At the same time I am. Because of me.
My core spasms as he catches the precum beading on his head and rubs it over his shaft that’s out of sight. “I’m going to give you three seconds to do as I said.”
I bite my lip and roll my hips in time with his hand. It only ever appears on screen for just a moment, before disappearing out of it for too long to be an average penis.
“Or what?”
“I’ll come over to see for myself.” He shifts his hips, letting the camera catch more of him, and Iswearsomething shiny glints. “One.”
My mouth goes dry. Panic is setting in. I’m not like the girl he has pictured. I don’t have the long, skinny legs, blown-out, pretty hair, and abs.
I’m bloated. Sweaty. Clammy. It’s been four days since I’ve washed my hair. My shirt is far from impressive, and the only positive thing I can say about my choice of underwear is that it’s comfortable.
He... Maybe this was a bad idea. I’ve been selling myself on the idea that he’d fall for a different version of me. Someone who looks better. Whose career isn’t at a tipping point. Who is the type of person a mother could be proud of.
But Leo’s right there, on the other side of the camera, touching himself because of me. He feels what I feel. He... he wouldn’t push me away for this. Hewantsto see me get off. Right?
“Two, and I swear to God, you don’t want me to get to three.”
This time, my hesitation only lasts a second. I hold my breath as the camera loads, phone perched on an angle against the mass of blankets to keep my face out of frame. I wish I had the time to check the lighting and the angles. What if this was a mistake, and?—
He curses, and I watch, utterly mesmerized as moisture gathers at his tip. His panting has grown heavier, and he swears a second time when I do a testing grind. It’s hardly more than a buck, and yet he’s gripping his cock like he’s close to finishing.
“You in that fucking shirt,” he groans.
I still, slowly look down. I’m inhisshirt. I stole it last week.
Oh shit. Does he know what he did? What if he realizes that his clothes are missing, and this is his?
My spiraling cuts short when he rasps, “Now, be a good girl and show me what you’ve been doing.”
My stomach clenches around nothing as I wish more than anything we could be doing this face-to-face like we should’ve been months ago.
This innate part of me wants to impress him—pleasehim. I focus all my attention on my phone, getting lost in the sound of his ragged breaths and skin rubbing skin.
The last thing I want is to disappoint him because I have no doubt he’s just as affected as I am. Leo couldn’t even wait to get out of the car to jerk off. He didn’t even make it inside his housebecause of me. The power that comes from that knowledge is heady. It’s so mind consuming that I disappear into the recesses of my brain to let my body take control.
My hips move, and without a shadow of a doubt, I know with every fiber of my being that he’s watching. Fixated on me just as I’m mesmerized by him. Dreaming of seeing more of him. Imagining that he’s beneath me.
“How does it feel?” he grunts out.
“Good.” It’s the only word I can muster.
“Just good?”
I can pick up notes of his disappointment through the phone, and I scramble for something to make it better. So I settle for the truth. “Empty.” It comes out as a whimper.
“I know, baby. I know. You poor thing.” He hums, voice rough and sorrowful. “Tell me what you need.”
“You.” The answer is instant.
“God, you’re fucking desperate, aren’t you?” I’d be offended if he didn’t sound so pleased and ravished by the thought. “Shirt. Off. Now.”
Goosebumps scatter over my skin at the sudden change of tone. He leaves no room for argument. He wants it. Now.
My top is on the floor in the next instant. The trepidation from fears he might find me inadequate lasts only a moment before his next command has my body moving against my will.
“Your bra.”
