Chapter 23 Victor
VICTOR
My heart thunders as I stare at Willow on the screen in front of me. She put up three cameras in total, all pointed toward the bed, giving me different angles of the beautiful sight of her, spread out and touching herself.
For me.
I can see the line of her jaw, the curves of her breasts. The way her hands move over her own skin, stopping and starting as she’s caught up in the sensations she’s giving herself.
Like she said, this isn’t the first time I’ve watched her like this, but there’s something different about this time compared to the others.
There was already a difference between how it felt when she knew I was watching versus when she didn’t, and I decided that her knowing I could see her was better.
For a number of reasons. But even before, with Malice and Ransom or just with Ransom last night, I was like a fly on the wall, watching as she was taken apart by my brothers.
There was something appealing in that, in being the observer to it all, but it’s nothing compared to how this feels.
This is for me. Just me and Willow and no one else.
She’s so perfect.
I watch as she glances at her phone and then back up to the camera, her brow furrowed a bit. “Are you still there?” she asks.
I can hear the need in her voice.
The light in the room gleams on her skin, making her almost seem to glow. The new sheets she put on her bed are a pale green color, and she looks so good spread out on them. More appealing than any of the art from the museum opening last night.
And… it’s almost more than I can take. She’s waiting for me to answer, to make a move, but I’m not sure what move to make. It’s easier to just watch, to just take in what happens around me without participating.
Some part of me wants to run from this. To shut this whole thing down before it gets even more out of control. Willow shreds the carefully cultivated and meticulously maintained order that I like in my life, tearing it to ribbons with a single word, a single look.
I should hate that. I shouldn’t let it keep happening, and I definitely shouldn’t be wanting more of this. More of her.
But I can’t leave. I can’t turn the monitors off, and I can’t look away.
Slowly, I pick up my phone. The screen is on the last message I sent her. My finger hovers over the option to call the contact for a long moment, and finally I let out a sharp exhale and hit ‘call.’
On the computer screen, her phone lights up where it’s next to her on the bed, and she answers right away.
“Hi,” she breathes.
I mute the computer so that the only way I can hear her is through the phone. And fuck, that’s much better. She sounds so much closer like this than speaking through the cameras’ mics. I can hear every intake of breath, every harsh exhale.
“Hi,” I say back.
“I thought maybe you’d left,” Willow murmurs.
I shake my head, even though she can’t see it. “No. I’m still here.”
“I’m glad.”
My gaze is glued to the screen as I hold my phone to my ear, and I watch as she hits something on her phone and then puts it back on the bed. Putting it on speaker, no doubt.
“Tell me what else you want me to do,” she says, her hands hovering over her body as if waiting for my command.
My brain feels like it’s seizing up, overloaded with possibilities. I can’t tell her that I want to see everything, because that doesn’t mean anything. But it’s hard for me to put into words what I want from her. There are so many things.
“I want…”
Something sticks in my mind, a thought from before, when I watched her through the cameras at her old apartment. That was before she moved in with us, before she knew there were cameras set up in her old place at all.
I remember watching her sleep and thinking about her scars.
I’m thinking about them now.
She hasn’t been making as much of an effort to cover them when she’s around us as she used to, but I want more than that.
“Touch your scars,” I tell her finally, managing to get the words out even though my tongue feels thick in my mouth.
Willow’s eyes fly open wide, and even at this distance, I can see the alarm and embarrassment in them. Her cheeks flush darker, and she glances away from the camera, looking down.
“Um, I… I don’t…”
My cock pulses in my pants, and I have to swallow hard before I can speak again. “Please.”
It comes out rough and quiet, edged with need. Willow glances back up, so I know she heard it.
She hesitates for another suspended moment, but then she starts to do it. Slowly at first, just letting her fingers slide from skin that’s smooth and unblemished to the mess of scars on her side.
She runs her fingertips downward, skimming over the scar tissue that covers one shoulder and then lower, over her side, down her hip.
It looks awkward at first, like she’s avoiding touching them too much. Like she doesn’t want to linger too long, and I wonder what it feels like. Scars that old probably don’t hurt too much anymore, except maybe to ache when there’s a change in temperature or something.
Is she more sensitive there than in other places? Does it feel like anything at all?
And then there’s the texture of the scars themselves against her fingers, different from the smooth softness of her regular skin, but not rough either, I bet.
“That’s good,” I choke out, my voice strained. “Keep going.”
She does, and I can see when she starts to get more into it. The touches turn softer, more like a caress than an awkward rub. She drags her fingers over the chaotic patterns of the scars, and she makes a low, soft noise as she keeps going.
My own hands start to tingle a bit, itching with the need to be touching her myself. To trace the paths that she’s tracing with her own fingers, to feel this for myself.
I groan, low and deep into the phone. “Beautiful,” I murmur. “Such beautiful chaos. Like a butterfly.”
Willow moans in response to that, dragging her plump bottom lip between her teeth. Her breath hitches, and it takes her a few tries to get her next words out. “Is this what you like?”
“Yes,” I reply instantly.
“No one has ever liked my scars,” she whispers, sliding her fingers down along a line of scars that covers the outside of her thigh, just visible past the hem of her cotton shorts. “The best I’ve ever hoped for is for people to look past them.”
“I don’t want to look past them.” I shake my head, even though she can’t see it. “I like them. I like seeing you like this.”
“I’ve never done this for anyone before,” she admits. “No one but you.”
Her words go straight to my cock, leaving it hard and throbbing. No one else has ever seen her touch herself like this before. She’s never run her hands over her scars for anyone else, and being the first, being the only in this case, hits me hard.
I’m so affected by everything this gorgeous, ethereal woman does, and right now, I can’t fight it even a little.
“Take your shorts off,” I tell her, and she nods, shimmying out of her shorts and panties.
My breath catches at the sight of her, fully naked and exposed for me. Just for me.
“Spread your legs.”
She does it, spreading them out on the bed, giving me an almost perfect view. Almost perfect.
“Wider,” I demand. “Wider than ninety degrees.”
Willow shoots an amused look at the camera at my precise directions, but she spreads her legs even farther apart, planting her heels on the bed so she can show me everything.
“Scoot down a little,” I continue, nearly biting a hole in my bottom lip as I watch her follow my instructions. “More. There. Stop there.”
Like this, she’s displayed perfectly. The light overhead shines down at the perfect angle, showing me how wet and turned on she is right now.
With the multiple cameras, I can see every part of her, and it’s hard to believe she’s fucking real. My cock throbs almost angrily, demanding some kind of relief, but I ignore it, focusing on Willow.
“Touch yourself,” I instruct her. “Start slow.”
“Okay,” she breathes back, and I hear the soft moan in her voice as she does it, sliding her hand from her hip down to her inner thigh and then farther in.
She dips her fingers into her pussy, rubbing it slowly, letting her fingertips dance up and down the wet line of her slit, gathering her arousal.
“Wait,” I tell her. “Spread yourself open with your other hand. I want to see how wet you are.”
Her face flushes even darker, but she obeys, parting the lips of her pussy with two fingers, letting me see the glistening wetness there.
“Perfect,” I breathe out. “Fucking perfect. Slide a finger into yourself. Just one.”
She does it, and I watch her index finger sink into her hole all the way up to the knuckle. Willow moans, her hips bucking a little, obviously wanting more. But I don’t let her have it. Not yet.
I tell her to add another finger and to slowly start to fuck herself with them. I watch as those digits sink in and pull out of her pussy, my hand curled into a fist on my desk.
Her breath comes faster, and just hearing it is enough to have my cock straining hard against the restriction of my pants. I feel like I could come just from stroking myself once at this point.
I’m completely on edge, desperate for relief, everything in me narrowed down to focus on this. I could slide a hand down and grip my cock through my pants, and that would probably be enough to make me explode right now.
But I can’t do that. There are only certain days of the week that I let myself jerk off, and this isn’t one of them.
I’m already breaking so many of my rules and going against my routines. And as much as I want this, I’m not sure what would happen if I let go of that much of my control. I’m not sure I could handle it.
So I keep my hands above my desk, one on my phone, one clenched tight into a fist.
Willow keeps working herself up, following every one of my instructions without hesitation, and when I tell her to make herself come for me, she does it beautifully, fucking herself with her fingers while keeping herself spread open so I can see every bit of it.
She comes on her own hand, gasping and crying out, my name mixed in with muted curses that pour from her lips. Her eyes are closed as her chest heaves, and she looks incredible.
“Keep going,” I say, leaning forward in my chair a bit more, as if getting closer to the screen will let me experience more of this.
“I can’t,” she whimpers, and she sounds wrecked already.
But I know she has more in her.
“Yes, you can,” I tell her. “I saw you come three times last night. I want four.”
It comes out sounding possessive, as if every last one of these orgasms will be for me and me alone. As if I want to hoard them, covet them, and stash them away with all the other things I keep wrapped up and hidden away for myself.
Whatever she hears in the tone of my voice makes her moan softly, and she nods, opening her eyes so I can see how hazy with lust and pleasure they are.
“Go on,” I urge her. “Keep going.”
Her fingers slide back into her body like they were made to fit there, and she pumps them slowly, working herself back up.
She’s probably already so sensitive from coming once already, and judging from the soft gasps that spill from her lips, it’s not going to take her long to hit orgasm number two.
Her other hand keeps her pussy spread, but she switches fingers, so that her middle one can rub at her clit, starting slowly and then pressing harder and faster.
“Just like that,” I murmur. “Push yourself. I want to see it.”
Willow nods and whimpers an affirmative, and the second orgasm seems to slam into her body, making her go rigid and tense, ripping a strangled moan from her.
It’s fucking gorgeous.
The third orgasm is much the same, taking her over, knocking the breath out of her as she keeps working herself through each round of pleasure.
I watch as she crests that wave over and over again, hips bucking, back arched, mouth open. She moans a litany of curses and pleas, my name dropping in among them from time to time.
She pushes past four, spilling into a fifth that leaves her trembling, her whole body wracked with the pleasure of it.
“You’re so good,” I rasp. “You’re so perfect, butterfly. You have no idea. You—”
I break off, losing the thread of my words as the need to be there with her or to touch myself or something breaks over me, strong and intense. I hold it back, breathing harshly through my nose, and watch as Willow forces one last orgasm out of herself.
She’s practically sobbing with pleasure and overstimulation by this point, and she finally collapses back on the bed, breathing hard.
I stare at her on the screen, covered in a sheen of sweat, boneless and wrung out.
I can’t move. I can’t even speak.
I feel like I’m on a knife’s edge of control, and if I do anything sudden, I’m going to lose it.
Willow pats around for her phone and finds it in the sheets. She takes it off speaker and puts it to her ear, letting her voice flood into my ear again, closer and breathless.
“God, that was amazing,” she breathes.
“Yes.” My voice is like sandpaper. “It was.”
“Did you touch yourself too?”
I swallow hard, my entire body still stiff and tense from the unspent arousal coursing through my veins. A small shudder wracks through me, and my hand on the desk is clenched so tight that my bones ache.
“No.” I hesitate, then add, “But I wanted to.”
Willow looks at the camera again, and I see something glint in her eyes. I don’t have a name for what it is, but it makes my chest unclench just the smallest bit.
“Did you like it?” she whispers.
I blink and let out a rough chuckle. “Yes. That might be something of an understatement. You are…”
I shake my head because I don’t have the right words. Nothing in my life has ever prepared me for this.
For her.
But Willow just hums, and it seems like she doesn’t need me to have the right words. She understands me better than most, and that should be… irritating, at the very least. Maybe even terrifying.
Instead, it just feels almost comforting.
“I’m glad,” she murmurs. Then she chuckles, her voice muffled as she rolls onto her side. “And I’m sleepy.”
“It’s getting late. You should get some rest.”
“Okay.” The word comes out heavy and slurred with the sleep she’s already starting to sink into. “Goodnight, Vic.”
“Goodnight, butterfly.”
I end the call, but I don’t look away from the screen.
I watch her put her phone down and curl up right where she is. She doesn’t take the cameras down, or even get under the covers. She just drifts off to sleep, letting me see everything as she does.