39. Steam
Chapter 39
Steam
TOMER
P opping my head out of the shower, I squint at the screen of my cell to check the caller ID. It’s not Lettie, so my instinct is to return to the water and ignore it. However, I immediately shake that off since the call is more than likely about my sugar bear.
I tap the auto reply on the lock screen to decline Amber Langley’s call while sending a text message to her, letting her know I’ll return her call momentarily.
Correction. Amber Amos. I keep forgetting she uses her married name these days.
Quickly rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, I cut the water and dry off at record speed, eager to return the call. She was supposed to be stopping by the women’s shelter this evening, so this is likely the update I requested about Lettie.
While I’m slipping on my boxers, Amber answers on the third ring. “Hey, Tomer. How are you?”
“Is Lettie all right?” No sense beating around the bush.
“I’m doing fine. Thanks for asking,” she jests. Her upbeat tone eases my worries some. “Lettie is also fine. And dang . She’s beautiful. Good job on that.”
Yeah, but I fucked it up. “She’s good? You’re sure?”
“I’m positive. Just spent the last twenty minutes chatting with her. Total sweetheart. And she has quite a fan club here.”
“I’m not surprised. People tend to gravitate toward light and warmth. And she’s that and more.”
“Wow,” Amber whispers. “You’ve got it bad, man. Not that I disagree with you. And her accent is adorable. I could tell she was trying to suppress it, and it made me love her more.”
Same.
Once I found out that Lettie was going to stay at the Langley Foundation’s women’s shelter, I contacted Amber immediately. Having designed the security system for the facility and worked with the Langleys on various projects, I have a nice rapport with her and her brother. Sadly, they’re related to the Amos-holes by marriage, but I was able to forgive them for that.
Mostly.
At least they picked decent Amos-holes to marry instead of that Millie Amos. Sue’s poor brother got saddled with that one.
When I don’t add anything further, Amber takes control of the conversation like the no-nonsense person she is. “Listen, Cort’s going to be here to pick me up any minute, so I’ll get right to it.” She pauses for a loud inhale. “Ugh. Sorry. I can’t breathe. This baby is sucking all the oxygen from my entire body.” Another harried breath. “I’ll be sharing only the essentials without breaking Lettie’s confidentiality. For starters, she seems comfortable here. Loves her room and all that. I told her I could make whatever arrangements she needs for her meals, which she declined. The case of sealed water bottles and a chiller were delivered to her room today, along with some sealed juice bottles and some packaged snacks, per your request. She said she feels safe at the facility, and I asked her in no less than three different ways just to make sure she wasn’t trying to placate me. And no, she wouldn’t take the upgraded room I offered.”
“Did you leave your number with her in case she thinks of something she needs?”
“ Yes, Tomerrr ,” she drawls, a slight growl broadcasting her annoyance.
“Sorry. She’s been through a lot of bad shit lately. I only want to ensure she has the best of everything.”
“She does. And I’m annoyed with everyone these days. Don’t take the growl personally.”
“Noted. Any issues with the security system?”
“No concerns have made it to my ears. Far as I know, it’s business as usual.”
“Excellent.”
With nothing else of substance to discuss, we end the call a few seconds later. Any tension remaining in my body that I didn’t sweat out at the gym or wash off in the shower quickly releases, causing my muscles to sag and posture to slump.
I sit on the edge of my bed for a while, losing track of time. My thoughts don’t swirl or race. I’m not obsessing over vengeance or work demands.
It’s just . . . peaceful.
After a few moments of silence, my phone signals an incoming text from sugar bear. Instantly, my pulse spikes. Not with anxiety or adrenaline.
It’s pure excitement.
Every time she reaches out, I become happier and closer to whole.
The content of her text is a bit unexpected.
Sugar Bear:
It’s 8pm. Time for my shower. ?? winking face emoji
Why in the hell would she tell me that? I thought we’d talk. Maybe flirt some more. Is she explaining why she’ll be delayed?
Then again... the emoji. Isn’t that some type of code? A message in and of itself, perhaps?
Lettie’s not one for overdoing emojis. In the past, she’s joked that only people in their thirties and older use them. Each time she’s used them with me, there’s been a specific reason.
Come on, Google. Don’t let me down.
My thumbs hover over my screen. What the fuck do I search? Deciding to start simple, I type, “What does a winking face emoji mean?” into the search engine.
That was easy. Don’t even have to click a link for the explanation. It’s right there on the search results screen. And yep; the answer is just as suspected.
Flirting. Hidden meaning.
Well fuck. She wants me to watch her. I think. Maybe. Probably.
Since I decided I want to be a man worthy of her, I’ve done well to resist crossing any lines. But is it crossing a line if she wants me to watch?
I can’t call her to verify. She won’t answer because phone call. Besides, that takes away some of the fun in this flirty game we’ve started playing. Lettie’s been hellbent on reclaiming her sexuality and her body. Taking control. This must be another way she’s doing it.
Too bad there’s no one I can ask to check my interpretation. It’s not like I can call one of the guys. How would that chat go?
Yeah, so I’ve been doing lots of spying on my girlfriend. No big deal. Technically, she’s my ex-girlfriend, but I think she wants me to fight for her, and I’m doing exactly that. Here’s the thing. I suspect she’s asking me to spy on her again. It’s likely because we both have voyeurism and exhibitionism kinks. Previously, she asked me if I’ve been watching her and pressed me for tons of details about how I access cameras and shit like that. Here’s a screenshot of the text she just sent. Does this winking face emoji make it okay? That’s a solid invitation to watch her shower, right?
For a minute, I let my mind craft their responses.
Shep would probably be on board, saying something like, “She’s daring you to do it. Take the bait. You won’t be sorry. Best way to handle a brat is to call her bluff.”
Leo would be the voice of reason. “Treat a woman with respect. Always. If you want her, you should woo her. Send her some flowers and chocolate. And the next chance you get, put her up on the counter and bury your face between her thighs until she pulls strands of hair out of your head. Then do it again.”
Klein would inevitably go through an emotional crisis while trying to figure out how to respond. “Invading someone’s privacy is not the way to a long, happy life together. Do you think my father would have ever done such a deplorable thing?” He’d pause to scratch his head or chin. “Then again, Frank Sinatra said it best when he said, ‘You only go around once, but if you play your cards right, once is enough.’ Do what you feel, man.”
Sawyer would probably do a Matthew McConaughey greatest hits medley, starting with the classic, “Alright, alright, alright.” Then he’d pull out some thinker like from the HBO detective show. “The world needs bad men. We keep the other bad men from the door.” That wouldn’t be any help, so he’d end with a quote from Magic Mike . “The law says you cannot touch. But I think I see a lot of lawbreakers up in this house tonight.”
According to my mental gymnastics, three out of four of my Redleg brothers suggest I go for it. Majority rules.
After grabbing my laptop, I settle onto the bed. No phone. No tablet. I want the full screen for whatever is about to happen.
Before I access her phone’s camera, I promise myself that the way she positions her phone will tell me if she really wants this. Facing the ceiling? Nope. Propped up to give me a good view? It’s on.
Two clicks later, and it’s motherfucking on.
While I don’t know the layout of the facility’s bedrooms and bathrooms, I’d wager a guess that the phone is resting on a towel rack. Upright. Aimed directly at the shower, which is only three feet away max. Country music fills the room over the sound of running water. I crank up the volume.
Tomorrow, I’ll send a thank you note to whomever designed the bathrooms with shower doors instead of curtains. Despite the steam from the shower and water splatter on the glass, I have a beautiful view of her luscious body.
I’m instantly rock hard.
Yet I refuse to touch my cock this soon.
The song changes, and she starts swaying her hips to the sultry rhythm. This one has some blues undertones to it. Don’t know it, but I’m already a big fan.
And fuck me running. She’s singing along while her hands roam over her entire body. Cupping her breasts. Caressing her slippery hips. Delving between her legs.
She’s trying to kill me. And I happily hand her the blade and offer my throat.
I only pick up a few lyrics from the song. Something about a radiator, steam, and flame in your touch.
Whatever it is, it’s my new favorite song.
Grabbing my phone, I ask the AI assistant to identify the song. I need to know so I can play it on repeat when we’re done tonight.
“Steam” by Ty Herndon.
It’s an older song, so I’m shocked she knows it. However, country music often has a timeless quality to it. And my Lettie never fails to surprise me.
I’m drooling by the time she hits the long, drawn-out notes of the chorus.
Without conscious thought, I snake my hand under my boxers to grab a fistful of my dick. A hissing sound leaves me at first contact.
If only I could talk to her. Guide her movements.
First, I’d tell her to twist her sopping wet hair and rest it on top of her head so I could see more of her delicate neck. Then I’d have her reach above her head with both arms. Leaving one arm extended, the other would make a slow descent, gliding her fingertips sensually over her forearm, bicep, and down to her shoulder until it trailed across her neck and between her breasts. The other hand could then drift lower. Not too fast. I’d tell her to make me wait for each subtle movement. Build the anticipation.
My hand starts stroking my throbbing cock, gliding up and down in long, slow movements. Without lube, it’s a little rough. The pain heightens the pleasure, though.
Next, I’d have Lettie cup her breasts, squeezing her nipples between her thumbs and index fingers. She’d throw her head back, awash with pleasure, and release one of those sexy as fuck whimpers. The ones I loved to catch in my mouth.
Although she’d want to press her thighs together for friction, I wouldn’t let her because we’d only be getting started.
If I could talk to her, that is.
Wait a fucking minute. Nothing is stopping me. A few clicks and it would be like I was in the room with her.
But I like it this way too. Watching her take control of her pleasure, not needing anyone to guide her.
As the song nears the conclusion, her singing voice becomes strained. The words clipped. Breathing choppy. I have a good idea why, but I can’t be sure since the glass below her waist level has become harder to see through as the shower has progressed.
Almost as if she’s reading my mind, one of her palms reaches out to wipe the glass. In smooth, long strokes, she clears the fog away, giving me a perfect view of her other hand. It’s smacked dab between her legs. Her fingertips move in small circles, swirling and teasing, while her hips buck into her hand.
Damn that’s fucking hot.
My fist works my cock punishingly, faster and faster, rubbing my thumb over the tip at the top of each stroke. On the screen, Lettie’s keens pitch higher and louder.
Don’t you dare come yet, sugar bear.
Ever the brat, she defies my silent command. No more than a second later, she slaps her free hand on the tile wall and cries out in pleasure as a climax rocks through her body.
Damn . That was fast.
Her moans and bliss-filled whimpers sail from the speakers, heading right to my balls and making them draw up with a need to come.
She’s still coming down from her orgasm while I’m building to mine.
Before I reach the peak, she cuts off the water and slings open the glass door. My movements slow, delaying my release.
Looking straight into the camera, she reaches a few inches to the right of her phone to grab a towel. Making no move to cover her body, she squeezes water out of her hair. She trails her tongue along her lips, dabbing past them to lick away some of the water droplets. Then she slowly brings the towel around her body, tucking one side under her arm.
She grabs the phone from its towel rack perch, then holds it a foot or so away from her face as she walks into the adjoining bedroom. She’s humming along to the music still playing. I have no idea what song is on at this point and couldn’t care less.
With a nibble of her lip, she props the phone up on what I’m guessing is a tall dresser. She tightens her towel again and reaches into the top drawer.
When her hand comes out, she’s holding a slim pink vibrator.
Then she fucking winks at her phone.
She is absolutely going to kill me.