23. Chapter 23
SEAN
A LIGHT IS ON INSIDE Londyn's living room. She appears from her bedroom. Seeing her should make me relax since there's no intruder, but it only skyrockets my pulse.
She's different, wrapped in a short silk robe that clings to curves usually hidden beneath layers of baggy clothing.
Her hair is down, cascading past her shoulders in dark waves.
She moves with a confidence I've only glimpsed a few times.
No hunched shoulders. No darting glances. Just complete ease.
Purpose.
It's 12:17 AM. She went to bed about an hour ago, and she never emerges after she settles in for the night.
I keep watching, unable to look away or deny how seeing her bare legs and those curves is drawing my entire focus.
She drapes herself across the couch with a grace that makes my thoughts stumble over themselves. The silk robe rides up as she stretches, and I swallow a slight groan at the flash of black panties. She lights a candle and then grabs her book off the coffee table and cracks it open.
The way she's lounging is more seductive than she probably realizes.
I swallow again, shifting in my seat as the inferno in my body travels down my abs and stirs something in my groin.
This isn't right. What the hell am I doing? It feels like a violation, watching her like this for reasons that have nothing to do with her safety.
I force myself to look away, and I open the poetry book again.
I try to read a line but it might as well be a foreign language; the living room camera view suddenly feels massive in my periphery.
Unfortunately, I can't just switch it off, not when it's the main feed and anything could happen at any moment.
After failing to comprehend another poem because, suddenly, I can't read English, I turn my attention to the other screens, cycling through them. Hallway, windows, door, exterior, hallway, windows, door, exterior. All quiet and empty.
I peek again at the living room out of reflex or stupidity; I'm not sure which. Her knee is bent now, pushing the robe higher and fully exposing those lace panties. The sight sets fire to every attempt at rational thought. She's oblivious, lost in her book, while I'm unraveling at the seams.
I finally click the feed off. I'm not going to be that guy, no matter how much I fucking want her.
And I want her a lot, something I didn't fully get until this moment.
This isn't good.
Another glance at the clock: 12:30 AM. Ninety minutes until Mike takes his turn on watch duty and releases me from this torment. But, hey, who's counting?
I know I'm going to need to check that camera feed again shortly, and I pray Londyn is somehow back in her room. Or under a blanket. Wearing fifty sweaters would do the trick.
My phone buzzes, bursting the silence and making me jump. Reflexively, I check it.
Londyn: How's it going? You have the shift tonight, right?
I exhale slowly, forcing my fingers to type some kind of reasonable response. She's thrown me off my game, and I'm not used to that.
Me: Yeah. All good. You okay?
She doesn't reply immediately, so I give it a minute.
Trying to shake my restlessness, I return to the book and manage a few more lines before setting it down with a defeated sigh.
Two minutes pass with no response.
I glance again at the active feeds. The hallway is still clear. Windows good. There's a couple walking by outside.
Three minutes.
Me: All good?
She just messaged so she must have her phone nearby. I wait another anxious minute before the concern wins and I switch the living room feed on to make sure she's okay.
My lungs instantly stop working.
Londyn is safe, perfectly safe, but she has shifted on the couch and I'm half wondering if I bought the wrong tea and it's giving me hallucinations.
The silk robe barely covers her now, only her midsection. She's wearing a black lace bra and her legs are spread wide with a small pillow propped on her stomach. And—Jesus fuck—she's rubbing herself through her panties. Her head is tipped back, lips parted in what I imagine is a moan.
I can't stop my cock from twitching.
I can barely think or make sense of this. She knows I'm watching; she just messaged.
My cock twitches again when my scattered thoughts finally regroup and I realize something major: this is intentional. Seems obvious, but I've been struggling to think with my brain and not… other parts.
I quickly stop the living room feed from recording and delete the last ten minutes. I'm not going to risk Mike stumbling onto this.
Then I watch.
Watching her gets me fully hard. There's no denying or pretending this doesn't affect me more than it should.
She lifts her head and grabs her phone with her free hand.
My phone vibrates, confirming what I already suspect.
Londyn: Are you watching?
I stare at her text while my mind splinters. What do I say? How the hell do I respond when the rational part of me has built fortifications against this very thing, yet there's this reckless, starving part that's already halfway to her door?
This is nuts and inappropriate as hell. I'm supposed to protect her, not lust after her like some creep behind a camera lens. But shit, I'm so damn attracted that nothing else matters except wanting more of this side of her.
That spark and confidence I glimpsed in her Sundance movie is back. And she knows it.
I fight with myself for what feels like eternity before finally giving in and responding: Yes.
Londyn: I like knowing you're watching. I don't want you to look away. Just stay there and enjoy the show however you want.
Fuuuuuuuuck.
Every muscle in my body feels strung between opposing forces—professional distance pulling one way, this raw, unexpected hunger dragging the other.
I've survived firefights with steadier hands than I have around her.
The discipline that kept me alive through two tours has suddenly developed a critical weakness, one with brown eyes and a gorgeous smile.
Londyn somehow found every pressure point I didn't know I had and is pressing them all simultaneously.
Her hands are still working between her legs and my pulse pounds through my entire body until all that's left is pure need.
I glance at Mike's closed door. He's passed out because I hear his snores through the walls.
Fuck it.
We've already crossed a line, haven't we?
Me: You're giving me a lot to look at.
I catch her sexy smile on the feed as she types on her phone.
Londyn: Would you like to see more?
No.
Me: Yes.
I watch in a half delirious state as she carefully pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and covers herself. She wiggles around a bit, then a hand appears with those black panties dangling from her fingers.
Part of me is still fighting this and I'm resisting the urge to palm my cock, but it's digging painfully at my jeans, needing release. I make fists against my thighs, still trying to maintain some composure.
Londyn isn't finished driving me wild, though. After more wiggling under that blanket, she reveals her bra next, tossing it on the floor.
The blanket sinks lower on her chest, barely holding on. Her shoulders are exposed like soft, ivory silk. I'm imagining running my tongue along that delicate skin and leaving small red marks where I suck.
Another agonizing twitch from my cock.
Holy hell I don't know how much more of this I can take.
Londyn: That enough?
Me: You're cruel.
I see her laugh and it lights up my chest. Even though the feed doesn't have sound, I can hear that beautiful laugh of hers in my head. In my dreams too.
Me: You're sexy as hell, and I think you know that.
Maybe I'm imagining things, but I think she blushes.
Londyn: I want to be sexy for you.
A flush of heat ambushes me from nowhere, crawling up my neck and spreading across my face like wildfire. My body goes absolutely still, the way it does right before I squeeze a gun trigger for a crucial shot—that suspended moment where even a heartbeat feels like too much movement.
Damn, this woman. She's something I can't even put words to.
Me: Keep it up. You're succeeding.
She throws her head back and laughs. Again, I hear it in my head and it snakes around my chest, burying itself deep.
I don't know why I have such a drive to make her laugh, but hearing her joy is becoming as essential as breathing.
Londyn: What would you like to see?
Me: Your smile.
I grimace. Was that lame? I knew what she was asking but I didn't stop to think and went with my gut response.
As much as I'm fucking turned on and thinking of her riding my cock while I run my hands over that body… I love her smile. Sometimes I think about it too much.
She rests her phone on top of the blanket and stares at the camera. I have no clue what she's thinking, but I swear, she says my name. I read it on her lips— Sean —as she pulls the blanket down a few more inches.
It's enough to expose her breasts, which are puckered and would so perfectly fit in my hands.
My mind packs its bags and leaves and I immediately palm my cock through my jeans.
She lifts the bottom of the blanket, not fully exposing herself, but enough to reveal most of her inner thighs.
I groan as she curls the edge of the blanket around her hand, making it very clear what her fingers are now doing under that lucky strip of fabric.
I squeeze the head of my cock with one hand as the other hovers near my jeans button. But I can't shake the feeling of doing something wrong. She asked me to watch, not get off. So I'm not going to take this further until she confirms that's what she wants.
Me: You got me too hard.
She reads my message and then bites her lip. Then she rolls a nipple between her fingers like a challenge.
Londyn: You should really take care of that.
I squeeze my tip again, groaning.
Me: You sure? Does me jerking off get you wet?
Londyn: Yes. I want you to.