As the pleasure coils low in my stomach, I let myself fall for another illusion: I’m the girl who’s making those sounds on his phone. I’m the one who has his lips parting like he’s found a level of Heaven that not even the gods can touch. Maybe we’re fucking in that video. Or maybe I’m looking down the lens as I play with myself, imagining that they’re his fingers instead.
The groan that pulls from him makes me squeeze my legs together. The ache is becoming unbearable.
My wetness coats my thighs and saturates the fabric of my clothing. The gnawing pain from earlier is barely more than a dull throb against my rising lust. My breaths are as ragged as Leo’s. It’s a miracle he hasn’t heard me.
I bet he’d be the type to put my pleasure above his own. He probably wouldn’t come until he was satisfied that I’d been wrung of every ounce of pleasure I could possibly have. Leo wouldn’t stop until my legs were shaking.
That’s the type of man he is. I know it in my bones. I always have.
The woman in the video says something that sounds eerily close to his name. It’s breathy and hoarse, almost like she’s half asleep, and maybe I’m delusional, but I swear on my life the person almost sounds like me.
“Fuck,” Leo groans, shadows flickering with every move of his arm.
Golden heat fills my veins, spreading to each end of my body and between every atom that makes up my being. The sounds coming from him grow rougher with his approaching climax.
My fingers match his rabid pace. Skin rubs against skin furiously. His and mine.
The orgasm hits me like a fucking freight train, and not even God could stop me from buckling over.
Or keep me from making the little sound that escapes me.
I’m too drunk on euphoria to tense and wait for the damage to follow from revealing my hiding spot. But all that happens is he groans. It’s guttural. Deep. The type of noise a person makes when they’ve met the Rapture.
Whatever the cost to watch him finish under a light, I’ll pay it. Seeing his abs tense isn’t enough.
Leo grabs a towel from the arm of the chair and wraps it around his cock. Dropping his head back, he empties himself into the material as his legs twitch.
I need more. To do it all over again. To touch him at the same time he touches me. I’m still wound tight enough to snap.
I feel like I’m about to hyperventilate from holding my breath, but it’s hard to think straight with static in my head. Neither of us moves, as if we might have some silent understanding that we both need a moment to compose ourselves.
Seconds roll by as I lie in wait to see how the scales tip. Worst-case scenario, or best? Time will tell.
Eventually he stirs, rising to his feet and turning the lights back on as if nothing happened. Like the tease he is, his cock is safely away from prying eyes before I get the chance to see it.
Leo leaves his phone behind on the chair, and I damn well almost jump out of my skin when he drops the used towel two feet away from me.
He strides into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him like we didn’t just have one of the most phenomenal experiences of my life. Then the shower starts up, and my opening arises. I wait until I hear the glass door close before scrambling out from beneath the bed.
Even though his phone is still on the chair with the video playing, I don’t take any chances.
My eyes slide to the towel, and indecision makes me pause, but there’s only one real option here.
I need a souvenir. Or maybe I’m simply incapable of resisting temptation.
So I grab the towel and run.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Leo: What did you get up to tonight?
Mina: I visited a friend’s place.
Leo: A friend?
Mina: Yeah. I went to their house for a couple of hours.
Leo: Nice. What did you get up to?
