Chapter Eighteen #2
You put a camera in under the guise of sending me flowers.
Me
I wanted to send you flowers. The rest seemed a natural extension of the other night.
She is on her feet, looking around.
Me
You will never find it.
Lola sits on the edge of her bed in her oversized T-shirt that shows delightful flashes of her panties when she moves. Not the lacy number from the other night.
Lola
You came in here?
I lie, just a little.
Me
Not me, someone else. I don't know the first thing about it.
Lola
I see.
Me
Does it freak you out that I like watching you?
She looks up and stares at one of the cameras, though there is no way she will be able to see it.
Lola
I should, but I find it kind of thrilling.
Me
So, you're not freaked out?
Lola
Not yet.
Me
Yet?
She grins as she types, and another thrill hits me.
Lola
At least not until you go serial killer on me. Then it won't be as thrilling.
Me
Or breathing.
Lola
Damn.
Me
But don't worry, I'm not a serial killer. The legal definition requires three bodies over a period of time, and my count is only two. Well, technically one and a half.
If she doesn't cut Alex off now, then she is in. Because I think this conversation, as silly as it is, entertains her.
Lola
How the hell do you half kill someone?
Me
Keep asking questions, and maybe you will find out.
Lola
Or not.
Me
Lucky for you, I seem to like you.
Lola
Lucky.
Me
Also, you're sexy.
Lola
You don't know what I look like.
I wait.
And she closes her eyes.
Lola
Didn't know, anyway.
Me
Even if I didn't see you, I know you're funny, smart, and have a smoking bod. Questionable taste in panties, but cotton might grow on me. Did you do anything with Enzo?
Lola
No. I don't like him.
Me
But you're attracted.
Lola
I'm...I liked the other night.
My cock is fucking hard because I can picture the show I watched unbeknownst to her.
I can still see it in my mind, her touching herself. And that sort of voyeurism is hot, but it is different to her knowing I'm watching, different to her performing, and the more I think about it, the bigger the thrill that courses through me.
Me
Interesting. You were thinking about me all week. How many times did you nearly send me unsolicited nudes?
Lola
How many times did you?
Me
Enough. But it's not the same. You should send one.
Lola
I can do better than that.
Me
Can you?
She smiles and puts the phone down, face up so she will see it light up.
But I don't text because I want to see what she will do.
Lola pulls the band from her hair, and it cascades down. Then she pulls her shirt off.
Holy shit. Her tits like that, back arched, arms up, are fucking pin-up worthy. Spank bank worthy. Best of all, her nipples are hard points.
I don't know what movies she has been watching, and I haven't had a chance to get that book, but fuck...
She goes up on her knees, sucks her finger, and then circles her nipples.
Like the other night, her hand slides down and into her panties, dragging them down for a few seconds to give me a titillating view.
It is scorching. And I know I'm going to have to stroke off.
Shit.
I loosen my pants, freeing myself, but I like denial as much as playing games of control. And I also like some other shit I can't do.
But for now, this is perfection, and I text her.
Me
You're going to pay for this.
She smiles and strokes her clit. I can see her hand working herself again.
This is more controlled than last time, but I love the performative edge, the fact she is trying to wrestle control.
And I let her.
For now.
She texts me back.
Lola
Make me.
I grin and slide a finger along my hard cock.
She starts to work it, little flashes of her wet pussy, and then she starts to push her fingers into herself.
Her hand works her pussy, the movements ones I know, and she starts to work faster, her breathing coming in uneven puffs.
She is on the verge, I think, so I text her.
This time as myself instead of Alex.
Me
Lola, I will be in meetings all day tomorrow, so answer any calls that come through.
She jumps about a mile, and I circle my cock and start to pull, running my thumb through the precum.
Lola
Yes.
But then her eyes flutter shut, and I fucking know she is thinking about me—Enzo me.
Interestingly, even though she jumped, her hand remained, and it has been moving the entire time because she doesn't pick up the pace, instead, she goes with it.
Hard then soft...
I lock it away.
What the fuck is she thinking about? Me making her blow me at work? Bending her over my desk and fucking her ass? Boning her against the wall?
Shit, the possibilities are endless, and as I watch, she picks up steam as do I.
Because I'm thinking of doing all those things to her, taking her in every way I can.
I never had office-based fantasies, but I sure as shit do now.
And they are fucking hot.
I start to work my cock harder, faster, thinking of all the dirty things I want to do to her. And I think the list may be endless.
I didn't lie about having her fantasize about someone else. It does turn me on. As long as it is just a name of some dude who is hot, a dude she doesn't want to fuck.
I want to make her want to fuck him and then step in and be the one to have her.
I groan.
The thought is fucking smoking.
And Lola? She is working that sweet pussy, her panties showing me her fingers now that they have twisted a little from her ministrations.
She strokes herself harder now, thumb working her clit, finger appearing and disappearing as she fucks herself, and I time my jacking off to hers.
As she jerks and shudders while she comes, I come too, into the napkins I left from the last time I had pizza.
I can't help but think I need to find a way to make those dirty things I want to do to Lola a reality.