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“Or would you like to see me in less?” she asks so quietly I almost don’t hear her. Stepping closer to the camera, she leans down and gives me a full view of her cleavage. As she stares into the lens, it almost feels as if, for a split second, she can actually see me and that, somehow, I’ve been caught, and she knows it’s her stepbrother watching.
“Okay, Drake. In order for you to see more of me, you’re going to have to show me more.”
My first thought is to swipe away right now.
Instead, I type:
How much can I show you?
She reads my message and smiles. “Rules say you have to keepyourclothes on. But you don’t have to show me your face if you don’t want to.”
I can’t.
“I understand.” She gives me a sympathetic look while thinking for a moment. It’s strange to have Mia look at me without a disdainful expression. So this is what it’s like to speak to her like someone she doesn’t hate?
And I don’t miss the way she seems so much more human and relatable now than in the livestream. As if she’s really trying to connect to the man on the other end of the call. Knowing that it’s me she’s talking to feels good, but the reminder that it’s often other men she’s trying to relate to makes me want to hurt someone.
I don’t have a shirt on.
“Oh,” she replies, “are you in bed right now?”
I practically leap off the couch and run to my room. Dropping onto the mattress, I quickly type my response.
I am now.
“Show me your bed, and I’ll show you something.”
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. When I hit the video button at the top corner of the screen, my finger is shaking. I angle the phone down, so only my bare chest and the top of my pajama bottoms are showing. The only light in the room is coming through the open door, so she gets a blurry, dark view of my abdomen on my black linen sheets.
I watch her expression change from anticipation to surprise. Her lips part just a hair and her eyes lose a little of their focus.
“Oh…Drake,” she whispers, “you have a great body.”
Thank you, I type, sticking to the text messages instead of talking.
Now what are you going to show me?
She smiles. “What would you like to see?”
Your tits.
Her head tilts to the side. “So predictable, Drake.”
I laugh because it’s her and it sounds like her giving me shit like she always does.
Fine. No tits then.
Her eyebrows rise. “Okay, then what’s it gonna be?”
My brain and all of its rational, appropriate functions are gone. They haven’t been running this show for a while, and if my cock could type, it would. Instead, I’m left to do all the typing for it.
Turn around and touch your toes. I want to see your ass.
Peel off that thong and show me everything.
Her gaze loses more of its focus.
“Everything? You really went for it.”
