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The cameras in the car though, that one is actually because we filmed a movie once, two people fucking in the backseat of a limo. That’s not purposely being a fucking spy or whatever. I think we called those series something like ‘Ride Me: Backseat Confessions’ or something.
Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that it’s not a big shocker when I see Brittney getting out of the car and walking toward the entrance of the building as the doorman to One57 based on the tiny micro camera I have installed on the lobby.
Yeah, I get shit for it. Every so often, some billionaire’s bodyguard or intelligence person finds it. They remove it or destroy it with white noise. But for times like this, where I can use this tablet to watch this beautiful woman get out of the limo in a tight black dress that’s accentuating her hips and showcasing her tits, it's absolutely amazing.
Oh yeah, you heard me right. I watch a whole bunch of shit and keep recordings of the surveillance on my fucking tablet.
Remember the first time Brittney came by? I was watching something and totally entranced by it and you wanted to know what it was that was so fucking fascinating but I wouldn’t tell you?
Well, here’s me telling you right now.
I have these cameras watching, recording, and showing me what happens in places when I’m not there. I got one in my office, around various rooms in Illicit Entertainment, in my homes, in my cars, you name it.
In fact, what I was watching that day when Brittney first came over was—
Fuck, there she is actually, ringing the doorbell.
That was fast.
I’ll tell you later, okay?
Right now I walk to the door to open it and reveal a very wary looking Brittney Roman.
I also gotta be a bit honest here.
I look at Brittney, and I know you think I should be mad or something. But all I want to do right now is two things in the world.
I want to pull her close to me and wrap my arms around her. Tell her to stop feeling down. Tell her everything is going to be alright. Make her stop worrying—stop beating herself up, which I know she’s doing. I want to make her happy and tell her that I want to protect her for the rest of her life. That I never want anything to get in the middle of us. Ever. That I fucking love her.
Yeah, that's the first thing.
The second thing I want to do is fuck her brains out. I’m completely serious. After I tell her how much I love her, I want to rip off her clothes and fuck her like a whore. Bring her to a whole new level of fucking pleasure than she’s ever been before. Fuck her so hard that she forgets what walking is all about she’s so fucking sore. Make her scream so loud that only the fucking birds hear her. I want to own her. Body and fucking soul.
And mark my fucking words, darlin’, I’m going to do all that.
First though, I hold the door open and look at her.
“Come on in, babe, it’s okay,” I tell her. She looks at me and warily walks in the door. I smile as she passes me and turns her head back to look at me.
I let a moment pass. Her ass is just too good to not stare.
“Should I leave you and my ass alone so you two can catch up?” Brittney asks me and I look up. She’s got the faint hint of a smile going.
“That’s the girl I remember,” I tell her, grinning at her. “There she is.”
“Don’t tell me you forgot in a week and a half?” she asks me, with a small pout.
I take a few steps toward her and lean in to kiss her.
It’s a chaste fucking kiss. Nothing at all like I’m going to do to her in a bit. But it’s all the situation needs right now.
When I pull my head back, I see her. Her eyes are closed and she’s enjoying it.
I wrap my arms around her.
“Hey,” I tell her. “It’s okay. Really. Listen to me…” I say, but she doesn’t let me finish.
“No, Ethan, it’s not okay, okay?” Brittney says with a ferocity I didn’t expect. “I played you, and it’s not okay.”
