I’m trying something new tonight. I’m bringing a good girl directly to your Inbox. Just scroll down, and enjoy.

With love, Parneet 🤍

MEETING YOUR INTERNET CRUSH by Isoe Dark

🌶🌶🌶 Spicy | 🏷️ Friends to Lovers

Readers Felt™: 🔥 Gah that was hot, 🥰 Perfect ending

They had been chatting since COVID. Just random conversations with a few too-much-wine flirtations. She was reticent, and he always stopped, except for that one Boxing Day, when his words got dirty, and he sent her a series of pictures that made her question the last ten years of life choices.

He sent her a message saying he was flying into her town for a convention. They agreed to meet. Maggie decided to risk everything, pick him up at the airport. This was Eric. Her Eric. Even if there was no in-person chemistry, she didn’t want to miss a moment with him. He had fascinated her from the beginning, and if nothing else, they had months and months of good conversation and friendship between them. After all of that, he wouldn’t reject her when he saw her in person, would he?

It was after work. She was sweaty and gross. Orlando was always hot. Eric knew who she really was. He’d seen her on video chat at her worst. She didn’t have time to care about make-up—it would melt off her face—or what she wore. As for him, he’d traveled across the ocean. She expected tired, hungry, and a strong desire for a shower.

She steadied herself by keeping her expectations at just getting a chance to hug him in person, to say thank you for being there. First, they meet. Then, she would take him to his hotel. If he had the energy—dinner. If not, they’d catch up after the convention because he’d said the schedule was packed to keep him busy, with little time for play. His company was run by monsters.

Their just-friends-status was firmly entrenched. Even if they were both single at the moment. No reason to hope for different. She would be fine.

Fluffing her humid-limp dark hair, Maggie whispered the word to herself again. “Friends.”

Eric walked into the public area of the airport, half a head taller than everyone else, looking just like she knew he would. He turned his head, his lips kicked up at the corner and redirected toward her. Her heart rate increased with every step he took. Butterflies blew up in her belly like they’d been caught in a windstorm; her hands fluttered to catch them all and put them back into calm, steady, “just-friends,” pockets where they belonged.

Out of nowhere his graphic Boxing Day pictures—nude, glorious, proud, hungry—flashed before her eyes. Rich, filthy words flashed in her mind. He’d fed her words that day like a man feeding his lover expensive chocolates. Bite by bite.

Her face felt hot. Red.

Maggie held steady. No looking at her feet. Keeping her eyes on Eric. No checking out his package. He wasn’t hers. That day after Christmas was a drunk, lonely, one-off. He was here, and that was all that mattered.

And then he was in front of her. She could smell him.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said.

Her lips parted, and good lord she almost moaned. She could barely speak. Forcing something out, she muttered some kind of lame greeting, a nonsensical question about his flight, an offer to carry something.

He gave her one of her sexy, indulgent cooked smiles.

Her face got redder.

Finally, she gave up and said, “No hug?”

He opened his arms.

She stepped into them. Didn’t know how bad she needed this embrace until the world shifted under her feet and bells rang in her head. His heat, his smell—coffee, airplane, and the ocean waves plus humid heat with something fresh and mossy—engulfed her. She’d known he was taller than her, but she fit into his body perfectly, like his shape was the one she’d been missing all her life, and she’d only now just found it.

He wrapped his arms around her, his head over hers, tucking her in towards his  shoulder. His arms tightened. She felt his ribcage move and expand against her breasts when he took a huge breath.

“Fuck. I knew it would be like this.”

“What?” She couldn’t let go. Tried to step away. He wouldn’t let her; instead he started walking, pulling her along with him.

People at the airport moved around them like transparent mirages of humanity. Colors and shapes. The airport sounds dimmed to a white noise, and all she heard was the sound of Eric’s breath, his heartbeat, his voice. Only him.

What was happening?

His long legs ate up the ground. He opened a door. Pushed her inside a family bathroom.

“You are not going to fucking tell me no, are you, my Maggie girl? You’re not going to overthink this and stop me? Are you?”

His carry-on and crossbody laptop bag were dropped to the floor with one hand while he locked the door with the other.

“Are you?”

“Tell you no?” Maggie asked.

Warm energy poured off him in waves, he practically sparked it, like some kind of old-world mage come to life. All of it lashed at her. Aimed at her.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited. Kept quiet. Held back. I brought a stack of letters for you. Fucking years of messages I couldn’t send while you played with others, while you locked yourself in relationships you knew were not good for you. You’re going to read every damn word of them to me.”

“You wrote me letters?” The dumb question squeaked out of her as overwhelmed emotion welled in her eyes.

They had talked of letters during covid. She’d sent him two and he said he got them, loved them, but never sent anything back. For her, the handwritten words across a page were treasures, evidence of existence, passion, and life. She’d peppered their conversations during the pandemic with distracted tangents about the lost art of love letter writing, supplying quotes from her favorites.

He’d written her letters.

“Yes. Letters. Fucking haikus, love sonnets,” he said through clenched teeth as he pushed her against the wall across from the sink.

“Sonnets?” The sweetness of it welled inside of her, making her eyes glassy in the mirror over Eric’s shoulder.

Holding her neck with a wide palm, he nudged her brown eyes to his green and poured over her features, making her feel like she was the map he needed to find his way.

In answer, the butterflies flittered and floated eagerly in the cradle of her hips and dancing into her bloodstream, sending ripples and tingles everywhere. What was this?

She couldn’t look away from his penetrating gaze. She was seen. Completely. He looked at her, through every mask and into where fluttering, tremulous color burst open at his touch.

“What are we doing?” she whispered. Afraid of answers.

“Maggie Girl.” His sensuous mouth went firm. The hand on her throat squeezed, his other skimmed the exposed skin at the neckline of her tank top. Shoulder to shoulder, across her decolletage.

Once. Twice. Again, this time stopping in the middle, following the line of her cleavage with a barely-there caress that set her on fire. A moan built in her throat.

“Yes or no, woman. Tell me now. But you fuckin’ tell me no, I have to walk out that door, get my luggage and go. Now that I’ve seen you, touched you, I need to inhale you. You understand? Your no is final. I can’t spend time with you and not be buried inside one of your sweet little holes.”

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