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I click on the link. It's a private website, password protected. There's a hint in the email. I have an image in my mind of my favorite person covered in one of her favorite things. You could say I licked my lips and thought of her. It doesn't stop there. I can't help but envision my tongue against her skin, lapping up every inch of... well, I'm not going to give it all away.
My mouth waters. God, I'm already shaking, already wet. I try my best guess:
AlyssaSummersHoney
It works.
I close my eyes. Deep breath. I've sent Luke a few sexy pictures here and there, but never like the ones I left on the iPad. And he's never replied. God, I bet he looks just as good on-screen as he does in front of me.
My eyes open of their own accord. There are pictures, yes, but there's also a video.
Holy fuck.
I press my fingers together. There's a video of Luke. A video. A fucking video.
I look at the pictures first. They're amazing, out of this fucking world. Luke's chest, his shoulders, his amazing as all hell abs, his entire torso all the way down to the soft hairs below his belly button.
My legs rub together, my sex clenching. His body is so damn amazing. I could never get tired of looking at it. But this video... is it really?
I swallow. We've talked on the phone before, but we've never... I've never even seen a man touch himself. Any other guy, it would be awful, weird, creepy even.
But God, the thought of Luke stroking himself, looking at my pictures, coming while thinking of me... I can barely breathe.
I press play. It's our bedroom, our bed. It's dark. It must be late, after he got home last night. He steps into frame, his gaze flitting
towards the camera. Then he smiles, that million-dollar smile of his. He's in his suit, like he just got home from work.
He takes it off slowly. First the tie, then an eternity at each button. He moves slowly but deliberately. Like he would if I was there, watching him. Then he undoes his belt and slides his slacks to the floor.
My mouth waters. I never get the chance to gape at him quite like this. There's so much else to take in when he's here, but this is something else. His body is a fucking work of art, and he moves so expertly. It's pure masculine sensuality.
Then his boxers are at his knees.
God damn.
That's his...
I blink, my nails digging into my thighs. It's not a close-up or anything. It's all of him--from his shoulders to his knees--naked and ready for me.
He starts to stroke himself. God, I wish that was my hand, that I was in bed with him. I wish I could feel him, hard under me. I could be the one making him come.
But I already am, aren't I? This is practically a dedication. He was so fucking hot looking at the pictures I sent him that he had to respond.
This is how he feels about me.
This is how much he wants me.
And it's so fucking hot watching him touch himself.
Maybe he's not there. Maybe it's not live. But I have to come with him.
I slide out of my boxers, his boxers really, and drag my laptop to the bed. There's no teasing. I'm already wet and needy and completely desperate.
I touch myself as I watch him. And I don't stop until I'm there, until I see his body careen towards an orgasm, his eyes closed, his lips pursed as he mummers, "Alyssa."
***
My mind is preoccupied all morning. But the second I step into the theater, I am all business. I am Alyssa Summers, amazing actress, TV star. Okay, I am Alyssa Summers, cable TV star, but that counts for something.
