Page 91 of Total Exposure

I take a sip of the coffee I got while I was out. Enjoy it.

“X,” she says. “Are you there?”

X. Just hearing her say my name makes me want her. It’s so close to what Jordan calls me. Ix. X. So close.

“I’m going upstairs,” she says.

“Good,” I say, but only to myself.

“I’m gonna put the blindfold on,” she says.

“Perfect,” I say.

“I’m gonna wait for you.”

“I’m gonna make you wait.”

She starts walking up the stairs, then turns about halfway up to stare at me again. “You’ll come, right?”

My heart skips.

“You will,” she says, trying to convince herself. “I know this probably isn’t easy for you. And you probably have a million better things to do with your life right now than babysit me.” She pauses. “But I’m glad we’re doing this. I… I think I like you.”

And with that proclamation, she turns her back to me and disappears.

I am so stunned at her admission, I don’t even follow her on the cameras. I just sit there in front of the monitor, wondering… wondering how I got here. And wondering what I did to deserve this chance.

Because that’s what it seems like all of a sudden. Not that I’m here helping her, but she’s here helping me.

The stories we exchange are sad, but beautiful too. They’re desperate, but bring a sense of peace.

It makes me wonder if she’s getting better because of me? Or Jordan?

I’m dying to know the answer to that question.

Especially since I’m starting to figure out why I’m really here.

And it’s not her.

But I want it to be her.

I don’t make her wait too long. Not because I’m feeling generous or anything. But because I think I need her tonight. I think I’m going enjoy this a lot. Because I sense that she’s not as fucked up as she thinks and our time together in this house is drawing to an end. It hasn’t even been a week, but we’re almost done here.

Almost. But not quite.

So I get up, take off my clothes, check the mirror and wonder if I should shave. Decide no. I want to eat her pussy and I want the stubble on my jaw to scratch the sensitive skin on her inner thighs raw.

I want her to remember what we do at night when, tomorrow, she leaves here again looking for the man who isn’t me.

When I climb the stairs leading up to the third-floor bedroom I realize I didn’t check to see if she was wearing the blindfold. She could be waiting in there to ambush me. Eyes open. She’ll know everything if she is.

But I open the door without knocking anyway. Trusting her.

She’s lying down on top of the white down comforter, legs straight, arms at her side, the tie wrapped around her eyes just like she’s supposed to be.

Trusting me too.

She exhales as I stand over her. Sensing that I’m close, maybe fearful I will leave if she moves. She stays absolutely still.