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On the screen, Bree lays down on the bed, her eyes flicking over toward the camera like she knows I’m on the other side of it. She pulls her skirt up and I draw in a breath as I take in the simple, white cotton panties she’s got on underneath. Pressing her head back, she starts massaging that moist cleft with one hand while using the other to rub and pinch her stiff nipples. Bree pulls her panties aside, giving me a view of her opening, and starts dancing her fingers over her clit.
Her moans are breathy and when she breathes my name, I feel my cock grow impossibly hard. I unbutton my pants and slip them down, quickly pulling out my rod and start to stroke myself. I watch Bree driving her fingers into her perfectly pink slit as I pump my fist up and down my cock and feel my heart racing. Her cries grow more insistent as her fingers work her sweet little pussy as furiously as I’m jerking my staff.
A loud grunt bursts from my mouth as my cock twitches in my hand. I feel the pressure building up in my balls and know I’m not going to last much longer. On the screen, Bree is crying out, her head pressed into the pillow, her eyes squeezed shut. She’s calling my name as she parts her smooth, creamy thighs a little wider and plunges her fingers into her sex with the sort of wild abandon that I never knew I needed until I felt it with her.
“Fuck me, Bastian,” she screams. “Fuck me. Use me. Harder!”
The sound of her voice puts fire in my veins, and I pump my cock even harder, wishing like hell it was buried in that tight, wet cunt. As I watch Bree arch her back and cry out as she comes, I feel my prick start to pulse in my hand. Caught in the grip of an intense orgasm, Bree’s entire body is shaking wildly and when she cries out my name again, I grab the washcloth and wrap it around my cock just in time to blow my load into it.
“Bree,” I gasp. “Holy fuck.”
I lean forward, pressing my forehead to the cool, smooth surface of the desk as my cock pulses and throbs and I squeeze it, milking every last drop of my seed out of it. When I have, I wad up the washcloth and toss it into the trash can that sits next to the desk then slump back in my chair, feeling wrung out. It takes a minute for my breath and pulse to return to normal and when they finally do, I sit up.
“Jesus,” I mutter to myself.
As I watch her through the camera, I realize the desire for Bree… no, the need for her… hasn't ebbed in the least. In some ways, it's only gotten stronger. She’s laying back on the bed, the skirt pulled down over her sex demurely once more. And as if she can feel me looking at her, she turns her head to the side, her eyes looking at the camera again, that faint, salacious smile tugging at the corners of her lips once more before turning away.
“You’re killing me, baby girl,” I whisper as I trace her body with the tip of my finger on the screen. “Absolutely fucking killing me.”
10
Bree
Sunlight is streaming in through the windows, the salty scent of the ocean is thick in the air, and I can hear the thunderous crash of the waves against the shore as I open my eyes. As I wake up, I see the window standing open and sit bolt upright, my heart hammering against my breast. I know I closed it before going to sleep last night. It’s then that I feel his presence and turn my head. Bastian is sitting at the foot of my bed. I have no idea how long he’s been sitting there watching me sleep. It’s a little creepy but at the same time, I feel that familiar quiver in my sex.
I’m wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a t-shirt and watch as his green eyes travel up and down my body. He licks his lips and looks at me like he’s a starving man and I’m a buffet. Bastian’s got a few days’ worth of stubble on his square jaw that’s flecked with gray that somehow makes him even sexier. His black turtleneck clings to his perfectly sculpted body, showing off the flat planes of his chest and bulging biceps.
That quiver in my sex turns into a full tremble as I feel the heat within me growing and the cleft between my thighs getting moist. I’m half-afraid I’m going to come just staring at him, so I try to redirect my thoughts as well as my energy and pour it all into my anger and frustration with him. Clenching my jaw, I narrow my eyes and try to adopt a pissed-off look.
“Where the hell have you been?” I demand.
“Taking care of some business,” he replies cryptically.
“For more than a week?”
“It was complicated. A lot of moving parts.”
I scoff and shake my head. “And you couldn’t pick up the phone? Or at the very least, return any of my texts?”
“There was a lot I needed to figure out,” he replies. “A lot I needed to get set up.”
“Set up? What are you talking about?”
“Like I said, it was complicated.”
I get up off the bed and stretch languidly in front of the window, giving him a good view of my entire body. He’s doing his best to not look but he can’t help himself. And I like that he can’t. I want him to see me. I want him to want me as much as I want him. That’s why I’ve been putting on the shows for him that I have. I've known there's a camera hidden in the crown molding. I spotted it on my second day here.
“Shouldn’t you put on some clothes?” he asks, his voice thick.
“I’m covered up. It’s like I’m wearing a swimsuit, Bastian. Don’t be such a prude.”
He chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. He probably knows he should be objecting strenuously to my little display, but I love seeing the way he drinks me in. He looks at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. The light of passion and desire in his eyes makes my warm center quiver and I feel myself growing slick. I run a hand through my hair and try to focus on the topic at hand while trying to keep from getting myself dripping wet as he’s watching me. That would give him the power and control. And I want that for myself for a change.
I glance up at the camera embedded in the molding just to ground myself and bring me back to what I was talking about again. I don’t know for sure that he’s watching the footage from those cameras, but I have a feeling he does. So, I’ve been making sure that if he is, he’s getting an eyeful. It's all part of my master plan to seduce him. And judging by that lustful gleam in his eye and the bulge in his pants he’s doing his best to keep hidden, I’d say it’s working.
Folding my arms over my chest, making sure to accentuate my breasts, I stare at him for a long moment. He’s trying to keep from looking at me, but I see his eyes sliding up my bare legs, lingering on my womanhood, then continuing up to my breasts. He subtly shifts his sitting position, and I can only imagine that his cock is growing painfully hard. I rub my face to hide my smile, quickly pushing it away and let the scowl return.
Just because I’m trying to seduce him doesn’t mean I’m not still pretty upset with him. Angry might be the better word. He did leave me for over a week after all. That and he didn’t communicate with me about anything. We shared this amazing experience and transcendent intimate moment and then he just… leaves. He bails on me, and I don’t hear a word from him for days. Days! So, yeah, it’s fair to say I’m still a little bit pissed. And because I am, I'm relishing the chance to torture him a little bit by flaunting myself in front of him.
