Chapter 7
Well, I asked Jazz for a distraction and boy did he deliver.
Despite being gone for almost an hour, there was very little fanfare upon my return to the living room and my absence went relatively unremarked upon.
Evidently the intermittent bursts of guilt I’d been feeling for my disappearing act were completely unnecessary.
Of course, everyone seemed to be under the impression I’d gone out for a run; maybe if they knew I was upstairs sending dirty videos to my twenty-one-year-old, male boss there’d be a few comments…
“Well, you survived,” Blake says wryly, pulling a ceramic platter from the sudsy water and handing it to me to dry.
It’s almost eight pm and the house is completely quiet. We had dinner early because of Owen’s work schedule, and Shay and Jamie and the other Kellys in attendance decided to make the most of this arrangement by squeezing in another celebration at the family home on Staten Island.
The twins left not long ago to catch up with one of Joel’s friends from Princeton, so now it’s just Blake and me.
“Survived?”
“The afternoon with Sunny,” he clarifies.
I let out a wry huff. “It helped that it was brief.”
She was the first to depart, practically floating out of the dining room halfway through dessert after casually informing the entire table that the cheesecake—or, more specifically, the raspberry coulis—reminded her some guy called Derek was expecting her home any minute.
Thankfully, she seemed to have taken Blake’s comments to heart and toned down her enthusiasm about my new single status, so—for the most part—conversation with her wasn’t quite as grating as it had been earlier.
But she’ll never stop being Sunny, and she has a brain-to-mouth filter that could rival Jazz’s for it’s non-existence, which I can’t imagine would be a quality many people would find endearing in their mother.
“I guess it was a good run?” Blake prods, a hint of intrigue in his tone. “You definitely seemed more relaxed when you got back, but also kind of distracted.”
I’m quiet for a moment. It’s one thing to just not bother correcting everyone’s harmless assumption today but it feels weird carrying on the charade now. “Actually, I was just upstairs,” I say with a breath of laughter. “Not sure why everyone thinks I went out for a run.”
Blake’s brows fly into his hairline. “Well…because it’s you. And you were gone for an hour,” he points out. “Seriously? You were in your suite that whole time?”
I shrug. “I wanted to chill out for a bit, so that’s what I did. Had a lie down, took a shower, texted with Valerie…” Everything I’ve said is true—I actually did exchange a few texts with Valerie just before returning to the living room—but there are obviously some gaping holes.
“Everything okay with you guys?” he asks warily.
I smile. “Yeah, everything’s good. Great, actually. For a while I was worried we’d have to give up that part of the relationship as well—like, our only connection would be the kids,” I clarify. “But we’ve worked through it and things are really good now.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Blake says.
For the first time since this whole thing with Jazz started, I take a moment to consider how Valerie would react if I told her. She’d probably laugh herself silly from the sheer absurdity and once she’d finally recovered she’d press me for details. She certainly wouldn’t judge.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and somehow I just know it’s Jazz with his promised instructions. It’s completely ridiculous how desperate I am to read this text; but I’m going to have to wait because my hands are currently full of expensive crockery.
So I just suck it up and get on with drying the dishes.
But then my phone buzzes again. And again.
And all I can do is try not to go insane or drop any of these fucking plates while Blake carries on a one-sided conversation about something to do with one of Owen’s brothers and my phone keeps fucking buzzing.
I somehow remember to say goodnight to Blake before hightailing it out of the kitchen the second he declares the dishes done. As soon as I’m in the privacy of the elevator, I whip out my phone and start reading the texts, my eyes widening when I see how many there are.
“Jesus—it’s not the fucking Bill of Rights…”
Jazz Grimsay
Your homework is to make some more slutty videos and do the same exercise we did this afternoon to assess your thoughts and feelings
But this time make the content more…unorthodox. I’m hard pressed to believe someone with your inclinations doesn’t get a little experimental during your private time so lean into that
Consider the bar to be anything you’d never have thought of doing a month ago
You don’t have to send the videos to me, this is just for your benefit
Do the feelings exercise before you watch the video and then again afterward. Your feelings will probably change with the perspective so I’d suggest writing your observations down
Pay special attention to any feelings of unease or discomfort and try to figure out what could be causing it
Don’t jerk off while you’re watching it, you little slut
I scheduled these texts to come in at 8pm. I sure hope you’re not sitting around watching a movie with your kids or something…
I let out a sputter of laughter, shaking my head. By the time I’m done reading the stream of texts I’ve arrived at my suite; I know there’s not much point replying because Jazz is likely on stage right now but I can’t resist sending one anyway.
Me
So to summarize you want me to film myself doing creepy, messed-up shit…but you DON’T want to see it?
For some reason the whole thing just doesn’t seem as fun if I can’t share it…
I sink onto the sofa and scroll through the texts again, heat touching my cheeks as I lift my gaze to glance around my suite.
Yeah, there have definitely been a few unorthodox experiments over the past few days.
But they’re not elaborate set-pieces that I put any thought or planning into; it just happens.
One second I’m behaving like a completely normal person and then suddenly I’m fucking a jar of peanut butter.
I let out a low groan, rubbing the heel of my palm over the front of my jeans as I’m hit with the memory of what came after—lazing around naked on this very sofa with my dick still all messy while I used my fingers to scoop cummy peanut butter from the jar.
“Jesus Christ, Damon, you’re so fucking gross,” I bemoan, scrubbing a hand over my face.
But I guess creepy and gross is what does it for me these days…
Fucking hell. Maybe Jazz is right. Maybe it is the taboo element of all this that has me so hooked.
I guess it makes sense in a way; I’ve always gotten a bit of a thrill from pushing boundaries and breaking rules.
But it was always normal stuff. Harmless stuff.
Like having sex with Valerie in our high school art teacher’s office—and about a hundred other inappropriate places over the years; or running naked across the campus with the rest of the freshmen football recruits; or helping Ava pull a spectacular prank on her rival soccer team…
It was definitely never anything like this.
I glance around the room again and this time my eyes land on my tablet sitting on the breakfast bar.
I frown in consideration as I shift my gaze between the breakfast bar and the bed; with how the suite’s laid out a camera set on the counter should be able to get a full view of the bed.
And if I use my tablet I could just press record and let the video run.
No doubt it’ll pick up something in the next hour or two…
I doubt this set-up is what Jazz had in mind but unless he’s prepared to give me some more thorough instructions it’s the best I have.
About an hour later I’m sitting up in bed scrolling through random shit on my phone and starting to question the wisdom of my plan. I never go to bed this early and it feels fucking weird to just be sitting here.
I’m debating whether to re-locate to the sofa and try watching some porn for inspiration when my phone buzzes with Jazz’s reply to my earlier text.
Jazz Grimsay
Let’s just say if a video of you doing creepy, messed-up shit happens to appear on my phone I’m not going to delete it
But that’s your call. This is for your benefit, not mine
And, just like that, I’m filled with the same giddy excitement I felt earlier when I sent the other video.
There’s just something so thrillingly reckless about Jazz of all people seeing me like that; knowing he’s going to torment me for my behavior—either with taunts and mockery or by deliberately withholding his reaction.
My cheeks flare with mild embarrassment at the visceral reaction because, seriously, I need to get a grip… I tip my head back against the headboard and let out a steadying breath before sending my reply.
Me
He says like he doesn’t know what my call will be
So seeing as how you ARE going to benefit maybe you could pick something from that no doubt lengthy list of depraved and debauched shit you want to see me do?
Jazz Grimsay
“Endless” is probably more accurate. But this is YOUR thing dirty boy—consider it an opportunity to take ownership like we talked about last night
I let out a groan of frustration.
Me
But it’s not like I plan this shit! It just happens—one second I’m completely normal and the next I’m behaving like a filthy, depraved whore. I can’t do it on cue
Jazz Grimsay
You must get your inspiration from somewhere
I consider this for a moment before sighing my acknowledgement of his point.
Fantasies. I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me earlier but my unorthodox behavior is a physical extension of the filthy fantasies I’ve been having lately, most of which stem from either the text message exchanges I can’t seem to stop reading or my in-person interactions with Jazz.
Me
You, obviously. No one else could inspire this kind of depravity
Jazz Grimsay