And I do it, not because he told me to.
But because, for the first time in a long time, letting go doesn’t feel like falling.
It feels like being caught.
Tilting my head back, eyes heavy-lidded, I watch his reaction flicker across the screen. Every muscle in him seems to tighten, every inhale deliberate, like he’s memorising each small movement.
“You remember how good it feels to surrender, don’t you?” he growls, low and edged with need.
“Yes, Daddy,” I breathe, voice thick with heat. I drag my thumbs lightly over the peaks, rolling the sensitive skin, and the small moan that escapes me is only for him.
“My perfect girl,” he groans, voice thick with need. “Now lean forward for me. Let me see every curve, every inch of you.”
I’m helpless to do anything but obey him, letting the camera angle catch the arch of my back, the swell of my breasts, the soft rolls of my stomach. My fingers never stop, teasing, tracing, coaxing the response I know he craves. The heat between us is suffocating, almost physical, like the screen can’t contain it.
“God, Lily…” His voice drops to a growl, his arm moving frantically just out of shot. The thought of him jerking off to the mere sight of me pinching my nipples is so fucking hot it sends a shiver racing down my spine.
“You’re going to make me lose it before we even get started,” he rasps, his jaw tight, and eyes dark with need.
“Is that a problem?” I tease, dragging my thumbs in slow, deliberate circles around my nipples.
He leans closer to the camera, eyes dark, pupils dilated, and the faint curve of his mouth that makes my knees weak. “Fuckno,” he growls. “I love that you drive me insane, almost as much as I love making you pay for it.”
“Keep one hand on those perfect fucking tits and use the other to show me that sweet cunt,” he continues—half command, half plea—and the tension tightens around the two of us like a held breath.
Mindlessly, I obey, slipping one hand down, over my stomach, and dipping below the waistband of the underwear that is doing nothing to cover my pussy. Holding eye contact with him, I hook a thumb beneath the mesh and tease him with a glimpse of my pussy. The camera frames it all—the arch of my back, the tilt of my hips, and the way my breath catches when my knuckle grazes my sensitive clit.
“God.” He swallows. “You’re killing me. Are you wet for me, baby? Show me,” he begs, eyes glued to the screen as I slip my underwear down, letting it pool around one ankle as I dip my fingers inside my pussy. The contact of my fingertips is soft and teasing; the small, involuntary sound that slips from me is immediate and raw, a punctuation that makes him inhale hard on the other side of the glass.
His eyes rake me, dark and hungry. “Fuck me,” he breathes. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”
I draw my fingers back and hold them up for him, showing him the moisture there.
“All for you,” I whisper, the words coming out thick with everything they mean—ownership and offering, promise and dare.
“Taste yourself,” he orders, voice low and brittle with need. Doing so draws another, quiet broken sound from him, and I can’t help but moan, both at the taste and hearing him so gone for me.
“Are you going to be a good girl and touch yourself for me? Show me how you like that pretty little clit played with?”
I nod, heart hammering, fingers hovering over myself as his gaze pierces through the screen. “Yes,” I whisper, voice shaky, desperate. “If that’s what you want.”
He growls, low and dangerous, the sound vibrating through me like electricity. “Be a good girl for Daddy and show me what I’ve been missing out on.”
I sink two fingers inside, slow at first, teasing myself in rhythm with the way he’s watching. Something about his camera being on and my mask being off makes this feel a hundred times more intense than all the times that have come before now. There’s no hiding who we are or what we’re doing anymore.
His breathing stutters, rough and uneven, as if he can’t handle just looking. “Fuck… you’re perfect,” he rasps. “God, baby, don’t stop.”
My fingers move faster, teasing the sensitive spot I know makes him shiver through the glass. I tilt my hips, moaning when the motion brings me closer, the sound spilling into the quiet room. “You like that?” I whisper, even as I’m shaking, melting under my own touch and the way he’s watching.
“Yes,” he groans, voice breaking. “So fucking much. Don’t stop, baby… I need it.”
I’m trembling, fingers slick and moving faster, hips rolling, trying to match the pace I imagine he wants, the pace I need. My breath comes in ragged bursts, each moan dripping into the silence between us. “Matt… please…” I whisper, almost begging, my voice thick with need.
He groans, head falling back, arm moving faster as he watches me. “God… baby, you’re killing me… so perfect… sofucking mine,” he rasps. Every word is fire, burning straight through me, making my body tighten and ache.
I press my palm harder against myself, circling the spot that makes me weak. My other hand tugs at my clit piercing, lips parted, eyes locked on his across the screen. The room is heavy with sound—my moans, his low groans, and the wet, slick music of my own body.
His chest heaves. “You don’t even know what you do to me… the way you move… God, I need you…” His voice cracks, raw with obsession and hunger.
