25. Ivory
She wasn’t going to chicken out again.
Homework had been a priority last night, but today she had no more excuses. Time to hold up her end of the deal.
She hated to admit it, but thinking about Adrian had become a nightly occurrence. Not that all her thoughts were explicit, but after their most recent conversations…a lot of explicit things had been on her mind.
As he’d said, Adrian didn't reach out again after their mid-morning texts. But that hadn’t stopped her from picking up her phone the whole day, then promptly putting it down. The goal wasn’t to disturb him, even though she felt the need to ask if he was okay.
She didn’t want to bring up his lack of cigarettes if he’d purposely kept himself busy. Then there was how he mentioned putting her in danger. It’d been floating in the back of her thoughts since yesterday. Did that mean he was in danger? What kind?
Whatever it was, he could handle it. Or so she hoped.
Ivory sighed, closing out all the open apps on her phone and set it aside. Enough lazing around. Using some of this pent-up energy to pick out a good outfit might help. If she wanted to send an actual, sexy photo, it would take a little forethought.
Her current choice of clothing, sleep shorts and a tank top, didn’t look bad, but they didn’t have the wow factor she wanted.
This couldn’t be just any photo. It had to be the photo. The one he looked at if…if…
A flare of heat rose on her face despite the dorm’s overactive furnace. The mere possibility of Adrian getting himself off to the thought of her felt unreal.
Not that she wasn’t aware most humans masturbated, but the thought of his rough, scarred hand dragging down his zipper and wrapping around his dick, his deep moans while picturing her in his mind—
She rolled off the bed, the heat from earlier now blooming between her legs. Better get the logistics out of the way before she got too worked up. Even though he’d given the okay to fantasize about him, encouraged it even, she shouldn’t get too carried away.
It would be fair to ask for a photo in return, right?
Shuffling across her fuzzy purple rug, she walked over to the dresser and slid out her underwear drawer. Nothing extraordinary there.
The closest thing she owned to ‘sexy’ was a bra that had little jewels sewn between the cups and a thong she’d gotten as a white elephant gift. Her top half didn’t have much to offer in the boob department, and that bra in particular dwarfed what meager assets she had, so she opted for the thong and decided to focus on the waist down.
Did people pose for this stuff? What about proper lighting? Being an amateur model took way more work than she anticipated. Then again, she shouldn’t overthink. He hadn’t specified what to include in the photo, and this may already be going a bit overboard.
Ugh.
She grabbed a pair of purple nylon knee-high socks and one of the shortest dresses she owned, a dark sundress that flared at her waist and threw it all on the bed. Whatever. Just because she’d never found out what Victoria’s special secret was didn’t mean this couldn’t work out the way she wanted.
After dressing up, she clicked off the main overhead light and plugged in the string of purple bulbs she’d gotten on sale after Halloween. They glowed around her floor-length mirror, casting a mystic hue over her skin. Her skin had always been chalk-white, but she looked downright supernatural in this light.
Pulling her hair out from behind her shoulders, she made a few mock expressions using the shadows to twist and distort her features. Ah, yes, much more witchy than before. The lights accentuated her new hair color, almost as if she had become a monotone of purple. She smiled and couldn’t help but laugh out loud at her antics. Maybe being a cute witch wasn’t so bad after all.
The ribbon Adrian put in her hair hung off the side of her desk, and she reached over to grab it. Biting her lip, she threaded it between her fingers, remembering how his hands felt as they weaved through her hair. How secure she’d felt with them wrapped around her throat and the fresh taste of his skin on her tongue.
She thought Jace had ruined the act of guys taking pleasure from her mouth, but Adrian had been so gentle, so authoritative without overstepping. One finger almost hadn’t been enough.
Caught up again in dark thoughts, she tied the ribbon around her neck like a choker and took a few photos for herself. Her old profile photo looked outdated anyway.
With a deep breath, she settled into a comfortable position on her knees and spread her legs a few inches; enough to see where the thong curved over her pussy lips, but leaving ample shadow to cover the details. She giggled mischievously—he’d just have to undress her in person to see the rest.
The best method turned out to be using a timer and propping the phone against the mirror. After a few takes, she got a photo that turned out decent enough. Of course, then she tried to adjust it with filters but gave up after five minutes of wasted time. If only she could find a way to see his reaction when she sent it.
But first, something else needed to be taken care of.
She squirmed as she set her phone aside and slipped back into bed. All this prep had done the trick, and it wasn’t hard to tell how wet she’d gotten. The sheets were soft and cool as she leaned into her mountain of pillows, then she closed her eyes and relinquished her mind to the darkness.
A fantasy formed in her subconscious. Her hands became bound above her head, tight enough that she couldn’t wiggle or turn her wrists. A breeze caressed her skin, hardening stiff nipples and revealing a slickness dripping down her thighs—arousal from being stripped, bound, and blindfolded, strung up from the ceiling for her Sir to inspect.
Slow, steady footsteps echoed in a circle around her, and Adrian’s quiet hum filled the air. She breathed him in, nutmeg and a warm, light musk that wound through her core.
His hand brushed down her side, the metal of his rings cold as he stroked her hip. “Very good, Iv.”
Her real hand followed the movement, then traced back up to pinch her nipple.
“Thank you, sir,” her alternate self replied, gasping as he pinched her harder than she dared to do herself.
“Will you be a good girl for me?” he asked, continuing to play with her breast in tantalizing movements. His mouth closed over the other nipple, teeth pulling taut before using his tongue to soothe the ache.
“Yes, sir,” she moaned, trying her best not to writhe under his increasingly teasing touch.
He withdrew, and she wanted to scream and beg for more—but she didn’t. She waited, breath bated, listening for the slightest clue.
“Let’s find out.” He thrust a finger inside her, and pleasure shot through her core. Her legs buckled, but she didn’t dare squirm, didn’t dare make a sound for fear of punishment. Her real finger moved inside herself as fantasy Adrian pumped in and out, increasing the intensity to test her breaking point.
“Don’t you dare come,” Adrian growled.
He circled his thumb around her clit, spreading her open as her real hand did the same. She’d barely begun to touch herself, and already, she’d gotten soaked. Every touch grew more intense, her body trying to arch off the bed as she forced herself to stay still.
Adrian hummed in approval, the sound sliding over her skin and resonating in her bones. “Excellent. You are marvelous. Take your reward.”
Yes…so close…so very, very close.
Wait. She stopped. Was she supposed to text him before or after she came? Was she supposed to come at all? Did she need permission from the real Adrian?
It was almost too painful to retract her hand, but she did. Opening her eyes to break the illusion, she looked around for her phone.
Better to ask.
Her clit throbbed in protest as she hurried to select the best photo and then sent it off along with a quick caption.
May I please come, sir?