by S. E. Rose
“You can’t be serious?” he says, but his expression tells me he totally wants me to be serious.
“Oh, baby, I’m totally serious,” I say in a husky voice as I slide his shirt off and toss it on a nearby chair. He sucks in a breath and looks at me.
“What do you want me to do next?” I ask him.
“This isn’t a secured line, princess,” he grimaces.
“Maybe, I don’t care,” I say. He gives me a stern look. “Oh fine, you are no fun.”
I see him pause for a minute. “I’m texting you a link. Hang up and click on the link. It’s going to take you to a video chat on a secured server,” he says.
We disconnect and then I see an email from Cody. I click on the link and go through some security protocols, and then there he is. He grins at me, and I grin back.
“OK, where were we?” I ask.
“You wanted me to instruct you,” he says, his voice raspy.
“Ah, yes,” I say. “But it’s only fair that I should let you know what options you have available.”
He looks at me with curiosity. I open the box and dip it forward, so he can see what’s inside.
“Jesus Christ, woman! Do you even need me?”
I laugh. “Yes, absolutely. But since you’re not here, I need options.”
“Well, I think you found some,” he huffs. He seems slightly agitated by the fact that the “box” exists, and I can’t help but smile at this.
“Where should I begin?” I ask again.
“Take off your bra. I want to see your amazing breasts,” he says.
I slowly unhook my bra and let it slide off me. “Now what?”
“Feel your breasts, darling,” he says in a low murmur.
I cup my breasts in my hands and gently knead them, letting my eyes close halfway as I envision Cody’s hands instead of my own.
“How wet are you, princess?” he asks.
I slip my hand into my panties, making sure he can see everything I’m doing. He groans as I pull my finger up to show him how it glistens in the light of my phone. “I’d say pretty wet,” I whisper as I place my finger in my mouth and slowly suck my juices off it.
“Jesus, darling, you’re killing me,” he moans.
I smirk.
“Take off your panties. I want to see how wet you are,” he says.
I comply and slowly remove them, spreading my legs so he can see my glistening folds.
“I want to see you,” I say. “All of you.”
He pushes his computer back, so I can see his hand wrapped around his penis. His fist is pumping up and down as he watches me touch myself.
“Which toy is your favorite?” he asks.
I reach in and pull out a vibrator that has the bunny ears and an anal stimulator. He raises his eyebrows, and it makes me blush that he now knows all my “dirty” little secrets.
“Use it,” he commands. I like this part of Cody, the domineering part.
I turn it on and slowly rub it over my clit. I moan at the feel of the vibrations against my sensitive bundle of nerves. Slowly, inch by inch, I work the vibrator inside me, angling so Cody can watch everything. I see his erection get harder and longer, and I know he’s close just from watching me and that turns me on even more. I turn up the vibration and then push it all the way against me.
“That’s right, baby. Pretend that’s me,” he whispers as he pumps his fist harder up and down his length.
We keep our eyes locked on one another’s body, watching like voyeurs as we bring ourselves to the edge.
“You almost there, princess?”
“Yes,” I manage.
“Come with me, Zoe,” he grunts as he shoots hot streams over his stomach, and I press the vibrator as deep as it can go and muffle my cries with my other hand.
We both sit breathing for a minute afterward. Neither of us says anything for the longest minute.
“Goddamn, that was hot, Zoe,” he says as he reaches for a tissue and wipes his stomach. I remove my toy and place it on the nightstand. I throw back on my pajama top and flop stomach-down on my bed. I can’t wipe the huge grin off my face.
“Well, if I can’t have you here, it seemed like the next best thing,” I say softly as he props the camera back up, so I just see his face. I reach out and touch the screen. “I miss you so much.”
“I miss you too, princess,” he says. “But I’ll be home soon.”
We stay up chatting about random things for another hour. When I can’t keep my eyes open any longer, he tells me to go to bed, and I comply.
Chapter 17
Zoe’s Playlist: “What If” by Coldplay
The rest of the week flies by as I pick up one more shift and start working on some cycling and weight training at my mom’s house. By Monday, I’m starting to feel like my old self, at least physically. I’m about to go for a walk when my phone buzzes. I don’t recognize the number but pick it up anyways.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Ms. Greene?” a man asks.
“Yes, this is she,” I reply.
“This is Bud Griffin, the plumber that’s working on your apartment.”
“Oh, uh, yes. Is everything OK?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I showed up on site today and your door was open, and some drawers are also open that I don’t recall being opened when I was here on Saturday. I know we locked up, ma’am, after we finished because I had quite a time with your lock. I’m not sure if your landlord came by or if you had been in there, but I wanted to check.”
I’m trying to remember if my landlord, Kathleen, had mentioned going to my apartment.
“Ma’am?”
“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking. No, I don’t think Kathleen’s been there, and I know I haven’t. I’ll come over and take a look,” I say with a frown.
“Alright, we’ll be here. We’re doing some tile work today,” he says.
“OK, see you in a bit.”
I sigh and grab my car keys. It’s after rush hour, so I make it back to my apartment faster than anticipated. I open the door and look around. Nothing seems out of place at first. Then I see my desk, the drawers are all partially opened. I walk over and start to open one further. Bud yells out from my bathroom.
“Ms. Greene? Is that you?”
“Yep, it’s me.”
He walks out and greets me. “I’d use a baggie to touch that in case there are fingerprints.”
I look at him with a raised eyebrow.
He smiles sheepishly. “I watch a lot of crime shows.”
I laugh but follow his directions and grab a plastic baggie from my kitchen. I root around my drawers. Other than some items being out of place, I don’t find anything missing.
“You gonna call the cops?” I hear Bud ask from the bathroom.
“I don’t think so, Bud. Everything is here. Maybe it was some teenagers messing around or maybe the latch didn’t shut properly or something and…who knows, but there’s really nothing to report.”
“Alright, if you’re sure, Ms. Greene.”
“I’m sure, but thanks for calling me, Bud. Can I have a sneak peek at my bathroom?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says and motions me inside. It looks really good, brand new and my landlord picked out some nice fixtures.
“Unfortunately, the new mirror and countertop won’t get in till early next week. I should have it installed in here by the end of the week.”
I sigh. I guess it’ll be three weeks with my mom.
“Well, thanks again, Bud,” I say, and I head back to my mom’s house.
By the end of the week, I’m craving some cheesesteak from one of my favorite Italian restaurants in the city. I decide to be lazy, and I hop in my car and zoom through town. I enjoy my lunch and chat with the restaurant owner’s son. As I walk back to my car, I begin to feel like someone is watching me. I glance around but see no one. I get back in my car and start down 20th Street. I see a car pull out behind me. I continue down another block, so does the car
. I make a sudden left, so does the car. It’s a nondescript black car with tinted windows. I can’t help thinking like Bud. All those crime shows I’ve watched now come tumbling back to me. I find myself wondering if it’s a “bad guy” in the car. Don’t bad guys always drive dark cars with tinted windows? I make a sudden right, so does the car. After three more sudden turns, I start to panic. I feel myself getting flustered. I drive back around to Spruce Street and pull over by the restaurant again. I lock the door and am about to call the police when the car zooms past me, slowing slightly as it goes. Something doesn’t feel right. I start shaking and crying, and I suddenly can’t move. It takes me a few minutes to pick up my phone. I call my brother because I know he’ll be close by, and he won’t panic like my mom would.
“Rob?” I say shakily when he picks up.
“What’s wrong?” Rob asks, his voice filled with concern.
I start sobbing.
“Zoe, where are you? Are you OK?”
“Uh huh,” I manage to whisper.
“Where are you?” he demands.
“Twentieth and Spruce.”
“Don’t move, I’m coming.” He hangs up, and I sit in my car crying. I feel like a fool, but I can’t stop shaking. Rob must be close because he pulls up not ten minutes later. He takes one look at me and does a quick U-turn into a spot across from my car. He’s by my window in a few seconds and knocks on it softly. I unlock the door, and he opens it. I fall into his arms.
“Hey,” he says and pulls me into a tight hug. “It’s OK.” We don’t speak for a moment. “Zoe, look at me.” I look into his eyes. “Take a deep breath.” He takes a deep breath, and I mimic him. We repeat this several times until I feel like I can breathe again. I wipe my eyes and look at him.
“Someone was following me,” I finally manage to say.
“Are you sure?” he asks, a frown forming on his face.
“I think so,” I answer.
“Alright, let’s get you home,” he says. He holds out his hand, and I take it. He locks my car and opens his car door for me. I sit, and he buckles me in and takes a seat next to me.
“Jesus, woman, you scared me half to death!” he exclaims as he pulls out into traffic.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
He takes my hand. “I’m just glad you’re OK.”
I nod, and we drive back to our mom’s house in silence. He parks and turns to me.
“Maybe you should talk to your therapist about this.”
“That someone was following me?”
“No, that you had a full-blown panic attack.”
“Oh, that,” I say, and I pause and look at him. “But, Rob, someone was really following me. I’m not making that up!”
“OK. OK,” he says softly. “I believe you. What can I do?”
I shrug. “Don’t tell Mom. She’ll just freak out.”
“Zoe.” He gives me a stern look.
“Please,” I beg him.
“Fine, but only if you talk to your therapist about the panic attack. And if someone was following you, then you need to be more careful,” he says. He shakes his head. “Is there something I should know, Zoe? Are you in some kind of trouble? Why would someone be following you?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur as I stare out at my mom’s house.
“If anything else happens, promise me you’ll go to the police,” he pleads as he rests a hand on my arm.
I look into my baby brother’s hazel eyes. It’s weird to see him looking like such a man when in my head he’s still the goofy little boy who used to torment me with slime and water balloons. Now he sits here like my protector, looking nothing like the young child in my memories. When did that happen? I pat his hand and give it a squeeze.
“I promise,” I say, trying to reassure him. I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and then get out of the car and walk into my mom’s house.
It’s quiet, and I sit in her parlor and contemplate what to do next. Then I remember the USB drive. Maybe I can distract myself by seeing what’s on it. I pop it into my laptop and wait. When the icon for the USB pops up, I click on it. I see files, but when I try to open them, nothing happens. I don’t recognize anything and some of it is in another language, Arabic maybe? Weird. I walk into my mom’s kitchen and grab a glass of ice tea and sit and stare at the screen.
“Well, this isn’t mine,” I mutter to myself.
I look at the time and see that Cody is likely in meetings still. So, I decide to call Lance and Lily, maybe they can figure out what’s on it.
“Lily?” I say when she picks up.
“Oh, hey! How are you?”
“I’m OK. I actually have a weird question for you.”
“Sure, shoot.”
“Do you think Lance could help me with some encrypted computer files? I know he’s all techie and whatever.”
“Uh, maybe. Why?”
“Oh, I found this USB drive at my apartment. I thought it was Cody’s. Only he says it’s not his, and then I thought maybe it was mine, but I don’t recognize anything on it, and I can’t open any files.”
“Why don’t you take the train up here tomorrow? You can spend the night, and we can go out?” she suggests.
I smile. Maybe getting away for a night is just what I need. Cody hasn’t called me much this week and if I am being honest with myself, I’m beginning to wonder if our relationship is fizzling with the distance. “That sounds great,” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“Yay! OK, I’ll get the guest room ready! Oh, and you can meet Brooklyn!”
“Brooklyn?”
“Lance’s cat,” she says with a giggle.
“Oh joy,” I mutter.
“Be nice! Brooklyn is a sweetheart!”
“Whatever, I’ll text you my train number when I get on,” I say.
“OK, see you tomorrow!” she squeals and hangs up.
Well, this should be interesting, I think to myself as I wander upstairs to pack an overnight bag.
Chapter 18
Zoe’s Playlist: “Talk” by Coldplay
The next morning, I go to my therapy appointment. My therapist, Dr. Hannigan, is young, probably only about five years older than I am. She’s also very pretty and always wears pants suits. She opens her door and offers me coffee. I accept and sit down in an oversized chair.
“So, how’s your week going?” she asks as she hands me a coffee and sits down across from me in a leather chair.
I shrug. “I had a panic attack.”
She raises her eyebrow. “Really? And what makes you think it was a panic attack?”
“Seriously, Dr. Hannigan?” I give her a look, but she remains focused on my face, not wavering in her question. I sigh. “I freaked out because I thought someone was following me and then broke down crying and shaking.”
“Was someone following you?”
“I don’t know, maybe,” I contemplate as I sip the coffee. I see a look of concern on her face. “I’m sure it was just my imagination though,” I add quickly.
She nods. “So, it scared you?”
“Yes, you could definitely say that.”
She asks for me to retell her the whole story, so I do. She takes some notes.
“Well, it definitely sounds like a panic attack. Have you had trouble with anxiety before?”
“Never…well, I take that back. After my parents split when I was a kid, I used to get anxious before visiting with my dad and his new wife, but nothing like what happened yesterday. Oh, and I got a little panicky when Cody left for Colombia, but again not like this.”
“I see. I think this is a step forward Zoe. You have been in a state of shock since the crash. Your injuries have made it difficult for you to deal with what has happened and now that you are finally on the mend, it seems like perhaps your brain is playing catch-up. That’s a good thing, progress in a way. It shows that you are resilient. Now, we can treat your panic attacks with medication if you like, but I’d like to see if you get any more of them fi
rst.”
“I agree. I’d prefer to not take medication.” I contemplate her choice of words. Resilient.
She nods. We wrap up, and I grab an Uber to the train station. I send Cody yet another text message letting him know that I’m going to NYC for the night. About thirty minutes before the train arrives, my phone buzzes and I see Cody’s name.
“Hey,” I say, honestly surprised to hear from him.
“Hey,” he answers and then there’s an awkward pause that makes me suck in a breath because I’m a hundred percent sure he’s about to break up with me.
“You on the train?”
“Yes, I’m almost there.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry I’ve been MIA this past week. I had a break-in at the villa and then at my office. I’ve been dealing with the police and my company. It’s been a mess.”
“What?!” I exclaim way too loudly for an enclosed space. Several passengers give me dirty looks. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask more quietly this time.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” he says and then launches into a story about the break-ins. I sigh, knowing I need to share information with him that will only further freak him out.
“What’s wrong, Zoe?” he asks as if sensing my reluctance to share.
“I had a break-in, too,” I admit quietly.
“What?!” he yells, and I can tell he’s pissed off that I didn’t tell him earlier.
“You heard me. I had a break-in and…” I pause unsure if I should tell him more, but I decide it’s better to tell him than to let him find out from someone else. “I swear someone was following me yesterday.”
I hear him take in a breath. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t know, Cody. I…I think so,” I stutter, and I tell him everything. He’s quiet, and I know he’s not pleased to hear this information.
“I’m coming home,” he says.
“What? What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m coming home. I’ll catch a flight tomorrow,” he says emphatically.
“Cody, that’s not necessary. Plus, I’m up in New York till tomorrow night, anyhow,” I groan. “I’m fine really.”