Chapter Seventeen
VIOLET
Is he watching me?
The thought won’t leave me alone as I eat the tacos I ordered in for dinner, trying to concentrate on finishing my assignment.
At first, I try to ignore it, and then I’m not sure how I feel about it, after all, putting cameras into my apartment violates me on so many levels.
My private domain… He’d have had to do some major stalking and crossing of lines by breaking in. And then there’s the whole violation of my private space by watching me.
But I’m aching inside, and I find myself putting on a sexy silk teddy and lacy boy shorts to work in. Because they’re meant for sleeping, and when I’m finished with my assignment, I’ll be doing that.
I get up and refill my water glass and stop by the bathroom to put some makeup on. Then I pin up my hair.
It’s not until I start sliding my feet into my heeled sandals that I stop, my breath suddenly fast and uneven.
I should be upset, calling the cops. I should be wearing every piece of clothing and pulling my entire studio apart.
Thing is, I don’t.
Because I’m turned on.
I put the shoes away and dig out my highest heels and put them on and totter about, putting the water into a wine glass as I sprawl on my bed to finish the assignment.
Really, I’m an idiot, playing up for cameras that most likely aren’t here. Yet.
They probably won’t be, but…
“I don’t mind.” I say the words aloud to see how they sound against my senses, and I find I like them. I like this idea.
A toy, an object for desire and spying eyes. Someone to be ordered about, watched to make sure I don’t do anything like touch myself and while I like my vibrator, I don’t tend to just use my fingers. But I’m really wanting to.
Just to see.
I don’t.
The last thing I want is his wrath.
Then I reconsider.
No, the last thing I want is absolute confirmation either way. In this moment, the idea of him maybe looking at me is titillating.
And making it hard to concentrate on my work.
I’m sure he’s messing with me, though. Because breaking in, physically breaking in is a huge risk, even for The Ghost.
I finally finish my assignment, and I turn out most of the lights apart from my small lamp in the corner of the room. I like it, and the golden spill of light from the Edison style oversize bulb. It’s LED, but it gives off the light of those beautiful bulbs fancy restaurants and bars have.
Jack never commented on it, but we spent most of our time at Cade’s.
It hits me with a shock.
Apart from when I moved in here a year ago, Jack and I spent time in my dorm room, or his, and then mostly at Cade’s. I think I can count on one hand how often Jack’s been here.
Ugh, I don’t want to think about Jack. Instead, I choose a movie and climb in bed, streaming it on my computer.
It’s one I’ve wanted to see for a long time and not the sort of thing that Jack likes. When I’m finished with it, I annoy myself by checking my phone.
No messages.
Like there would be when my phone hasn’t buzzed once.
I choose something else to put on as I’m in that weird space between sleep and awake, where I’m too agitated to close my eyes and too sleepy to focus on something else along the lines of the movie.
So, as I sit back to watch the thriller, my mind drifts.
“Screw it.”
Me
I knew you weren’t watching.
But he’s there. Immediately. And my heart throbs.
Ghost
There are all sorts of ways.
He’s right. And he still hasn’t told me if he’s watching me or not. It’s part of his game, I realize with a delicious jolt.
Me
If you’re not watching, how do you know I’m not touching myself?
Ghost:
Damn it. He sent me a blank text, and I don’t know what it means.
I know I want to touch myself, I want to break out my vibrator, my rose clit stimulator, but I hesitate.
Is that the purpose of the blank text? To make me see if I want to go down this wild rabbit hole with him then I have to obey, even when words aren’t said.
And if there’s nothing said?
I have to wait?
Me
I’m not.
Ghost
I know.
I draw in a sharp breath as my clit throbs hard.
Me
Are you watching? Or not?
Ghost
Telling you ruins it, don’t you think?
Me
If I do then what will you do to me?
Ghost
Violet. I didn’t know you had the beating heart of a masochist. Careful…
Or he’ll hurt me? I think he would. But it would hurt so good. My gut twists and turns and pushes the want up higher.
Me
Or what?
Ghost
Don’t brat out unless you’re willing to face those consequences, and I don’t think we’re there yet. You won’t touch yourself or use anything on yourself until I tell you you can.
“Because he’s my master.”
The words sound strange, real, familiar, right, and wrong, all at the same time, and they all spin up into a yes, yes, he is.
But he’s not like any I’ve read about.
There’s a pulse of understanding that rocks me.
He’s the master I need, like he’s somehow tuned into the vibrations emanating from me, and he knows what I am even if I don’t.
I don’t want to crawl and beg, at least, not like so many of them write about on the forums and sites. I want to be chased and dominated, but I don’t want to be a sub who writes her name with a small letter. I don’t want to be subservient in all aspects of my life.
With sex, I want…the thrill, the throb of the unknown, the pushing of limits, of public sex, of being chased, taken against my will—that rape fantasy where I want it all—I want to be forced down to take him in my mouth.
I want to be violated in all the delicious ways.
And yes, I want him to watch me, follow me, stalk.
I want him to tell me when I can and can’t touch myself.
I want…I want what’s happening now, and I love and fear where this might go.
Ghost
Do you want to come?
Me
Yes.
Ghost
What do you have? Just your fingers? Toys?
God, this is humiliating, hot, wild.
I didn’t think when I texted back yes, because if I did, I’d have shied away, and I don’t want that.
He also wanted an answer. Expected one, and so…
I gave it.
And it feels good, a shivery warmth passing through my bones.
Yes. I want to shout it. Yes. Let me come.
Me
I’ve got a rabbit, a regular vibrator and a clit stimulator.
I pull that from my drawer.
The reason I got it was it was pretty, feminine, and doesn’t look like a sex toy. Also, it works.
Ghost
Use that. Bloom like a rose.
I look around again, how does he know? Or is the word choice a coincidence?
But maybe it doesn’t matter. I’m about to close my computer and turn off the light when I change my mind. Instead, I stream some music, a low, slow jazz, something by Miles Davis that I think was done for a movie a very long time ago. It’s got a sensual feel to it, and I turn the volume low.
Ghost
Use it like a tongue. Imagine me. Because next time you have something on your clit, it’ll be my tongue, and I’ll make you come so hard you’ll scream.
Oh. Fuck.
The Ghost isn’t watching. But I imagine he is, somewhere, somehow, and I throw the covers back, pull off my boy shorts, and think of him.
I don’t have any image to go on, but I settle on my type. Tall, dark hair. The rest is immaterial.
It’s more a feeling, the command from him to do this, and it takes real guts. Because no one’s ever watched me. No one’s ever told me to make myself come.
He might not be watching, but the potential is titillating, and I can’t help being even more turned on by it all.
I close my eyes and start, using my fingers, but they aren’t right. I squirm as I want to make this good. I need it to be good. But I also know if I turn on the little rose toy, I’ll come way too fast.
Luckily, I’m so wet it makes me slick, so I let my fingers lazily roll around my clit, and I spread my legs, dipping into my pussy, fingering myself a little.
What would The Ghost’s fingers feel like? Soft? Or hard?
And more importantly, would he dive right in and force the excitement, the desire into being? Turn me from cold to boiling hot in no time?
I want that, just like I want a slow seduction where he sets every single ball into motion, where I don’t get a say in anything. I’m just there, for him.
I move the rose now, making the silicone slick with my juices, and I glide it over my sensitive nub, up and around, slowly bringing myself into a deeper and more excited place.
Then I turn it on. Low.
It vibrates and sucks, moving on me with the help of my hand, and it’s almost too much and not enough.
I find a rhythm, bringing it in downward strokes over my clit so the sucking is sporadic, the vibrations making me want more.
It’s him toying with me now, making me take what he gives, slowly centering it to just sit and buzz with electric vibrations and small sucks against my clit.
I turn it up, his hand on mine, guiding.
Then it’s somehow no longer the toy, but him doing this to me, his mouth over me, and we’re not in my room, but we’re in an alley, and he’s got me pressed against the wall.
He’s on his knees, and my thighs are over his shoulders as he holds me up, fingering me hard while he sucks and makes vibrating sounds against me, and I’m gasping, crying, begging for more.
He doesn’t listen.
Instead, he keeps that pace, like he doesn’t care for my enjoyment. Like he’s the one getting joy from this, from me, and any pleasure I get from it is just a byproduct.
I’m aware of people walking by, of music spilling from a bar, and my head’s spinning, my clit throbbing, and the pressure is building, building, until—
“Oh, god!”
I come. Shattering hard, as wave after wave of the orgasm takes me down into the wild waters of pleasure.
I gasp as another wave hits, this one smaller, and I’m spasming into a kind of ebbing oblivion until I finally have to pull the toy away, the throbs of my orgasm echoing through my clit and flesh until they finally go altogether, and I lie there, gasping, weak, spent.
The toy vibrating hard in my hand.
It takes a good minute for me to gather the strength to turn it off. And I curl up on my side, closing my eyes.
For a while, I lie there, getting my breath back. I’m not really sure who I am anymore, but I sort of think I’m going to love this journey into the unknown.
I get up, pull on my panties and get ready for bed, turning off the light and closing the computer. This time, I set it on my nightstand so it’s not in danger of me sleeping on it again.
My phone buzzes.
I open it and expect another text. But it’s a voice message.
The number’s unknown, but I know who it is, and my heart thumps.
The voice is distorted a little, like it’s gone through a program to make sure I can’t tell who it is if I meet him in real life.
It’s impossibly deep, but there’s a dark edge to it, a familiarity I can’t place that coils inside me.
“Quite the fucking show. Next time, it’s my tongue. But you don’t ever get to touch yourself again without explicit instruction. Understand? Sleep well. Dream of me.”
I start to shake in earnest.
And my entire body burns hot.
Maybe it’s me, but through the distortion, I can hear the sexiness of him, the commanding nature that’s The Ghost.
He’s watching me. I don’t know how. Or from where.
Or maybe he just guessed.
Maybe he’s spying from the building across the street, sitting there with high-power binoculars.
I decide he’s watching me. And I don’t just like the idea…
I love it.
“Goodnight,” I whisper to the air as I snuggle down in bed.
This time, I go to sleep.
Something’s in the air the next morning. A hint of dark mossy stone, sacred secret places, incense that’s on the edge of being familiar.
It’s going to drive me crazy.
Those are the remains of whatever was here, not quite a scent, but scattered memory that reaches down and pulls out a visceral response.
It feels like someone was in here.
Moments ago.
All the memories of the night before rush back in, and I bolt out of bed and I’m halfway to my front door before I realize there’s no one here, and it’s locked.
I go back to my bed behind the curtain I have up to separate the space.
Hell, I need to get ready for work.
With a sigh, I walk back to my bed and reach for my phone.
That’s when I see it.
The black box with the silk ribbon, sitting on my computer, next to my phone, on my nightstand.
My heart gallops in both fear and excitement.
The Ghost was here.
For how long?
Did he touch me?
I don’t feel like someone touched me, but I’m really not sure if I want him to have done so or not.
Instead of pondering on that, I open the box.
It’s a small sex toy, the kind you insert and wear all day. I’ve seen them but never, ever dared to get one. What would I do with one, anyway? Things like this are specifically meant for two players. One to control, the other to be at his or her mercy.
I shiver with equal amounts of anticipation and excitement.
My phone buzzes. But it’s a text from Lia asking if I want to hang out tonight.
There’s also another one. From earlier.
Ghost
Wear your toy all day. I’ll be watching you. Controlling you. Excited?