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My fingers playing with it.
The cigar holder.
The cigar holder, the cigar holder, the cigar holder.
I wanted to combust right there and then.
But I refused to appear humiliated.
I cleared my throat and smiled to the camera. “Yes?”
“Are you finished contaminating my library?” It came out matter-of-fact. Unfazed and unaffected.
Suddenly, it drove me mad that he hadn’t busted into the room as soon as he saw me spread my legs. Didn’t throw me against the window and fuck me raw.
I slumped against the laden shelves, keeping my legs open. “Pretty much.”
I knew he could still see everything.
My swollen clit. My pink folds. The juices running down my thighs, onto his carpet. The residual blood from Brett’s finger painting messy strokes on my thighs.
But I refused to show him weakness.
“What about the room turned you on, exactly? Was it the Dostoevsky and Murakami hardcovers or the Degas paintings?”
I flicked a bang away from my forehead. “It was mainly the absence of you.”
He chuckled on the other end of the intercom. A static noise that still managed to drip into my gut.
I dusted off my hands. “Are we done with the chitchat?”
I wanted to stand up and clean myself. Then, obviously, slink under a rock and spend the rest of my life mortified by what happened.
“Almost.” Silence. And then, “Suck your fingers.”
I wanted to defy him. To deny him. But…
I also wanted to do this for myself. My nipples had already pebbled again, my body springing to attention at his husky command.
I turned my head to grin at the camera. “Ask nicely.”
He paused, considering it. “Kindly shove your fingers into your mouth and taste what my mere existence does to you.”
“Cocky much?”
“Much. And all of it, root to tip, is about to fill your pussy, ass, and mouth. Soon.”
A tremor of eagerness and euphoria rolled through me. I wanted that. I wanted that more than anything else in the world in this moment.
I circled my nipple with my wet finger. “Do you think you’re capable of touching me?”
Another beat of silence.
He answered, firm, “IknowI can.”
Slowly, I raised my fingers to my mouth and sucked, gaze still trained on the camera.
“Taste good?” It came out thick. Strained. Barely controlled.
