I’ve never been this hard. Every push into my hand is sweet torture. It’s good. But it’s nother. She turns and I catch sight of the thatch of dark curls between her legs and my wrist speeds up.
It’s a dirty, bad thing to be doing, watching my angel. I can’t stop.
Pre-come beads at my tip as I work my flesh. Lily stretches luxuriously then saunters into the massive marble ensuite bathroom. I swap cameras to keep track of her.
This is full stalker behaviour. Obsession on a scale I’ve never felt overtakes me.
Lily steps into the shower and scowls as she fiddles with the settings, leaping back as a torrent of cold water rains down from the ceiling. I smile as she twists her lips in annoyance, then dips one toe in, testing the temperature.
It’s to her liking now, and she exhales, her shoulders lowering as she walks under the showerhead that’s as big as herarm span. She lifts her face up and rivets of water fall over her sweet, unspoiled body. Steam begins to cloud my view.
I won’t last long. I can’t see the pink softness between her legs. I’m not even in the same room as her, but this is the most arousing thing I’ve ever seen, anywhere. My balls are ready to explode. I’m gritting my teeth, holding my release in for an unknown reason. I’m waiting for something.
It’s erotic and intimate, stroking my cock, gaze glued to the screen, as she rubs soap over her curves. The contrast isn’t lost on me. She’s a sweet, clean angel washing herself. I’m the Devil of Croydon, dirtying myself as I spy on her.
Finishing her shower, she shuts off the water and steps out, wrapping herself in a fluffy white towel. You’d think that was my opportunity to come finished, but I know better. And as she approaches the mirror where the camera is hidden, my balls pull up, ready.
I know the moment that will tip me over. It’s not seeing her breasts, though I want to worship them. Or her arse, though I crave those soft globes bouncing on my lap or wobbling as I smack her. It’s not even the sight of the shadowed places between her legs or the image in my mind of how her lovely little cunt might look.
No, the thing that tips me over is much sweeter than that. As she leans into the mirror to examine her reflection, her gaze snags for a split second on the small absence that is the camera lens. It looks like a screw hole that has been forgotten. A screw loose.
For a moment, I’m staring right into her soft brown eyes.
I come. I jerk and release, my seed pulsing out in long reams as I groan and choke involuntarily. Her eyes. My lovely girl knew exactly what I needed, and gave it to me so I could have this shadowy pleasure.
I’m shaking with the intensity of it by the time I’ve fallen from the high wave of ecstasy, and she’s looked away.
The white stickiness covers my abdomen and I continue watching my angel.
I caught her. I absolutely must keep her.
Saying that she can stay forever will make her nervous, and while locking her up is an attractive option, I really need a little more finesse in my persuasion.
The only question is how to lure my angel to fall down into my sinful arms?
It takes a second. But then I have an idea.
5
LILY
The hotel room is amazing. The shower in particular, I’ve never felt anything like it. My skin tingles, warm and sensitised. There’s something about being in this apartment. My body is responding as though this is a home I didn’t know I had. Like there’s an angel watching over me, making everything perfect.
There’s a knock at the door when I’m out of the shower and wrapped in the thick, fluffy bathrobe I found, and while I consider changing back into my clothes, there’s a thrill in opening the door in this robe. I can pretend I’m a movie star or something.
“Miss Sullivan.” The same receptionist as earlier gives me a curious smile that I can’t read. “My apologies. I forgot your complimentary welcome parcel.” She holds out a matte grey-lilac box wrapped in a wide purple ribbon.
“For me?” It’s a very fancy box, unlike anything I’ve ever received. After my parents died, I was low down the priority list for presents. “You’re sure?”
“Quite sure,” she chirps.
Huh. I’ve never been to a hotel—fancy or otherwise—so I guess this could be normal. It’s just so weird. I’m not creeped out by it, but I am… I don’t know. Suspicious.
“Is there anything else I can get you? Some dinner sent up to your room, perhaps?”
“I…” Any concerns about whether this is special treatment is overwhelmed by gratitude. The backs of my eyes prickle with the risk that I might cry from this kindness. “It’s okay. It’s late. I bet the kitchens are closed.”
“They are, but the chef,” she pauses over the word chef as though it’s not quite the case, “is here and says he’ll make you anything you want.”
