Private Eye

by Katrina Jackson

  She seemed to be considering what to say next. She furrowed her brow in confusion and her mouth turned down into the cutest frown. It was also an expression he’d never seen on her face before, because when she was on camera she made sure not to frown. He drank it up and was speaking before he knew what to do with himself.

  “Have dinner with me?” He said in a rush and then pressed his lips together.

  Her eyes shot to his and that frown became a gasp with the slightest upward tilt on the right side of her mouth. “Are you asking me on a date?” As she spoke her mouth lifted into a bright smile that took his breath away. He couldn’t speak so he nodded instead.

  She pulled just the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth and he gulped down the groan in his throat, which made her smile widen.

  “Alright,” she whispered.

  He exhaled and smiled but ducked his head to hide it from her. “Don’t,” she said walking toward him. “I like the way you smile. I used to dream about what it would look like at night.” She stopped just shy of pressing her body to his, a shocked look on her face that she’d admitted that.

  Kenny put one hand against her cheek, his thumb running across her smooth skin, something he’d always wanted to do. They stayed like that, staring at one another in the silent realization of a fantasy they’d apparently both had before. It was a beautiful moment and then it got better.

  She pulled away from him and opened her robe. His mouth went dry. Maya was wearing another bodysuit. He hadn’t known what to do with her outfit on Tuesday. He’d assumed it was a coincidence that she was wearing his favorite color and lace – a combination he’d made sure to tell her was sexy as fuck on her dozens of times. But he kept telling himself that it must have been an accident. Nothing else made sense.

  But this bodysuit was not an accident. Because this bodysuit – orange, with a mix of leather and mesh, with lace accents – was his favorite. He’d told her that once and she’d never worn it in her public broadcasts or chat sessions again. She’d once gasped “only for you,” while fucking herself into a stupor. Just for him.

  This was no coincidence.

  “Let’s go get our rocks off on camera, shall we?” She posed one leg on the ball of her foot to show off the smooth brown skin of her inner thigh, bit her bottom lip and winked at him. “I might even let you touch me again.”

  He groaned as he felt his dick harden in his boxer briefs, which he only remembered in that moment was all he was wearing. Maya’s eyes traveled down his body, amusement dancing in her gaze when they made eye contact again.

  “Okay, let me just go finish getting dressed,” he croaked.

  The smile that spread across her face was wicked and dirty and fucking perfect.

  “You’re finished,” she said decisively. She brushed past him, making sure that their shoulders touched. “Come on, babe.” He happily followed her out into the hall and back to her apartment, half naked and deliriously happy.

  ***

  Kenny watched as Maya rifled through her basket of dildos and toys and lube for the third time. She’d already checked the angle of the camera at least four times – adjusting his position on the bed the tiniest bit each time to make sure that his face was hidden – and checked her laptop’s connection to its charger twice.

  “Are you always so obsessive about this?”

  She looked up at him and smiled, a real genuine smile. “You only need to run out of lube once in the middle of a broadcast while trying to get the biggest dildo you own into your pussy before you learn that you can never be over-prepared,” she replied.

  He licked his lips and nodded. “Got it.”

  She crawled onto the bed and began to move toward him on her hands and knees. He didn’t know where to rest his eyes, on her breasts or her mouth or her eyes.

  Her eyes, sparkly and mischievous, won.

  “Kenny,” she moaned his name. Not like she’d moaned his name when she came earlier. That moan was unrestrained joy. This one was dangerous. He loved it.

  “Maya,” he croaked.

  She straddled his legs and crawled up his body, resting her ass right on his growing erection. He crossed his arms over his chest so that he didn’t actually touch her and groaned.

  She leaned down and breathed the words directly against his lips, “Do you want to touch me?”

  Their eyes were locked. “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  His laugh sounded half-crazed to his own ears. “Everywhere.”

  “Good.” She sat up straight and bounced on his lap.

  “Fuck,” he breathed.

  “So here’s what I’m thinking. We need to get this Algerian-”

  “Albanian,” Kenny corrected.

  She lifted her eyebrow at him.

  “Sure, Algerian, whatever,” he acquiesced.

  “We need to get him in the chatroom but the real goal is to get him in a private session, right?”

  “Yes,” Kenny replied, wondering if it would be rude to ask her to either grind against him so he could be fully incoherent or get off of his lap so his brain could return to normal functioning. But Maya didn’t show any intentions of moving so he kept going, his words coming a bit slower than normal. “If we can get him in a private session, Chanté thinks she can hack his computer and we can find his contacts that way.”

  “Why can’t she do that in the chatroom?”

  “He’s got an IP scrambler. We’d have to sift through everyone in the chatroom to find the one he’s using before she can even try and get into his computer.”

  “But if his is the only computer besides mine,” she said.

  He nodded and tried to sit up straighter, easing the delicious pressure of her ass on his dick. “The longer the session the better.”

  She moved her ass back onto his dick, frustrating his efforts to ease his distress. “If you can do that then you wouldn’t need me in the field, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay, good. The money sounds great and all, but I’ve decided that maybe it’s not worth it.”

  He looked up at her, his entire body feeling light with relief. “I agree.”

  “Okay, so I think we’ve gotta give him a good enough show that he can’t help but ask for a private session.”

  “Well yeah, that’s what we’re doing,” Kenny said.

  She smiled down at him indulgently. “Oh babe,” she said and he tried not to let himself get caught up on that one word. He failed. But at least he tried. “Watching me fuck myself with my fingers for a few minutes is like, step zero point five on my channel. You know that.”

  He gulped. Did he ever.

  “But the way I get you all to fork over the extra money for a show is to give you almost everything you want but then stop right before the threshold. So when I targeted you-”

  Kenny spluttered, grabbed her hips and deposited her onto the bed next to him.

  She giggled.

  “You didn’t target me. I asked you for a private session because I wanted one.”

  “I know. I did that.”

  “You did what?”

  “Oh wow, you really don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  She crawled off of her bed and spoke while she walked around her room. “The last broadcast I did before you asked me for a private session, I set the scene for you.”

  “It was a public session,” he reminded her.

  “I know. But it is entirely possible to address a crowd but be only speaking to one person.” She brought his attention to a familiar stack of books on her bookshelf. “You always noticed the biographies on my bookshelf, so I chose these. I wore that green baby doll see-through thing you loved.”

  “With the lace over your breasts,” he said, remembering.

  She swatted at his legs until he moved them so she could sit in front of him. “I angled my pussy away from the camera, instead of head on if you will, because you always like a bit of mystery. And when I came, I laughed right a
t the camera,” she said with a wicked smile on her face.

  “Because that’s my favorite part.”

  “You always hated when I would cover my mouth when I came.”

  His mouth fell open in shock. “So you conned me,” he laughed.

  She smiled. “I have an MBA and an undergraduate degree in marketing. Of course I conned you.”

  “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he said and stretched his arms out to pull her body toward him.

  She crawled back into his lap happily. This time he tentatively placed his hands on her hips and squeezed the soft flesh there. She rewarded him by grinding into his cock.

  “You really should have been at the briefing earlier,” he whispered, looking up at her adoringly.

  She smiled down on him, arched one eyebrow and leaned down to whisper against his mouth again. “Underestimate me at your own peril.”

  And then she licked his lips. Kenny groaned in response and Maya wasted no time in pressing her mouth to his. He smiled as she slipped her tongue into his mouth, sliding against his and then retreating. He sucked her bottom lip and was surprised to feel her shiver against him. His teeth scraped gently along her tongue and she giggled.

  “You have no idea what your laugh does to me,” he said. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but she was usually reading his words.

  This time she ground her pussy into him and he gasped. She took advantage of his shock to kiss him deeply again. “No, I get it. It’s technically my job to get it,” she said.

  Just then her phone alarm started blaring. She sagged against him, and he wrapped his arms fully around her.

  “That’s my ten-minute warning,” she said. “We should get in position.”

  He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. Her alarm kept blaring but neither of them moved for a minute or so. It was an unexpected moment of calm.

  Eventually Maya pulled away and crawled out of his lap. She leaned across the bed to grasp her phone and turn off the alarm. When she turned back to him she had that dangerous smile on her face again. “I think we should try another position.”

  He frowned, “Do we have time to reposition?”

  “Correction, I’ll reposition, you just stay where you are, okay?”

  He nodded and spread his legs. He kept nodding as she crawled between them and leaned over her laptop, her ass high in the air directly in front of him. He was still nodding, when she sat back, her laptop mirrored this time on the TV at the foot of the bed. This way they could read the text from their new position. He didn’t stop nodding when she reclined against him, her back to his front, the perfect angle for her viewers to watch her play with herself and for him to see across the planes of her body.

  But his head finally stilled – his entire body stilled – when she stopped just before starting the broadcast, turned to him and whispered, “You can touch me this time.”

  back at command

  “Alright, I’ve got coffee, water, sparkling water,” she turned toward Chanté to make sure she knew that was for her, “popcorn, pretzels and a really nice charcuterie platter I picked up at Whole Foods. Do any of you want anything else?” Kierra turned to the briefing room toward Chanté, Monica and Lane, her hands clasped in front of her chest, eagerly awaiting their response.

  “Maya’s going to kill you for treating this like a viewing party. Again,” Chanté said. But she turned to look at her with a smile. “But I really appreciate your attention to detail.”

  Kierra smiled. “I’m really happy someone appreciates my efforts.”

  “The broadcast is starting,” Monica announced.

  “Oh,” Kierra said, grabbing the bag of pretzels and rushing to the middle of the table to sit next to Chanté.

  “Oh now what do we have here?” Lane laughed and leaned forward in his chair.

  “He’s not wearing anything I set out for him,” Chanté shrieked.

  “He’s not wearing anything,” Monica said.

  “Oh no, he has on underwear,” Kierra corrected.

  “Shame,” Lane breathed.

  “He better at least be wearing the cologne or I am going to kill him.”

  “Assuming he doesn’t die of happiness,” Kierra said. “They look very comfortable right now.”

  “Hi guys,” Maya said on the screen, reclining between Kenny’s spread legs. His hands rested on her thighs and his nails scraped over her skin lightly.

  That point of physical contact struck Kierra as intimate and easy. She’d never seen Maya look as comfortable with anyone she’d dated. She made a mental note to bring this up when they spoke next.

  “So my boyfriend had so much fun on Tuesday that he let me convince him to come back,” Maya said with a sly smile and a wink. “And it seems like you all had fun too.”

  “Yeah they did,” Chanté announced. “Viewership is already double what she pulled in on Tuesday. My girl is about to get paid.”

  “Any sign of Mehmeti?” Monica asked, reminding them all why they were all here.

  “Not yet,” Chanté announced. “But I’m pulling IPs from all of the users just in case.”

  “Good girl,” Lane said.

  Chanté winked, “Say it again.”

  Lane barked a laugh.

  Monica’s eyes lifted from her tablet and crashed with Kierra’s gaze. Kierra winked in return and felt her nipples harden as she licked her lips. Monica’s eyes tracked the movement.

  “He’s here,” Chanté shrieked. They turned toward her.

  “And the Setter brothers are here too. Right on time,” Chanté added, her hands beginning to fly over the keyboard on her laptop. Kierra leaned back and peeked at the screen. It was full of code and looked like something out of The Matrix; all gibberish to her.

  She shifted her eyes back to the smart screen and smirked. Kenny’s hands were lightly caressing Maya’s arms, his fingers grazing her sides, while one of Maya’s hands was playing over her mound, peeking through her thighs.

  “It’s probably a good thing I’m staying over,” Kierra said. “I doubt I’d get any sleep at my place tonight.”

  Lane chuckled, his head bent over his tablet, “You’re not gonna get any sleep here tonight either.”

  In hindsight, Kierra knew she’d walked Lane right into that. She’d have thought something was wrong if he had responded any other way. She made eye contact with Monica and her cheeks warmed. Yeah, she’d practically begged for that retort. And she’d do it all over again.

  ***

  Chanté loved computers in the way she loved everything: completely.

  She still remembered the first time she’d been shuffled into an aged computer lab in the fourth grade for an afterschool technology camp that was really just a program for the poor kids in school who needed to be supervised in the gap of time between when school ended and their parents got off of work. Well, those kids and the foster kids, like Chanté.

  She’d always made sure to sign up for every extracurricular activity that would keep her brain occupied but wouldn’t cost her any money, because she didn’t have any. It was her social worker, Tamra Bryan’s most useful advice. “You might get adopted, you definitely might not. So plan as if you’re going to walk out of some group home at eighteen with the clothes on your back and no one to call when you need to be rescued.”

  Chanté liked Tamra. Of all the social workers she’d had, Tamra was her favorite. The young white ones tried to fill her head with hopes of an adoption that Chanté didn’t want and the older ones – Black and white – tried to criticize and berate her into feeling grateful for every foster care placement she got, because at least it got her out of the group homes. Even though Chanté had long since learned from her own parents that gratitude, like love, had to be earned.

  Tamra on the other hand was real with her. She understood that Chanté was unfortunately wiser than some other kids her age. She’d spent her entire childhood, stunted that it was, being passed back and forth between a mother and father who loved her, but
couldn’t afford to care for her and who hated each other just a fraction more than they loved their daughter. And that fraction, for a neglected kid, was huge. It could be the difference between her parents pooling what little money they both had to buy her a warm winter coat or both buying her the cheap, thin coats they could afford separately. Because the point was to frustrate each other, not take care of Chanté. That fraction of an inch felt like miles when they refused to communicate about her and confused the dates when she would be at one house or the other. That fraction was how Chanté ended up spending days, one time almost two weeks, alone in her father’s cold apartment because he thought she was at her mother’s. And her mother, taking advantage of her “week off,” had refused to answer the phone when Chanté called because she didn’t answer a call from her ex-boyfriend’s house; not even if the person calling might have been Chanté.

  After years of that, the group homes had been a relief. Full of kids her own age, loud but not in the parents arguing and fighting in the kitchen loud; just kids being kids loud. Tamra had immediately picked up on Chanté’s relief. She didn’t want to be adopted, she was wary of a foster home since she no longer had any illusions that “home” was a safe space. And she wasn’t necessarily in a rush to be reunited with her parents either. So Tamra told her to make the most of her education, because the only person she could count on was herself.

  Maybe that’s why computers always made sense to her. From the minute she’d sat down in that old computer lab full of desktops that were either dead or had stopped working, she’d known she was home. They, unlike people, followed patterns that made sense. They, unlike people, could be fixed. Chanté had learned how to build, break and rebuild a computer from the trash heap of old parts. Tamra had given her a very rare smile and said it could be a metaphor if she wanted. She could deconstruct and rebuild herself. When she was eighteen, she could become someone completely new. And she did.

  “Okay, I’ve got good news, bad news and meh news,” Chanté announced to the room.