Chapter 17 #2
Or maybe leave the door unlocked and a light on for good measure.
The air punches from my lungs. My brain takes its own liberties, flashing hundreds of images that truly bring out my inner slut because I’m rolling my hips unapologetically. I can picture it: him in a ski mask, slipping through my window, taking me while I’m asleep.
I’m going to make that a reality. Somehow. Some way. It’s going to happen. Maybe.
I didn’t think home invasions were my kink, yet here we are. I learn something new about myself every day.
My daydreaming is getting the better of me, like it always does, because instead of replying, I’m rolling my hips against the towel, imagining Leo’s heavy breaths coming through the speaker are real. That he’s behind me. Pushing me against the bed. Taking me just like—
“Am I interrupting?”
I squeak, going stock-still.
You fucking dumbass.
“Uh.” I’m personifying a fish, opening my mouth and closing it, willing my one remaining brain cell to conjure a single thought. “Um. Yeah, I was in the middle of something.”
“You sound breathless.”
I can hear the devilish smile in his voice. Or am I imagining that too? Maybe I just need to get laid. By Leo.
Preferably in the next thirty seconds.
His sardonic chuckle winds down my spine. “You better not be having fun without me.”
“I . . .” I clear my throat. “I’m working out.”
The huff of amusement makes me shiver. “Don’t stop on my account.” The sound of clothes rustling comes through the line. “Keep going.”
My lips part. There’s a dark undertone to his strained voice that sends my head into a tailspin, like he knows what I’m doing. But there’s no way . . . It’d be impossible.
“Go on,” he orders as if he’s standing right in front of me, seeing in crystal clarity that I’ve defied his order.
I change to speaker and set the phone on the bed, gripping the towel and the blanket. I can feel him on the other end of the line as if he’s right beside me, and whatever fantasy I was getting myself off to is gone.
Because this is something in and of itself.
We’re back in his bedroom. He’s in his armchair, I’m kneeling on his bed, and every demand that comes out of his mouth, I follow. And Leo? He has his hand wrapped around his cock with the lights on.
This time, when I grind my hips hard against the towel, I suck in a sharp breath.
“Good.” Slowly, carefully, like he’s making sure I hear each and every word, he says, “Explain to me in excruciating detail what you’re doing.”
“I— Um. A hip flexor thing.” The lie falls right off my tongue, breathy enough that I’m certain he’ll see right through me. “I was close to finishing.”
“Yeah,” he says, somewhere between a groan and a chuckle. “I’m sure you were.”
What is that supposed to mean?
I don’t have a chance to analyze it further before I’m swallowing a moan. I’ve lost control of my body. I’m but a simple woman. His voice floating through the air is enough to get me going.
Leo’s quiet, labored breaths come out harsh through the receiver. If I concentrate hard enough, I swear I can hear the rhythmic sound of something moving. Quickly. Like skin against skin.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t I say I wanted details?”
I blink. Clawing at my brain for something. “I don’t remember what this move is called.”
“Turn on the camera and show me. I’m an athlete. I’ll know.”
Panic sinks into my bones. Abort. I need to end this call before I do something even more idiotic—like do as he says.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m all gross and sweaty. You don’t want to see that.”
Not a lie.
“You have no idea what things I want to see you do.” The video request comes through, and my eyes flare with panic. “Just to make sure your technique is correct. I’d hate for you to hurt yourself.”
Decline.
Decline.
Decline.
“It’s okay. I’ve got this. I’ve been doing this for a few years now.”
“Yeah? You better not be lying to me, baby girl.”
My eyes flutter closed. Christ on a bike. With words like that and a voice like his, not even a nun would be making it to Heaven. And by God, if I thought I’d catch fire if I stepped foot in a church before, I sure as shit would be ash in the wind if I so much as looked at a cross now.
Baby girl.
Baby. Girl.
Just fuck me already, Leo.
“What?” I laugh nervously. “No.”
“Liar.”
I blow out a terse breath. Sweat trickles down my spine for an entirely different reason. “I really am working out.”
Masturbation is a form of cardio, right?
Right.
He chuckles. “I’ve spent over half of my life training and building stamina. I’ve become something of an expert, and there’s one thing I know as a fact. Do you know what that is?”
Licking my lips, I press my core against the towel. “What is it?”
“It’s how to . . .” His weighted pause has me holding my breath. “Exercise.” I’m in a 90s porno right now because, yeah, consider me wet and ready. “We’ll do it together one day. I’ll make sure you’re nice and stretched out first. It’d be irresponsible of me not to.”
I’ve lost the war. A whisper of a pathetic moan curls out of me, and I can’t clamp my hand over my mouth fast enough.
My eyes widen at his deep-throated laugh. “Baby, you’re breathing like someone who’s dripping all over their fingers.”
“No,” I blurt. “I’m not.”
“You’re not?” he teases. “Then give me the details I asked for before I find out for myself. I’m resourceful.”
“I’m . . .” Riding your cum towel.
Leo answers before I can. “Fucking yourself with a toy when it should be me? No? Oh, I know. You’re grinding that pretty pussy of yours against something? Which is it?”
My jaw drops. How does he know? It’s not like I’m doing something the average gal does at seven o’clock on a weeknight while they’re on a call.
His voice takes on a vicious edge when I don’t answer. “Turn the fucking camera on. I only have so much patience.”
This is it. The wish I’ve had since well before I crawled beneath his bed. Still, I hesitate.
What if this is a cruel prank? What if he’s disappointed by what he sees, or decides I’m not to his liking? Or if he was only joking?
Deep down I know he means what he said. So for the sake of self-preservation, I whisper, “You first.”
I’m not sure what I expected. Pushback, maybe. Some goading, perhaps. More tit-for-tat requests.
Not for the screen to change. The video goes blurry for a couple of seconds before my jaw hits the floor at the same time my lady parts do backflips.
“Is this what you wanted to see?”
Unsolicited dick pics have always made me nauseous.
Yet here I am, staring at the crown of Leo’s cock, wishing he’d just lower the fucking camera to show me the goods.
That’s my first thought, at least. The second is the realization that Leo has his dick out in the car. For me. I can make out the wheel and accelerator, and part of the car’s logo. He’s partially hidden in shadow, barely illuminated by the glow of streetlights.
The third? He’s getting himself off.
At the same time I am. Because of me.
My core spasms as he catches the precum beading on his head and rubs it over his shaft that’s out of sight. “I’m going to give you three seconds to do as I said.”
I bite my lip and roll my hips in time with his hand. It only ever appears on screen for just a moment, before disappearing out of it for too long to be an average penis.
“Or what?”
“I’ll come over to see for myself.” He shifts his hips, letting the camera catch more of him, and I swear something shiny glints. “One.”
My mouth goes dry. Panic is setting in. I’m not like the girl he has pictured. I don’t have the long, skinny legs, blown-out, pretty hair, and abs.
I’m bloated. Sweaty. Clammy. It’s been four days since I’ve washed my hair. My shirt is far from impressive, and the only positive thing I can say about my choice of underwear is that it’s comfortable.
He . . . Maybe this was a bad idea. I’ve been selling myself on the idea that he’d fall for a different version of me. Someone who looks better. Whose career isn’t at a tipping point. Who is the type of person a mother could be proud of.
But Leo’s right there, on the other side of the camera, touching himself because of me. He feels what I feel. He . . . he wouldn’t push me away for this. He wants to see me get off. Right?
“Two, and I swear to God, you don’t want me to get to three.”
This time, my hesitation only lasts a second. I hold my breath as the camera loads, phone perched on an angle against the mass of blankets to keep my face out of frame. I wish I had the time to check the lighting and the angles. What if this was a mistake, and—
He curses, and I watch, utterly mesmerized as moisture gathers at his tip. His panting has grown heavier, and he swears a second time when I do a testing grind. It’s hardly more than a buck, and yet he’s gripping his cock like he’s close to finishing.
“You in that fucking shirt,” he groans.
I still, slowly look down. I’m in his shirt. I stole it last week.
Oh shit. Does he know what he did? What if he realizes that his clothes are missing, and this is his?
My spiraling cuts short when he rasps, “Now, be a good girl and show me what you’ve been doing.”
My stomach clenches around nothing as I wish more than anything we could be doing this face-to-face like we should’ve been months ago.
This innate part of me wants to impress him—please him. I focus all my attention on my phone, getting lost in the sound of his ragged breaths and skin rubbing skin.
The last thing I want is to disappoint him because I have no doubt he’s just as affected as I am.
Leo couldn’t even wait to get out of the car to jerk off.
He didn’t even make it inside his house because of me.
The power that comes from that knowledge is heady.
It’s so mind consuming that I disappear into the recesses of my brain to let my body take control.