And so what if she’d found her muse over the last couple of days? Surely that had just happened naturally, and Braden Stone’s bizarre entry into her life had, if anything, been more of a distraction than a help.
Well, okay, maybe he had inspired her to create a whole new character. A character who had driven the story up to this point and would probably continue to drive it.
But that didn’t mean she needed Braden’s presence to continue. If he’d inspired her to inject a little romantic excitement into Riley’s life, then his job was done and she could move on without him.
Despite that fine lecture, however, she soon found herself exiting the bedroom, still in the corset and panties, still carrying the purple vibrator. She didn’t know why and didn’t ponder it. She walked downstairs, turned off the sound system—ready for some quiet time—and headed for the kitchen. She set the vibrator on the counter in order to pour herself a glass of wine. When she took a sip, her throat felt thick, as did her crotch. Every key part of her body had grown swollen and heavy. With desire, definitely. But also with temptation?
And why the hell was she carrying the damn penis around with her?
With a forlorn sigh, she transported the vibrator to the living room and tucked it between the couch cushions. An idea struck her—that maybe she’d just leave it there. And maybe sometime during a family gathering or some other inopportune moment, someone would find it, and wouldn’t Mr. Stone feel silly then?
Ah hell, probably not. He’d probably laugh it off—he was likely so confident and charming that he could even find a graceful way out of having a purple penis turn up in his living room.
She returned to the kitchen for the bottle of wine and her glass, then settled on the couch. She peered out into the snow, although darkness now made it so that she could discern only a vague line between ground and sky. Given what she wore, she found herself envisioning a romantic evening here with a lover. A normal romantic evening. With a normal lover. The kind who was actually in the room with her. The attire was right. As was the low lighting and the fire. The wine, too. The only thing missing was the man.
She glanced at the crack between the couch cushions. Could she? And did she want to? She must, at least a little—or what was she doing dressed and in position like this?
Predictably nervous now, she drank more wine—two glasses. She listened to the silence. She lay back and closed her eyes and imagined the man in the fishing picture there with her, using strong hands to part her legs, then entering her with his thick, hard erection. Mmm, yes. Fuck me, Braden. Fuck me now. She was glad she’d found out his name.
Some time later, she opened her eyes to darkness. She’d fallen asleep. Her eyes focused immediately on the mantel clock in the still dimly lit room. Five ’til ten. She sighed. Sat up. Poured another glass of wine.
She could have slept right through the “appointment.” She imagined Braden’s reaction if he’d “tuned in” to see her asleep in her new corset and panties. He’d have thought she’d had every intention of performing for him but had just conked out from the alcohol. As it was, she still didn’t have a plan—but she knew she needed more wine, so she swiftly drank the glass she’d just poured. And noticed that she wasn’t racing away from the webcam.
At ten on the dot, she found herself looking over at the computer, the closest she could come to looking at him. As usual since getting here, the wine had her feeling drunker than it should have. Like a woman who knew how to go with the flow—even if her mind still fought against the extremes of what he’d asked her to do.
“Are you there?” she asked. But she somehow knew he was, could almost feel his presence, his eyes, from hundreds of miles away.
“I’m not sure why I’m here,” she told him frankly. “Just like last night, I had no intention of doing this. This room was going to be dark and empty when you looked into it, and you were finally going to get the message that I’m not really that kind of girl, not really who you think.
“And yet . . . here I am.” She swallowed at the realization, at the bluntness of their connection, distance be damned, and thought she should probably shut up now—but the wine kept her talking. “Does it make you feel powerful that I’m here, wearing this for you? Does it make you feel like I can’t resist you even though I’ve never met you? Or does it just make you think I can’t resist the lure of the forbidden?”
She sighed. “Maybe I can’t resist anything. Or maybe I’m only here because I’ve been drinking—who knows? Monica says I miss sex. I told her she was crazy, but maybe I need it more than I thought.
“The thing is, Braden, if I’m going to fool around with you, well . . . I wish it was you I was fooling around with, not this camera. Maybe that made it easier at first—that distance. But now it feels too distant.”
Too distant, and yet . . . just like the previous evening, she wanted to excite him. Whatever it took. Exciting him excited her. So she lifted her hands and smoothed them over the velvet that held her breasts. “I wish my hands were your hands,” she said softly as pleasure from the touch echoed through her in gentle ripples. She squeezed her breasts fully, aware of the hot ache it created and that the move pushed their rounded curves even higher.
“Do you like the way I look in this?” she asked, then admitted, “I do. I don’t think I’ve ever looked prettier in my life. I’ve never seen myself in something like this. Maybe that’s why I’m here—because I wanted to show you.” She lightly pinched her nipples through the velvet. “It feels so good on me, holds me so tight—just like you would if you were here.
“Would you run your hands all over my body?” she asked, gliding her palms down over her velvet-clad torso, her hips, then her thighs and the lace tops of her stockings.
“Would you part my legs?” She used her hands, splayed over her inner thighs, to spread them wide, wider.
“Would you touch my pussy?” She dragged one long middle finger up the velvet that enclosed her mound, then shivered from the sensation. Having his eyes on her heightened every little frisson of pleasure.
“You’d take off my pretty panties,” she told him, growing more confident now, and leaned back on the couch, legs together, lifting her ass just enough to peel down the tiny swatch of velvet. She let it linger high on her thighs, her legs raised upright, remembering this was a show—all visual—so she had to make it slow, make it good. Leisurely, she hooked her thumbs into the elastic band and pushed it painstakingly toward her bent knees. When the thong dropped to her ankles, she gently kicked it off, then looked back to the camera.
“You want to see my pussy again,” she said with surprising boldness. She bit her lower lip and peered darkly toward the camera. “And I want to show it to you.”
Sitting back up on the sofa and lowering her feet to the floor, she parted her legs as widely as she could. She felt herself opening for him and knew he could see how excited she was to be on display for him again.
“You want to touch it,” she whispered. “You want to touch me where I’m pink and wet for you.” She raked two fingers through her folds to end up circling her clit, then sighed at the saturating delight and said, “God, I want it to be your hand on me, stroking me, rubbing me.” She kept caressing herself—good, so good—heard her breath grow labored and wanted desperately to hear his, too. She loved knowing he studied her, but at the same time she yearned for much, much more. “Watch me,” she said, her voice going deeper. “Watch me touch myself for you.”
Her fingers grew wet with her desire, and she longed for something else. Him.
His hands—touching her.
His mouth—kissing her.
His cock—inside her.
Just like real sex, the touching was good, but there came a point in time when a woman needed to be filled—deeply.
She shut her eyes, still moving her fingers over the little nub that was the source of her pleasure. But she continued aching for more.
She knew, of course, that if she really wanted to be fi
lled, she had the means to do it. It rested between the couch cushions.
She bit her lip and asked herself the same question she’d been asking all night. Could she?
She let out a sigh as her soul filled with yet more forbidden desires that she’d never known. What would she look like with the toy inside her? What would it feel like to pleasure herself like that—for him?
Her lips trembled, and her nether regions quaked with need.
Her fingers were no longer enough. She knew they weren’t enough for Braden, either.
So with her free hand she reached down, digging between the soft cushions, until finally her fist closed around the thick vibrator. Her breath grew shaky as she extracted it, knowing he saw, knowing he knew what she was about to do.
Could she?
Yes. She could.
Chapter Five
Braden’s lungs threatened to explode in his chest. As beautiful and hot and arousing as she was, he’d been starting to think she wasn’t going to use the vibrator. And that would have been just fine—he loved watching her no matter what she was doing, and seeing her touch her lovely pink pussy was ample entertainment. But now that she held the toy in her dainty hand, it was all he could do not to come. “God, you’re amazing, honey,” he whispered raspily toward the computer screen, wishing she could hear him.
“I’m not sure how to do this,” she said, her voice trembling as she leaned back on the couch, legs still parted, beginning to lightly drag the tip of the toy cock up the center of her cunt. Braden seldom felt particularly tender or emotional when it came to women or sex, yet her sweet honesty about her lack of such experience was almost enough to paralyze him. She’d made herself vulnerable on his account, laid her soul bare for him. And although everything she said sounded far away, muted, he heard the genuine emotion in her voice loud and clear.
“Just go easy,” he prodded, even though she couldn’t hear the instructions. “Go easy and make yourself feel good.”
He listened to her breathing as she used the vibrator like a large finger, raking it through her slickness over and again.
“Yeah, baby,” he growled. “That’s right.”
Her eyes fell shut, her lips parting in desire. He understood she was taking her time, getting acquainted with the way it felt against her flesh, and was more than happy to be patient, given the tantalizing vision she created. Yet if he didn’t release his cock from his hand, he’d blow any second, and it was far too soon for that. He let go, letting his shaft plop hard against his lower abs.
He sat shirtless, in a pair of unzipped jeans, listening to the lull of the tide out the window behind him, yet still able to discern every soft sigh and moan from his cyber lover. Her breathing grew still heavier, deeper, as her strokes with the vibrator seemed to press deeper as well. He wanted to see her put it in her pussy so badly he could taste it. “Come on, baby, do it for me. Show me how brave and sexy you are.”
Almost as if she’d heard his throaty pleas all the way in wintry Colorado, she bit her lower lip and, still keeping her eyes shut, began to ease the head of the toy cock against her opening. Braden almost couldn’t breathe.
She moaned softly as the head gained entry, and so did he.
“Ohhh,” she said as it began to slide deeper. “Oh God. Oh, I want this to be you.”
Damn, he wanted that, too. Wanted to sink his shaft so deep inside her, feel her tight moisture encasing him. And she’d be tight—he knew instinctively. She was easily one of the most sexual women he’d ever encountered, but he also knew from her denials of such that she protected her sexuality closely, likely didn’t sleep around, and maybe had, in fact, only taken a few lovers.
He watched, throat clogged with arousal, as she began to move the toy in and out of her beautiful cunt. “Oh yeah, that’s so good,” he said, his gaze riveted on her every move. Her body was fully open to it now and looked incredible taking it inside. He couldn’t resist closing his fist around his own cock again, beginning to tug in firm, even strokes as he wished it were the one gliding so smoothly in and out of Laura’s pussy.
“I’m imagining this is you,” she said on a hot, high whimper of pleasure. “I’m imagining that you’re fucking me, fucking me.” The sex toy went in all the way now, right up to the fake balls, and he knew the little rise built in on the front—the one unrealistic part of the vibrator, added for her pleasure—was meeting her clit with every stroke.
She fucked herself harder now, and he worked his dick harder, too, matching the rhythm of her thrusts. “You’re fucking me,” she told him again, eyes still shut, face wrenched in passion. “You’re fucking me, Braden.”
“That’s right, honey, I am. I’m fucking that perfect pink pussy, fucking you so hard.”
He watched her mounting passion, listened to her high-pitched moans, let himself get lost in the sight, the sounds. Yes, baby, don’t stop. Keep going. He kept stroking, and when he felt the blood gathering, felt his balls getting tighter and tighter, he said, “Come for me, honey.”
On the computer screen, she worked the toy faster, and he knew the little nub on the front was pushing her little nub closer to climax with each thrust. Come on, baby, come on. He couldn’t hold back much longer, but he sure as hell wasn’t coming before her.
And then, like an answer to a dirty prayer, she let out a hot, thready breath and began to sob. The near-anguish on her face softened to pure ecstasy as she moaned her orgasm.
“Ah yeah, baby,” he groaned, then let go to the obscenely beautiful sight of her, pumping his white hot semen into the tissues he’d kept ready ever since he’d started playing naughty computer games with Laura. The heat shot through him in hard, jagged pulses, and he wished like hell he was coming in her, in that tight, hot body, and that she could see his pleasure just the same as he saw hers.
He clenched his teeth to ride it out. Then came back to earth in time to watch her let the toy fall to the floor and slowly close her legs.
She peered into the camera, clearly stunned by her own actions.
No, baby, no. He longed, more than anything in that moment, for her to show him how thrilled she remained, for her to tell him how astounding it had been, or even just that she’d had fun. But he saw the regret washing over her, the embarrassment—and he hated it.
She shut her eyes, shook her head, drew her legs up under her on the couch. “This isn’t me,” she whispered, same as she kept telling him. “This isn’t me.”
Then she pushed to her feet and walked to the light switch, and the next thing he knew, the screen went black—first the lights extinguished, then the fireplace went dark. She’d run away from him merely by turning out the lights.
I want to hold you, Laura. I want to make you feel better. I want to make you know this is okay, better than okay.
Only he couldn’t do that. All he could do was turn out his own lights and go to bed—alone. “I’m sorry I’m not there with you, baby,” he said, then lifted one fingertip to the computer screen for just a short second before letting out a sigh and rising to leave the desk, and the girl, for the night.
Despite herself, Laura slept great, but still suffered the same sense of revulsion upon waking the next morning. She still couldn’t believe she’d done it. She’d used the purple penis. In front of him.
Arousal was like drunkenness, she thought. The moment you got sober you couldn’t make sense of what you’d done under the influence. And this, now, was the hangover.
As she lay in his bed staring up at the gently whirring ceiling fan, back in her safe-feeling snowflake pj’s, a truly horrific thought struck her. What if . . . what if he hadn’t been alone? Last night, or the night before, or both. What if he’d watched her with friends? What if he’d somehow made tapes of her? What if he was showing them all over the Internet this very moment, even as she lay here trying to rest? Thank God those brutal little musings hadn’t hit last night or she wouldn’t have slept at all.
As it was, they propelled her up and out of bed i
n a flash, down to the computer. It was just after eight, near the same time they’d chatted the first morning, so hopefully he would be there. She pulled up an IM box as fast as her fingers could click and type.
RILEY: Swear to me this is private.
A moment later, his answer arrived. FLYBOY1: What are you talking about, honey?
She took a deep breath and lectured herself. Try to sound at least a little bit rational. Don’t act like a total nutcase.
RILEY: Okay, I just woke up with a terrifying thought. That you’re the sort of creep who might . . . do something really awful to me.
Yeah, that sounded really rational. She let out a sigh, her heart still beating too fast.
FLYBOY1: I still don’t know what you’re getting at, but before we go on, I have to tell you that you were beautiful and hot and incredible last night, and I hate that you felt badly afterward.
Laura sighed. Okay, hopefully this meant he wasn’t out selling sex tapes of mystery novelist Laura Watkins. It provided enough reassurance to help her explain her hideous fears. RILEY: I just had this horrible picture in my head—you sitting and watching me . . . with a roomful of friends.
FLYBOY1: Are you crazy? I would never do that to you. Why would you even think that?
RILEY: Perhaps this would be an appropriate time for me to remind you that I don’t know you. At all.
FLYBOY1: Aw, come on, snowflake, I think it’s safe to say you know me at least a little now.
A true sense of relief rushed through Laura’s body. It was hardly proof, but somehow she felt his earnest tone and believed in it. RILEY: Okay, I feel better now. About it being private, I mean. The other part, though, not so much.
FLYBOY1: Why?
Laura sighed in exasperation. She thought this was pretty simple, but he never seemed to grasp it. RILEY: Let me make this as plain as I can. I have done things in front of you that I’ve never done in front of anyone. Extremely INTIMATE things. And I don’t know you. A little maybe, but not much. This is not the kind of person I am.
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