“Stay.” It’s a command, not a request.
“What?”
He’s still facing the mirror, hand locked around his length. It’s taking everything in me not to stare at it.
It’s a beautiful fucking cock.
“Now that I have the real thing in front of me, I don’t wantthat.” He juts his chin toward his phone. Jules—er,me—is moaning now. “Plus, you can’t look away. You want to stay, don’t you?”
“I do not?—”
“Liar.” His words are sharp, accusatory.
I bite my bottom lip, desperately reeling in a smirk.
“So what happens next?” He taps Pause on his phone with his free hand.
“Huh?”
“In the story,” he clarifies. “She was just about to get on her knees.Youwere about to get on your knees.” He quirks a brow, those dark eyes almost black.
“You want me toact it out?” I damn near choke.
“You said you’re a good actress. Show me.”
Oh fuck, he’s serious. Heat pools in my belly as my heart takes off at a sprint.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t remember what happens in the story next; it’s one of my more recent recordings, as well as a favorite. Jules is a teasing brat in this scene. Narrating it was a blast, and I got myself off in record time afterward. Perks of the job.
Ezra turns to face me, still holding his dick.
As if an invisible force is pulling me in, I step forward. A look of trepidation passes between us, but I find myself removing my sarong and kneeling on the plush bathmat before him.
I’m used to performing live in front of hundreds of people, but I’ve never been more nervous than I am right now, with an audience of one.
“Do you consent?” he whispers.
Without hesitation, I nod.
As he slides his shorts down his thighs and steps out of them, I clear my throat, preparing myself to step into my role as Jules. Tilting my chin up, voice lower and grittier than usual, I ask, “Do you want me to suck your cock,Daddy?”
Above me, Ezra’s throat bobs sharply, and he juts his chin.
“Too bad,” I rasp. “You’ll have to wait.”
His hooded eyes narrow. “You fucking brat. That’s not what happens next.”
I raise a brow.Oh, he’s already listened to this one, has he?“Do you want me to do this or not?”
“Go on,” he grits out.
“Stroke yourself for me.”
He huffs an exasperated breath, but he obeys.
While he works himself over, I take the opportunity to study what we’re working with. With my mostly dry hair gathered over one shoulder, I angle in a fraction.
Silently, he guides his cock toward his abdomen, exposing the underside of his shaft, where four small silver barbells reside.
