Chapter 18
eighteen
ASHER
The moment the camera flickers to life on my laptop screen, I forget how to breathe.
She’s there. Sprawled across the guest bed like something out of a dream I didn’t know I could have. Her skin is glowing in the soft lamplight. The flimsy silk of her camisole clings to curves I’ve spent way too many nights trying not to imagine.
Her hair is a dark halo on her pillow.
She looks straight into the camera. Straight into me.
And in that moment, I’m no longer in my apartment. I’m not in New York, or in a crisis, or barely holding myself together by a thread.
I’m hers.
And she’s going to fucking unravel me.
Her hands flutter, sliding across the silky camisole, brushing her breasts. I see her mouth something into the camera.
It looks like my name. I’m instantly hard.
I lean forward instinctively, like I can somehow get closer. Like the pixels between us aren’t enough.
“Francie,” I whisper, even though she can’t hear me. Not through the camera. Only through the phone if I say it out loud.
I reach for it, fumbling for the call button before I can stop myself. It only rings once before she answers, sounding breathless.
“Asher…”
“Say my name again,” I command her, knowing my voice is harsher than I intend. More desperate.
She shifts, her camisole sliding up, revealing her smooth, soft stomach. My hand clenches into a fist on my thigh.
“Asher,” she breathes, and I swear I feel it everywhere. Like she’s touching me with her words.
I stare at her, trying to hold onto the last thread of control I have left. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Her lips curve. “Do you like watching me?” she asks.
“I’ve never liked anything more.”
She moves one hand between her thighs, dragging it slowly over the silk of her shorts. I nearly come undone.
“Tell me what to do,” she murmurs.
I swallow hard, trying to form words with a mouth as dry as the desert. My whole body is lit up like a fuse.
“Touch yourself,” I say hoarsely. “Touch that pretty pussy. I want to see you fall apart for me.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Her hand slides beneath the waistband of her shorts, and I catch the sharp hitch of her breath through the phone. My body tenses like a live wire, a pulse hammering in my throat as I watch her fingers move.
She’s slow at first. Teasing. Drawing it out and torturing us both.
“I’ve thought about you. About this,” she whispers. “So many times.”
I groan, dragging my hand over my jaw. Trying to ground myself. Failing.
“Thought about what, baby? Tell me.”
“You,” she breathes. “Your voice. Your hands. How your fingers felt inside of me that night. How it would feel if it was more.”
“Christ.” My hips jerk forward before I can stop them. I reach down, palming the thick ache in my pants. “You have no idea what you do to me.” She makes me want things I’ve never let myself hope for. Makes me forget the rules I built to keep people safe from me.
She lets out a whimper, her back arching slightly, her eyes flickering closed as her rhythm picks up.
“I like you watching me,” she whispers. “I like imagining that you need me. Desperate for me.”
“I am,” I rasp. “I need you so fucking much.”
The connection between us feels heavy. Pulsing with an emotion I’m not sure I can name.
Her breath starts to speed. Her lips part. She’s so close I can almost smell her arousal.
I can’t pull my eyes away. She’s imprinted on my brain. All soft and full of desire and so achingly pretty.
I palm myself harder.
“I want to come for you,” she whispers.
“Do it,” I growl. “I want you to fall apart. I want you to scream my name.”
I want to be there with her. To taste her. To be inside of her. My dick aches for her. God, I’m never going to recover from this. I’ll never be able to go back. I’ll never be able to stay away.
She cries out, soft and broken, her body tensing as the pleasure peaks. She lets out a cry, then says my name.
I’m on the edge of coming with her. But I stop. I want to concentrate on her.
Her hand slows as the waves pass over her. My eyes don’t move. None of me does. Her own eyes lock on the camera like she’s handing me something sacred.
And I take it. Gripping it with both hands like it’s the only thing keeping me sane right now.
“Francie,” I rasp. “You’re killing me.”
Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, her cheeks flushed, her body loose. Her eyes are shining as they stare at the camera.
“I wish you were here,” she says. There’s no seduction in her words. Just truth.
“I wish I was too.” I’d spend the whole fucking night making her feel good, just to hear her say my name again.
She smiles softly. Sated. Her gaze is a little unfocused. She looks sleepy. Fuck, I want to hold her.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice low.
She nods slowly, still catching her breath. “Better than okay.” There’s that smile again. Soft, sweet. Just for me. “Are you?”
I swallow hard, emotion crawling up the back of my throat like a threat. “Yeah, I am now.”
She blinks slowly, that hazy, satisfied look still softening her features.
“You should go to sleep,” I tell her. If I were there, I’d hold her until the sun came up. Trace her skin until she fell asleep in my arms. I’d do anything to stay close.
“I know. But I’m scared you’ll go all weird on me again.”
“I won’t,” I promise. And then. “I’ll turn off the camera.”
“No,” she murmurs. “Not yet.”
Her words wrap around me, like a weighted blanket.
I don’t say anything. I just sit there, watching her eyes flutter closed. The smile still on her lips as her chest starts to rise and fall in a steady rhythm.
And even though I’m alone in my apartment, exhausted and aching, I’ve never felt less alone.
“Have you slept at all this week?” Brad asks me, as we go over everything we’ve discovered in the last few days. One of the NYPD detectives called to say they’ve still found nothing. No fingerprints either digital or physical, no DNA, nada.
And our investigation has been similarly frustrating.
I’m beyond annoyed but at least we’ve managed to get everything back online.
The tech team has done an amazing job of rebuilding the infrastructure in the office from the ground up.
We’ve re-secured every client file, scrubbed the backup servers, and tightened access protocols until even I need a thirty-two step authentication to unlock my own office.
We’re back up. Running. On the surface, at least, everything looks fine.
But it’s not.
Because whoever broke in didn’t take anything. They left a message. One I still can’t read.
We’ve been down every obvious path. Former employees. Old clients. We even checked out the guy who’d been eyeing Francie at the Ivory Club in case he was trying to get revenge for me warning him off, but no dice. And, then of course, there’s Nathan.
My ex business partner’s vindictive enough to do something like this. But he’s clean. His alibi is tight, his bank records are clear. We even hacked his fucking phone but there’s no sign of him being involved.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or more pissed off.
But Brad’s right, I’ve barely slept at all this week. Just not for the reasons he thinks.
All I can think about is her. Every night this week, she’s been my lifeline. She calls me, I turn on the cameras.
And she lets me watch.
Even thinking about it makes my body heat up. Remembering that little smile she makes when I say her name. The way her voice trembles when she whispers mine. The soft, breathless way she looks into the camera, like I’m the only thing in the world she sees.
She likes me telling her what to do. And I like it, too. Way too much.
But I haven’t let myself come. Not once. It feels like a test now. Maybe I’m not a perv if all I do is watch. Maybe I want to make it all about her.
All I know is that I won’t do it, not until I’m with her in person.
I rake a hand through my hair, trying to refocus, but the image of her arching her back against the guest bed last night keeps bleeding through my mind. Her voice in my ear. Her body in my head.
I’m obsessed. She’s all I can think about. And watching from a distance isn’t enough.
I look at Brad. “Am I still needed here?” I ask him, waving my hand at the equipment. “Or have you got this?”
He lifts a brow. “You planning on leaving?”
“I’m halfway through the security upgrade on Liberty,” I remind him. Though I think we both know it’s a bullshit excuse.
He lifts a brow. He knows how anal I am. How hard it is for me to walk away from work. Or at least, how hard it has been. But he’s still my employee. He nods slowly.
“We’ve got things under control for now,” he says, though confusion still tinges his voice.
“Great.” I send a message to my assistant, asking her to sort out a flight back to Liberty. “Call me if you hear anything at all. I want constant updates. If a fly lands on the fucking screen, I want to know about it, okay?”
His mouth twitches. “Yes, sir,” he says, touching his fingers to his brow in a mock salute.
I ignore that, too busy thinking about her.
Because the next time she says my name, I’m determined to be close enough to feel it.