Page 6 of Wells

She obeys. Her fingers tighten and pinch, just as her breath snaps again. Her head tips back against the headboard, baring the line of her throat, exposing her pulse hammering just beneath the skin.

My hand moves, slow at first, matching the rhythm I set for her. The heat builds, and I keep my face blank, my posture still. On the screen, she looks wrecked already. She's flushed, breathing hard, following every word I give her, and liking it.

She licks her lips, and it nearly undoes me.

"Move your hand down. Put two fingers inside."

The tips of her bare fingers slide lower, disappearing beneath the waistband of her panties, and the motion makes the piercing catch the light again. She bites her lip, her hips shifting, and I tighten my grip on myself, stroking harder.

Control is a thin edge tonight. The effort it takes to keep my voice flat is real. My pulse ticks up, and my breath wants to run ahead of me. I hold it back and force it down.

She moans, and it resonates through my entire body, as if she were here with me.

"That's it, baby. Yeah."

The words come out rougher than I intend, but the modulator buries the strain. To her, I still sound calm, detached, and in control.

I'm not. She's the only person I allow myself to let go for.

My hand works faster now, and the friction drags heat through my body. She moves on camera, her breath coming in short bursts, her free hand gripping the sheet beside her.

Her thighs shake, and her pelvis comes up to meet her hand.

I stroke harder, forcing my focus back to the whole picture, not the part. Her hand moves under the fabric, her hips roll, and my body responds with heat that spreads fast and sharp. I bite down on the sound before it reaches the mic.

"Faster."

Her rhythm quickens, and she hums something low under her breath. Just a few notes, barely audible, some melody I don't recognize. The sound slips through the speakers and lands in my chest, settling there in a way that makes no sense.

I tighten my grip, pulling me closer to the edge. My pulse pounds in my ears.

She gasps, her back arching off the headboard, and the piercing glints again. That small silver ring.

I stand and lean forward, one hand braced on the desk, the other working myself as fast as my hand will go.

"Don't stop."

Her body tightens on screen, her mouth open, her breathing wrecked.

The orgasm hits hard, ripping through me in a wave that blurs the edges of the room. My hand keeps moving through it, pulling every last second out, and I press my other palm on the desktop to keep from making a sound.

I fall back into my chair, heat flooding my body. My fingers dig into the wooden top to steady myself while my vision clears.

I clean myself with a rag I already had ready for our meeting and throw it into the trash can beside the desk.

She comes a second later, her whole body shuddering. Then her thighs clamp on her hand, and she leaves it there, still. The sound she makes, breathy and unguarded, hits me somewhere I wasn't ready for.

I sit back in the chair, chest heaving, my dick still throbbing. The screen glows in front of me, her body still. She breathes in through her nose and purses her lips as she exhales.

"Taste yourself," I say, breaking the silence.

She removes her hand from between her legs and puts her fingers in her mouth. There's a pop when she pulls them out, leaving a trace of her lipstick on the tops of her fingers. My balls ache.

Goddamn, I could go again. But I hold back, saving some for Thursday. It's late.

This should be the end. The performance is over. But lately we've stayed on well past the release. I want all of her, not just the orgasm.

Her breathing slows. She shifts on the bed, smooths her hair back from her face, and her eyes flick to the camera.