She walked away from the computer with a familiar sense of satisfaction and progress—thank God, she was back on track!
Of course, walking away, leaving Riley and her enigmatic stranger behind, gave her time to begin pondering other things—like her online conversation with Monica’s cousin this morning.
She still didn’t know his name. They’d shared an intimate exchange about her pussy and his cock, but she didn’t know the man’s name. Ridiculous.
No, more than ridiculous. More like shocking. What had driven her to continue the conversation when she’d known good and well that the safe move was to ignore his suggestive comments and questions? Watching the pleasure wash over your face while you worked your hot little pussy pushed me over the edge. Okay, way more than suggestive. He’d been downright obscene. What she’d done this morning was so dangerous that she could scarcely believe she’d been so foolish, or so bold.
Moving into the kitchen, as spacious and lavish as the rest of the house, she dug in the refrigerator for the leftover spaghetti she’d cooked last night, trying desperately to ignore her physical response to the memory of this morning. Like it or not, thinking of him had her body humming again.
But then, hadn’t her body been humming all day? She could tell herself it had been humming on Riley’s behalf, for a shadowy stranger who might mean harm to Aunt Mimsey or her neighbors, but how could she deny to herself who that stranger really was? Her voyeur. Her companion in dirty message exchange. Her pussy tingled at the admission.
You need a shower—a nice, cool shower. Despite the deep snow outside, the house remained warm from afternoon sun having blasted in through all those enormous windows. So first she ate her spaghetti, hot from the microwave, accompanied by a glass of wine from the bottle she’d opened last night, then she placed her dirty dishes in the sink and headed toward the master suite, to the immense marble shower.
As she reached the oversize bedroom, complete with oversize bed, oversize Jacuzzi tub, and oversize closets with mirrored doors, she stopped and looked around. She’d slept in this bed last night, of course. And she’d showered here this morning. But all that had been before their online conversation, before she’d found out he’d watched her rub between her legs until she came, before he’d told her he wanted her to do it for him again.
Now she almost felt him here. She was sleeping in his bed, after all, on the same sheets, the same pillows. She would undoubtedly dry herself off with a towel that had dried his skin.
Suddenly, a shower didn’t seem like such a great idea. It only stood to make her all the more aware of her body, how sensitive it was feeling since last night, how ready, how needy. “Fine,” she murmured. “No shower.”
TV. She would watch TV. Sitcoms. Or some twenty-four-hour news channel. Nothing sexy there.
As she moved back to the living room, she paused next to a set of tall oak bookshelves. She’d been meaning to inspect the books in the house since she’d arrived yesterday but hadn’t gotten around to it. And it seemed as good a distraction as any.
She found mostly classics: A Farewell to Arms, A Tale of Two Cities, The House of the Seven Gables, To Kill a Mockingbird. And upon moving down to lower shelves, she was surprised—although instantly knew she shouldn’t be—to find a small collection of classic erotica: Story of O, The Pearl, volumes by Anaïs Nin and the Marquis de Sade. Her breasts felt heavy just looking at the titles, thinking of her flyboy voyeur reading them, getting excited, getting off.
The gentle sensations in her cunt urged her to reach for one of them—but no.
Tonight was all about sitcoms and news and maybe something by Hemingway a little later. Tonight was about ignoring the tender throb in her pussy when she thought of the nameless, faceless man to whom the books belonged. In fact, it would be a good time to stop thinking of that part of herself as her pussy. Time to be the staid, dependable, sensible you.
Just then, her gaze fell on a small framed photo on the shelf above the erotica. She gasped at the sight. Two men dressed in cargo shorts held up a gigantic fish between them. One wore a T-shirt that said FLY ME, BABY! along with a graphic of what looked to be an old biplane with a big propeller in front. He was darkly handsome, as Monica had promised, his chin covered with a few days’ stubble. Although in the photo he appeared lighthearted and casual, his dark eyes were piercing. And she couldn’t help noticing that, despite his loose, baggy shorts, there was a nice bulge visible in front.
The other man was lighter in coloring—dark blond, wavy hair, with a classic ski bum look about him—and Laura knew without doubt that the first guy was her guy, the man who’d spied on her last night and talked nasty to her this morning. God, he was gorgeous. Her nipples tightened within her bra as she studied him, wishing the photo were closer up. Her crotch responded, as well, seeming to swell beneath her pants.
Finally, she set the picture back down and let out a sigh. Him being gorgeous really had nothing to do with her quandary. It made it no less frightening and dangerous to exchange dirty talk with a man she didn’t know.
Nope, no less dangerous—but certainly even more of a turn-on now.
She let her eyes fall shut, feeling doomed.
But then she regained her strength and told herself to stick to her original plan. She padded to an easy chair that sat adjacent to the sofa where she’d sprawled so brazenly last night, then reached for the remote and flipped on the big-screen TV. She was in luck. World news.
Another glass of wine and maybe she’d get sleepy enough to go to bed early—as in before ten o’clock.
A few hours later, Laura lay in bed in her snowflake pajamas, tossing and turning. Like last night, the wine had left her more loopy than sleepy, but she’d gone to bed anyway. Of course, she’d taken a volume of Anaïs Nin with her and, before turning the lights out, had read about a woman having her “sex” shaved by two men. They’d touched the freshly smooth skin there, then teased her open with erotic brushes of a feather. Another story had featured a woman riding a large rocking horse with a knob built in to rub her clit.
God, what a stupid thing to have let herself read!
She couldn’t resist shifting her gaze from the vaulted ceiling to the digital bedside clock. 9:54.
She tenderly bit her lip, trying madly to ignore the way her own sex pulsed, begging for her touch. Or his touch. Any touch.
Of course, she couldn’t do what he’d asked of her. There was simply no way. Last night had been bad enough, but to know for sure he was watching? And to reveal herself to him—fully. She shook her head against her pillow. You can’t. For God’s sake, you don’t even know his name.
Even so, she found her breath trembling and her belly clenching way down low as she reached to push back the covers.
Maybe she didn’t know herself as well as she thought.
Chapter Three
It had been a damn long day.
Because unlike last night when he’d simply unzipped his pants, pulled out his aching cock, and jacked off, today he’d been stupid enough to wait, to want to hover on the edge of excitement all day, anticipating what might happen tonight. It was like a game he’d wanted to play with himself—with her, too.
Now his dick physically hurt. He’d floated somewhere between half-hard and full-blown erection all day, through meetings, phone calls, and lunch with a senior V.P. with whom he was doing some important negotiations.
The whole time he’d been fantasizing about Laura Watkins, mystery author, sex kitten. She didn’t think she was a sex kitten, that was clear. But he knew she was—he’d seen the proof, and gotten off to it. Her hot little show, combined with their steamy conversation this morning, had excited him more than anything had in a very long time.
Now, as he sat in his Malibu home in a dark, quiet room lit only by his computer screen, a warm sea breeze wafting through an open window behind him, he found himself watching the clock, feeling as eager as a teenager getting his first peek at Internet porn. And he began to relive a few
of the fantasies that had grown in his mind around lovely Laura today at times when he most definitely should have been focusing on his work. Yep, millions of dollars at stake every hour, and he’d been fantasizing about a woman. But he’d felt powerless to stop—the images had simply kept invading his brain without his permission.
During a meeting with Cressler, Inc.’s entire board of directors, he’d imagined her in the Jacuzzi in the Vail house, soaping her luscious breasts, tweaking those hard, pretty nipples, then rising on her knees to run a soapy cloth between her thighs, sighing just like she had last night on the webcam.
Those visions alone were enough to keep him going for awhile, but by the time he got stuck on hold waiting for one of his investors around eleven, he’d imagined a sexy Laker girl he’d once dated walking into the master suite’s bathroom, just as naked as Laura. Pam possessed a lush, curvy body, much like sexy Ms. Watkins’, so envisioning the two of them together seemed a foregone conclusion for a guy who admittedly got off on the idea of women fooling around with each other. Pam’s long blond hair had been swept up off her neck in a clip, her pussy waxed bare—and he knew from experience she kept it that way. Laura’s hair had hung finer, a warm shade of chestnut, and fell just past her shoulders, but in the fantasy, Pam had moved behind her and pulled it up into another clip, as well.
Pam had stepped into the bathtub filled with bubble bath and whirling water, kneeling across from Laura, and the two of them had begun to wash each other’s breasts. They giggled and cooed and made him all the harder as he waited on interminable hold. Thank God he’d had a suit jacket to cover his jutting cock since he’d been sitting in a large, open lobby.
Soon the two lovely women had begun kissing—gentle meetings of moist lips and warm tongues that made him think for a moment he might come in his pants like a schoolboy. They’d embraced softly, their plump, soapy breasts brushing together. He wondered if Laura had ever been with another girl outside of his fantasies. He doubted it, but it was nice to think about.
Finally, his investor had come back on the line, reclaiming his attention but not weakening his lust. It had been at lunch with the rambling comptroller of Ion Electronics that the fantasy had continued. He’d needed to hear what the man was saying—there was a pivotal merger on the horizon and he couldn’t risk fucking it up—but he couldn’t help himself. When he’d seen a pretty girl across the restaurant who, at a glance, made him think of Laura Watkins, he’d been taken back to that big bathtub and the two sensual women inside it.
As the Ion comptroller talked about recent acquisitions adding to the company’s value, he’d seen Laura sitting on the edge of the tub, legs parted, Pam’s face in between. Laura had caressed her breasts, just like last night, and she’d moaned and howled as Pam licked her pussy. God, how he wanted to lick that pussy. Hell, just see that pussy for starters.
And as the Ion comp droned about employee security and pension plans, he’d seen himself entering the picture, kneeling on the tile surrounding the Jacuzzi so that his cock was level with Laura’s pretty mouth. She’d opened wide with a big smile and lowered her lips over him, moaning from still having her pussy eaten below.
Even reenvisioning it now had him sweating.
He shook his head to clear it and looked at the small gold clock on his desk. It read a few minutes past nine, which meant past ten in Colorado.
Damn—he’d quit paying attention and the computer had slipped into screensaver mode. He rushed to move the mouse and light back up the screen. Then he clicked on the icon for the webcam at the Vail house.
The room was empty, dark but for the pale illumination provided by the blanket of snow outside the wall of windows behind the computer.
His heart fell. His cock almost deflated. He’d been sure she would be there, putting on another sexy little show for him. After the way she’d responded to him this morning, he’d been sure she wouldn’t be able to resist. After all, she was alone in that big house, just writing all day—surely she needed some kind of sexual release. And he’d given her a forbidden and exciting way to get it.
Even so, as he focused the camera, shifting the lens about the room, the space remained quiet, still, shadows of sofas and tables and nothing more. Apparently, he’d misjudged her enthusiasm. Apparently, she wasn’t coming to the last meeting he’d set up for today, the one he’d waited for through all the rest with a raging hard-on. Looked like the forbidden aspect of their fun was, just as she’d intimated, too forbidden for her.
“Damn,” he whispered in the dark. “I want more of you, honey.”
Laura looked in the mirrored door on the closet, studying herself from head to toe. Her hair fell in loose waves around her face, which was made up with mascara and lipstick—same as she might apply for a night out clubbing with Monica and the girls. Around her neck, a beaded red choker. The scant lacy red push-up bra plumped her breasts nearly to her chin, making them look large and sexy. Below, she wore a matching red thong that clung so tightly to her mound that the fleshy rise already looked swollen with desire.
When she’d found the small shopping bag containing the bra and panties in her suitcase yesterday, she never dreamed she’d be so thankful her friend had snuck it in, with a note that said:
Just in case you decide to give up the solitude and find yourself some ski stud. Love, Monica.
Well, she hadn’t given up the solitude, nor found a ski stud, but she had the next best thing—a stud with a webcam who wanted her. When all was said and done, she simply couldn’t resist the same excitement she’d experienced last night upon just pretending someone was watching her. Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to deny herself the real thing. She remained afraid, but also needy. That need pulsed through her veins as tangible as the flow of blood.
So she’d finally given in to the temptation. At least for now. She might have regrets later, but in this moment, it was show time. And there would be no cotton pj’s tonight.
She took a deep breath and moved barefoot from the bedroom into the living room, then turned on the lights, but used the dimmer to keep them soft.
His eyes were on her, she could feel them—instantly.
The very knowledge made her nipples constrict within the scalloped edge of red lace that held her so snugly.
As she moved to the sofa, she felt like she was returning to the scene of a crime. Deliciously wicked. Her cunt vibrated against its lace confinement, the tender scratch of the fabric a further titillation.
Upon sitting down, she gently bit her lip, looked toward the webcam, and spoke quietly. “I wasn’t going to do this, but here I am, for reasons I can’t explain.” Then she peered more intently at the green light, imagining she could see him, eye-to-sexy-eye. “Are you ready?”
She envisioned him—drawing the image from the photo on the bookshelves—sitting behind his desk, getting hard for her. The thought nearly took her breath—everything about this was utterly overwhelming. In fact, she feared if she thought too hard about what she was doing, she might get scared again and back out. So instead, she simply began, reaching both hands up to cup the lower halves of her breasts.
They were heavy, full and round in her palms. She imagined her flyboy groaning at the sight of her touching herself for him and wished she could hear it. Wished again that she could see him, just like he could see her.
She closed her eyes and gave her lower lip a small, sensual nibble, imagining how grand it would be if he sat right across the room from her. The camera should provide a sense of safety—and maybe it did, maybe the distance between herself and her voyeur was the one factor that allowed her to do this. Yet at the same time, she wanted him nearer, wanted him here.
Watch me, she thought as she tweaked her nipples through the lace that barely concealed them. She then massaged them fully, wishing for his hands, thinking of his cock doing what he’d said this morning—gliding between the plump mounds of flesh.
Watch me, she thought as she slipped her fingertips into both red cup
s, lowering them just enough to free the beaded pink peaks. Her face warmed at revealing them to him again. She remembered how “fucking beautiful” he thought they were and toyed with her hardened nipples, letting the sensation trickle through her, all the way to her lacy panties, making her pussy quiver.
Oh yes, watch me, baby, watch me. She ran her hands down over the smooth curves of her stomach, sliding them over the lace at her hips, letting her fingers splay onto her thighs. Moving slow but never stopping, she parted her legs, let her hands glide inward, both of them sweeping firmly over her crotch before drawing back to the panties’ top edge.
Do you want to see me? See my pussy? She kept the words inside, but her own hunger to show him, to be this other entity, to release this other part of herself she was just now discovering with such shock, drove her. She’d never known she was such a dirty girl. She’d never known such forbidden fires burned inside her.
But burn they did—hotter and hotter with each passing second, she discovered—until she rose to her feet, squarely facing the camera, then smoothly lowered her panties over her hips, down her thighs, pulling damp lace from in between, then pushing the thong past her knees. The fabric fell to her ankles, allowing her to step free of it, at which point she turned around and bent at the waist, bracing her hands on the back of the sofa, letting him look at her from behind. Instinct led her to lift first one knee onto the couch, then the other, parting her legs slightly, arching her ass toward him.
You wanted to see me so badly—well, here I am, baby.
Look at me. Look at my pussy.
At that moment, it was the greatest part of her, filled with need and want and a raw hunger that knew no shame.
Oh God, she wanted him back there, behind her, wanted to feel his hands on her ass, his hard shaft pushing its way inside. Without forethought, she looked over her shoulder, into the camera, and said, “If you were here right now, I’d beg you to take me like this. To fuck me hard and deep.”
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