Ledger
Whatever I want?
The words of my godchild linger in my head long after she’s fallen asleep. I’ve been rock fucking hard ever since. If Blair knew what I wanted from her, she’d run screaming from this house.
An incoming text causes my daily phone to vibrate. I glance at the device sitting on my desk already knowing who it’s from. I pick it up and read the message.
Wes: Trash was disposed of about 50 miles from here. Made it look deliberate. Whoever’s after B will think it was her and head that way.
Trash. I smile at the word he’s used for one of Blair’s kills. I send him a thumbs up, delete the message, and place my phone back down.
Absent-mindedly, I glide back and forth in the rolling office chair, studying both monitors on my desk. Each one has about25 squares of live streaming footage from the hidden cameras all over my property. I catch myself rolling and stop at once. Moving unconsciously is a terrible habit. Being still can save your life—no need to start a bad habit now. Not when I have my godchild’s life in my hands.
The thought sends a heavy shiver of excitement down my spine.
My eyes flick from box to box on each monitor. If there’s any movement, not only will my phone vibrate, but the box on the screen where the movement is coming from will blink red. I won’t miss anything. Still, I stay vigilant.
Well, as best as I can.
Reaching down, I unzip my pants and let my erection spring free. Grabbing a hold of myself, I breathe a short huff of relief. Is this what life is going to be like with Blair around? I’ll just be the asshole walking around everywhere with a rock-hard erection? My hold tightens around my dick. Using my other hand, I click around the screen until one of the blocks changes to an interior view.
There are no cameras in any of the bedrooms. That decision was for everyone’s sake. I get the need for privacy. When I learned that Blair was on her way, however, I made an exception for the room she would be occupying.
It’s for her safety, I told myself when I was installing the camera. And when I made sure only I had access to her particular video feed, I justified it by telling myself, what if the others see something they aren’t supposed to? Only I, her godfather, should have access to this.
It made sense then.
Maybe it doesn’t so much anymore, but that’s fine. So what if my sense of what’s right and wrong is a bit warped? It could be worse, so I won’t worry about this particular moral issue. I’m sure more will pop up the longer Blair’s here.
Thank God Wes will be around to keep an eye on me so it doesn’t get too bad. I promised him that I wouldn’t touch her and I meant that.
But that doesn’t mean that I can’t indulge in fantasy every once in a while when no one else is around.
The black and white view of the guest room upstairs shows me that Blair is sleeping soundly. Judging by the way she’s fallen to her side, the towel laying open around her, she’d passed out just sitting there. Like this, I have a full view of her body as she lays on top of the quilt.
My body locks in surprise, my gaze riveted to the screen.
I should be charging up those stairs and covering her up. Instead, I lean forward soaking up the sight of Blair laying naked before me.
“Jesus fucking Christ…”
Has it gotten hotter down here in the basement?
This is wrong. Even if she wasn’t my best friend’s daughter and my godchild, I shouldn’t invade someone else’s privacy. And yet…technicallyspeaking, Blair is mine now. In the case of a code red, Anchor made sure I’d become her legal guardian. Sure, she’s twenty-eight and doesn’t really need one, but tomato-tamotto.
So if she’s mine, I should be able to do what I want. And right now, I want to watch her.
My fist slides slowly down my shaft before coming back up. I repeat the motion as I salivate at the gift before me. She’s so close yet so far away. I feel like a god itching to reach down and take its sacrificial lamb placed upon his altar.
In what feels like a blink of an eye, I’ve watched Blair Shelmore go from a scrawny child, to a young lady, to fucking sultry bombshell. Even exhausted looking and bruised, there’s no denying her beauty. My eyes trail over her form. Every curve, every limb… I drink in what’s readily available to me.
As I stroke myself, a horrible, fucked up thought crosses my mind. One I shouldn’t entertain. I barely let it form before shoving the thought aside.
But then it comes back, stronger,loudera moment later. It’s so loud, in fact, that I can’t hear my conscience bellowing out reasons why I should resist the twisted, ugly thought. Without the voice of reason, I’m left to my wickedly dark devices.
I stuff myself back into my pants and push away from the desk. Before turning to leave, I grab my phone and gun, then make my way up to the main floor. I pause at the foot of the steps that head up to the second floor.
Not because I’m re-thinking my decision.
