Chapter 30 Steele #3
“You okay?” Theo asks, a brow lifted in question.
There’s no way my cheeks aren’t as red as a goddamn stop light, the back of my neck beading with sweat.
It’s not even hot in here, but after the one-second glimpse of Sydney’s bare cunt, two fingers spreading it just enough to show every perfect, pink inch, I’m burning the fuck up.
“Mhmm,” I hum, about thirty octaves higher than any grown man should. “Totally. Are you?” I’m in full panic mode, guilt written all over my expression like a teenager that just got caught sneaking a peek at his dad’s titty magazines.
“Am I…okay?” Theo echoes, looking around the room like someone can explain why the hell I would ask that. I smile awkwardly, nodding like an idiot as a rough swallow works its way down my throat. “Yeah.”
“Cool. Cool. Cool,” I reply, trying—and failing—to act like nothing out of the ordinary is going on when Sydney’s naked pussy is quite literally flattened against my leg.
And when another notification comes through, daring me to check it, I’m grateful that I’m the only one on this part of the couch.
I wait for them all to turn their attention back to the TV before carefully lifting my phone from my lap and scrolling down.
As soon as I do, I wish I hadn’t, because this one is a million times worse.
In fact, it’s not a photo at all, but a video with no sound and the filthiest preview I’ve ever seen.
Before I even press play, I have to shift in my seat, my caged cock beginning to thicken at the still of Sydney’s fingers stuffed deep inside her body.
Double-checking that nobody is looking in my direction, I press play, watching with wide eyes as she slowly fucks herself.
I bring a fist up to my mouth, biting down to stifle a groan because holy shit, this is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
I get lost in the way her fingers glisten more every time she retreats, until I’m so uncomfortable below the waist that I feel like I could pass out.
The silicone is right against me, and I know without even looking that I’m bulging from every single hole in the cage.
It’s torture, and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it.
I teased her, baited her into punishing me, and now I have to live with the consequences.
Several more stills come through, and I recognize the setting in the background.
If she’s recording these things as she’s sending them, that means she’s sitting on the counter in my downstairs bathroom right now, getting herself off.
The thought makes my cock swell even more, my balls throbbing as they press into the ring that’s wrapped tightly around them.
There isn’t a single cell in my body that isn’t fixated on the thought of her touching herself just underneath where I’m sitting, which is why I don’t think twice before firing off a reply.
ME:
Please, Mistress. I need to touch you. Can I come downstairs?
SYDNEY:
Bad boys don’t get to touch my pussy. If you hadn’t been disobedient, your fingers would be inside me right now, instead of my own. I can’t reach as deep as you can. I might even punish you more for denying me the pleasure I deserve.
ME:
Please. I can’t get hard. It hurts.
SYDNEY:
You should’ve thought about that before you taunted me like a brat. You can sit there and suffer while I rub my swollen clit and come all over myself. I’ll make sure to let you know how good it tastes when I suck my fingers clean.
ME:
Sydney.
SYDNEY:
Goodbye, Steele.
I lock my phone, huffing a frustrated breath as I attempt to find a comfortable position, but it’s no use.
My dick is trying to burst out of its restraint, and I can’t get the mental image of Sydney licking her own arousal from her soaked fingers out of my head long enough to calm down.
She’s in for a rude awakening when this cage comes off.
I’m going to empty so much cum into her that she won’t be able to stand for weeks without feeling me drip down her thighs.
The guys’ muffled voices fade back in just as Jett walks up to me with a whiskey glass in his hand.
I swipe it like a feral animal, thanking him with a quick tip of the rim before throwing its entire contents back in one go.
The liquor burns as I swallow, but it’s a welcome distraction from the pain that’s radiating throughout my lower half.
“Uhhhh, to love, I guess,” Jett mutters sarcastically, sipping his whiskey like a normal human being as the others lift their glasses in a half-ass salute and do the same.
I can barely even think straight, knowing that my girl is probably coming as we speak.
I just want to be in there, watching her own her pleasure like the goddess she is.
Instead, I’m up here, attempting to act like everything is fine while my teammates go on about our playoff chances this season with no end in sight.
And I have a feeling my long and painful night has only just begun.