Do Not Disturb

The question makes me pause, a spoon heaped with mint-chocolate-chip ice cream halfway to my mouth. It’s Edy’s, Jeremy’s beautiful ass bringing me an entire half gallon of it. My fridge, which has never held more than bottled water, is suddenly being used in ways it probably forgot it could. I finish—no use wasting a spoonful of deliciousness—and wonder about the calories as the cool ice slips down my throat. I need to be careful. I’ve lived off diet meals for the past three years. Probably couldn’t have gained weight if I’d tried. Now, with Jeremy showing up with bags full of carbs, calories, and desserts, I might pack on a few. Join the group of girls who mark the “generous proportions” checkbox on their cam profile.

 

He waits, unhurried, his steady look indicating I’m not going to mint-chocolate-chip-swallow this away. I shrug, the sharp pain in my head announcing with gusto the arrival of a brain freeze. I wince and wait for it to pass. Wow. Have forgotten what that feels like. “Fine. Busy day.”

 

“Any new clients?”

 

I glance over, the deliberately casual forming of his words raising a red flag in some part of my brain not concerned with ice cream. “Yep. I have new clients every day.”

 

“Anything interesting?”

 

I raise a brow. “I feel like you’re hinting at something.”

 

He sits back, glances at the framework that covers my bed. “Not really. Just curious what goes on. I know you told me you do cybersex, and I’ve seen your setup, but I guess I don’t really know what that is.”

 

“Cybersex?” I scrape the spoon along the bottom of the bowl, getting a generous amount of green, and raise a hypothetical middle finger to the risk of brain freeze with one big-ass spoonful. Ouch. Splinters through my skull, ones that dig deep and twist on their painful way down. I recover, making a face that no one would consider sexy, and vow allegiance to some bit of restraint. “It’s not that complicated. Want to watch a couple of chats? Before you leave?” It’s his third visit of this sort. A drop-in. I have a boyfriend, and he has “stopped by” after work. I feel so normal. And the thought of killing him hasn’t even crossed my mind. The previous two visits, we were lazy. Stretched out on my bed, his hand running through my hair. A few times his fingers took the slow and delicate path up my shirt, or under the hem of my shorts. The last visit, I didn’t even get back online. We just kept talking, his hand rolling me over and tugging my body into his, his hand tracing patterns on my skin as he spoke against my neck. About his family. About his childhood. Neither topics that included death or blood.

 

He shakes his head. “No. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

 

I set down the pint. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to feel uncomfortable at this point. Just watch one or two.”

 

His jaw sets, a new look—one I haven’t seen before. It is cute, in a stubborn sort of way. “No, I’m fine. I don’t want to see it. Just explain what happens. I’d feel awkward watching. Like I’m invading your space. That’s a personal thing you do. Just tell me how it works.”

 

I tilt my head, trying to think about the best way to describe my chats. How each one is different. Orchestrated by the client and traveling whatever direction that mind might wander in. “I’ve.… got a better idea.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 22

 

 

I SMILE INTO the camera and wait for a command. I am in lingerie, a red lace set sheer enough to tease but modest enough that he’ll want it off. I wet my lips and listen to the shake of his breath.

 

“I don’t know what to say. I’ve never done this before.”

 

I smile. “Tell me what you would do if you were here. Would you want me to come closer? Or would you want to come to me?” I zoom the camera in, using the remote in my hand, letting it pan over my breasts, down my lace-covered stomach, and to the bit of silk between my closed thighs.

 

He groans softly, and I feel my own breath quicken. “God, the picture is so clear. Can I—Can I tell you what to do?”

 

I smile. “Yes. This is about you. Tell me what you want me to do.”

 

“Open your legs a bit. I want to see… yeah. Zoom in on that spot. Please.” The please is an afterthought, stuck awkwardly to the end of the sentence, as if he is unsure if what he has asked for is appropriate. I smile, my face out of frame, amused at his hesitancy. This will be fun. He has no idea what I am capable of. For once, I feel confident in our physical exchange, as if I have the upper hand.

 

I recline on my side, zooming the camera in until it is centered on the spot between my thighs, a side angle, one that shows the detailed cut of my panties. I draw one leg up, bending it at the knee, and run my hand softly down my leg, until he can see the edge of my fingers. “What would you do, if you were here? Would you move this aside?” I dip my fingers underneath the lace and tug slightly, just a hint of movement, enough to show him that I am shaved, enough to tease him, to cause his words to come quicker, and to flow without thought.

 

“Yes.” A rough whisper.

 

“Yes, what?”

 

“I would move that aside. Slide them over—all the way. Slide them over and let me see your *.”

 

The word is so strange, coming from his voice—so unexpected that I break character for a moment, look up in surprise, and have to find my bearings, my composure. I tug on the silk, harder than is needed, and grind my hips slightly, wanting to regain the lead, wanting the shake and uncertainty back in his voice. I pull the panties fully to the side, exposing my most private area to the high-def camera’s eye. Slick. Shaved. Wet. I run a finger down, traveling to the lips of my sex, the slit that is already ready and wanting, begging for attention, this experience catching it off guard, and it is raring to play.

 

“I want you to pull out your cock, Jeremy. Pull out your cock and stroke it for me.”

 

My arm, the one that was supporting me, collapses, and I relax on the bed, turning my face and angling my body so that my upper body is in the background of the shot, him able to see when I lick my lips and stare into his camera. I picture his face before me, the intense look in his eyes when he is aroused. I have seen that look before, seen the thin control when Jeremy’s kissed my lips while his erection raged against his pants. And right now, imagining that look in his eyes, I want him here, before me. I want him to yank down his pants and fully thrust, let me feel every thick inch until—

 

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