An Internet search of “Jess Riley camgirl” brings up a hundred thousand results. The first ten sites he clicks on won’t open, a similar message stating his inability to access the site. Bullshit.
He slams the laptop shut, swinging an arm out and taking his lamp off of the edge. A satisfying crash of breakage, the room instantly dark. He breathes hard in the empty office, his pants still unzipped, his fury mounting in the quiet hush of scorn.
This is not over.
Around his naked ankle, the red blink of his monitor flashes an incessant pattern—one that screams through the dark room—its beacon never as infuriating as in that moment of lost control.
This is not over. He’ll have her if it is the last thing he ever does.
CHAPTER 38
2:24:03 p.m. TUESDAY
HackOffMyBigCock: hey babe
HackOffMyBigCock you around?
2:59:11 p.m. TUESDAY
JessReilly19 I am now. What’s up?
HackOffMyBigCock just wanted to give you a heads up about Jeremy 3:01:59 p.m. TUESDAY
JessReilly19 who?
HackOffMyBigCock you know who
JessReilly19 what’s the heads up?
HackOffMyBigCock todays his birthday JessReilly19 wow. Talk about some advance notice. Thanks for nothing.
HackOffMyBigCock I’m sure you’ll figure something out.
JessReilly19 I still have no idea who you’re talking about.
HackOffMyBigCock whatever. I’ve got to go. Hot date.
JessReilly19 at 3 in the afternoon? Don’t forget to pay him.
HackOffMyBigCock you need to work on your insults JessReilly19 I’m rusty. Too busy being sweet and adorable.
HackOffMyBigCock you’re not that sweet JessReilly19 Mike
HackOffMyBigCock what
JessReilly19 stay the fuck out of my business. Seriously. It’s creepy and way out of line.
HackOffMyBigCock would you have rather not known about his birthday?
3:04:03 p.m. TUESDAY
JessReilly19 I don’t even know a Jeremy.
HackOffMyBigCock you’re welcome JessReilly19 bye
HackOffMyBigCock we’re still good right?
JessReilly19 I don’t have much of a choice. My friend list is pretty short.
HackOffMyBigCock I’ll take that as a yes ---JessReilly19 HAS LEFT THE CHAT---
CHAPTER 39
House Arrest Countdown: 3 Weeks
MARCUS’S FIRST ATTEMPT at a non-cyber prostitute was a disaster. The woman had smelled of cop the minute she walked in the door, the attitude wrong, the questions staged. He’d feigned confusion and sent her on her way, his anger mounting. That’s what he got for calling a fucking yellow pages ad, like he was the dregs of society. He should be feasting on high-class *, drowning every night in champagne and breasts, their hands crawling over his body, their subservience only increased by his fists.
So… the first attempt a cop, the second woman this piece of trash. He eyes her on the bed, her legs spread, scars running up the left side of her thigh, her right eye faint yellow from a healing bruise, the afternoon sun streaming through the window, amplifying her imperfections.
He strokes his cock, nudges her legs wider, and stares at her. Wills his cock to respond. No response from it. He isn’t surprised. His cock isn’t stupid. How can he expect a response brought from this woman? He’s never stooped to this level before, with the exception of his prison time. And now… for her to be his return to sex? No. He’d made a mistake in even trying. Especially when the only thing on his cock’s mind is the brunette with the cocky eyes that flash with darkness.
He stops, tucks his cock back into his pants. Counts out three bills and tosses them on the bed.
“Get out.”
Reilly. Not Riley. That had been the Internet girl’s last name. He walks into his office, shuts the door, and starts up his computer. He feels a calm wash over him as he finds her personal website and his screen fills with her image.
CHAPTER 40
FOR JEREMY, TODAY has sucked. Thunderstorms all day, the kind where the sky throws up and dumps every bitchy emotion it has all over your body. The kind where puddles form everywhere, deeper than they appear to be, every fifth one he steps in causing his foot to sink ankle-deep in dirty water. His socks have molded to his feet, the wet squish in every step reminding him of how cold it is, this storm bringing with it a blast of frigid air. He didn’t grab his jacket this morning; he’s stuck using the light windbreaker that stays in his work truck. So he is cold, miserable, and wet when he drops off his final delivery, smiles at the housewife, takes back his pen, and jumps back into the truck.
It’s been three and a half years since the first time Jeremy heard her voice. Four months since he first kissed her lips. Six days since he confessed his love. One day since he last saw her smile. He’s lost track of the month when she took his heart in her rebellious hands.
All he wants to do is be at her place. Walk in that door and feel her arms around him. He puts the truck into drive and heads for the distribution center. He’ll swing by the house first, change out of this uniform and shower. See what she wants to eat, then make it to her place by seven.