as she wished it to be true, she wasn’t going to dig deep enough in her drawers and come up with a ball gown.

That’s how she found herself at a gorgeous—but pricey—boutique, leafing through a rack of sparkling dresses, trying not to grimace at the price tags while under the watchful eye of a saleswoman.

You should go with something green—maybe this emerald one? The saleswoman pulled a floor-length strapless number with thousands of shimmering sequins on it. It’ll bring out your eyes.

I don’t know, Ivy hedged. I think that dress is a little too glamorous for me.

No such thing, the saleswoman said, laughing. I’ll put it in the dressing room for you.

Ivy sighed and continued browsing the selection. The gowns were expensive, sure, but she could afford one. It wasn’t that notion that was giving her the hang-up. It was the idea she was about to drop a bunch of money on a dress she’d only wear once. She appreciated the glitz of the green dress the saleswoman had pulled aside, but Ivy knew it would be a one-hit wonder. Where in the world would she even have the opportunity to wear it again?

So, what’s the big occasion? The saleswoman had sidled back up to her. Let me guess. Some kind of congressional gala. A fundraiser, or something, for a senator? I think taxpayers would just be shocked by the amount of partying that happens on their dime.

Nothing like that, Ivy said quickly. Just a ball.

Oh, the military ball. The woman laughed again, a merry, tinkling sound that danced up and down the musical scale, at Ivy’s jaw dropping open. Don’t look so shocked. As big as D.C. is, it’s got an awfully small-town feel. If it’s not lawmaking, it’s military. And if it’s not either of those things, it’s the press.

I don’t really have anything to wear to it, Ivy confessed. Nothing anywhere near formal enough.

Yes, the ball’s a whole production, the saleswoman said. Even if you are leaving it to the last minute. Don’t worry. We’ll get you fixed up.

Soon, Ivy found herself crammed into a dressing room with no less than twenty gowns to try on. She hadn’t been this overwhelmed since she’d first observed a surgeon performing brain surgery.

It was her own fault, she figured. She couldn’t name a style or color preference to make it any easier for the saleswoman to find particular types of dresses for her, so she more or less raked all the dresses in Ivy’s size off the rack and hung them up in the dressing room.

The first number Ivy pulled on—a hot pink, ruffled dress with an asymmetrical hem—made her laugh out loud at her reflection.

Find a good one? the saleswoman called from the other side of the door. I can be a second opinion, if you like.

Um, that’s okay, Ivy said, thinking fast. I’ll let you know if I need another size or anything, though.

This dress was a definite no—gaudy and loud and decidedly not her. Still, Ivy couldn’t resist snapping a photo of herself with an overly bright, borderline manic grin to match the ridiculous dress she was wearing.

She sent it to Cole along with a brief message. Found my dress for the ball.

His response was almost immediate, and made her pause in changing to the next dress. I’m a lucky man.

Ivy snorted as she tried to muffle her mirth. Seriously? she typed back. This isn’t anything near the dress I’d choose to wear.

I…totally knew that, he sent back. Totally knew.

Ivy grinned and shook her head, shimmying into a blue beaded dress that was so tight it left precious little to the imagination. She sent Cole a snapshot of that one, too. Yes, or yes?

Please tell me that’s actually the one, Cole replied. Please. I’ll do anything.

Ivy had to do a lot of twisting and holding her breath to release her body out of the dress. Absolutely not, she finally sent back. I barely escaped that one. There would be no breathing in that thing.

I’d unwrap you like a present, he texted her. I’d do all your breathing for you.

Ivy bit her lip, considering what that might entail. A slow thrill of arousal slipped up her spine, and as she got into the next dress, her phone buzzed again.

I take it you’re getting naked, over and over again, in a small, poorly enclosed room right now? Cole sent.

Pretty much the definition of shopping, she replied, then sent another photo of her in a lemon-yellow getup. Here comes the sun.

Where exactly are you? he sent her. I could be there in five, no matter where it is.

She grinned, formulating her response. "I’m sure there’s got to be some rule about not seeing