The file is updated and sent to my team. The immediate threat is being managed. There are things I can do and I have done them and there is nothing else to do tonight and she's on the couch with her legs over the arm and she's gaming on her laptop, not streaming, just playing, the low kill-count version that means she's relaxed.
Her feet are against my thigh. She's been absently pressing her toes into my leg for twenty minutes, completely unaware she's doing it. I am aware of it. I have been aware of it for twenty minutes. I have read the same paragraph four times.
She pulls off a shot and makes the quiet satisfied sound and doesn't look up and I put my book down.
"Come here," I say.
She doesn't look up from the game. "I'm mid-run."
"Come here."
She glances at me. Reads whatever is on my face. Saves the game. Closes the laptop. Comes.
She settles into my lap on the couch like she's done it a hundred times. Legs either side of my hips, arms around my neck, face close. She has not done it a hundred times. She has done it three, maybe four, and each time it has felt like something I've been missing for decades.
I put my hands on her waist. She's wearing my shirt and nothing under it, which I can feel through the fabric when my thumbs find her hip bones.
She kisses me. Slow. Taking her time the way she's learned I like it, which is something that happened in the last four days — she's been learning me. The way I learned her across seven months of screens. Except she's faster. She's here, in the room, and she watches my face the way I watch hers and she learns.
My hands slide up her sides under the shirt. Her skin warm. Her ribs under my palms. She shifts on my lap and the movement puts pressure exactly where she intends it and I make a sound against her mouth.
Then she does something I don't anticipate.
She slides off my lap. Turns around. Kneels on the floor between my legs and looks up at me with an expression I have never seen on a woman's face directed at me, which is amusement and hunger and absolute confidence all at once.
"My turn," she says.
She gets her hands on my belt. I reach for her and she pushes my hands away without breaking eye contact.
"No," she says. "Sit there."
She frees me from my pants. Her hand wraps around my cock and her grip is sure and unhurried. She looks at me. Holding me. Not moving her hand. Just looking, the way I look at her when I have her pinned and I'm making her wait. The reversal is precise and deliberate and she knows exactly what she's doing.
"Billie—"
"Shh."
She lowers her mouth.
The first contact is her tongue. Slow. One long slide from the base of my cock to the tip. My hand goes to the back of the couch and grips. She watches me grip it and I see the corner of her mouth curve, which she has no right to be doing with her tongue on me, and she does it again. Slower.
She takes me into her mouth. Not deep at first. Just the head, her tongue working the underside, her lips tight, and the warmth and the wet are doing things to my higher cognitive function that I am choosing not to narrate. Her hand around the base, working in time with her mouth. She is unhurried. She is setting a pace that is designed to take me apart as slowly as possible and she is enjoying every second of it.
I know this because she keeps looking up at me, my cock in her mouth, and she watches my face while she works me with the same bright-eyed focus she brings to a high-kill-count stream.
She pulls back. Keeps her hand moving. Looks up at me.
"Good?" she says. The same word I've said to her a dozen times. The same tone. She is playing my rhythm back to me and the confidence of it is staggering.
I can't answer. She takes that as a yes.
She takes me deep. Properly deep. Her mouth is hot and tight and her hand working the base and my hips shift involuntarily and she makes a sound around me that vibrates through my entire body and my hand leaves the couch and finds her hair.
She lets me hold her hair. She doesn't let me guide her. She sets the pace and it's slow and thorough and devastating and I am watching her, except this is nothing I've ever seen on any screen. This is Billie Callaghan on her knees on my living room floor taking me apart with her mouth because she decided to and because she can and because she wanted to see what it would do to me.
What it does to me is total. Complete. I am hers.
She pulls back when I'm close and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Looks up at me.
