Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
“But that’s…” I rake my nails up and down his thighs. “You never said anything. You never… That’s wrong. That’s—”
“A fucking asshole thing to do, I know. A felony, I know that too,” he tells me. Then, squeezing my neck again, “And if you want, I can take you to the cops after this, but it was all I had. Of you. You dancing for me on the screen. You going to pieces for me in my lap. Your voice, your moans. Your gorgeous fucking face, all drugged up and flushed. This is all I had of you blooming for me like a fucking rose. I had you in my arms every night and still I went home empty-handed. Still, I went home trying to remember what you felt like. Smelled like. Trying to remember how soft you were, how soft your skin was. How small your body was, against mine. How easy it would be to crush you if I wanted to, to cherish you. How easy it would be to get inside you and how difficult it would be to make myself fit and not hurt you. So yeah, I admit to breaking a few laws while I waited for you.”
“For me,” I breathe out.
“To say yes,” he finishes.
“You watched my videos every day?” I ask then, disbelief clear in my voice.
“On repeat.”
“You—"
“Helped me focus before practice.”
My heart skips a beat again. “It d-did?”
“Yeah. I still suck though. Just a little less.”
“You don’t suck,” I defend.
A puff of a breath escapes him. Then, “And then I watched them at night.”
“But you were in my room every night.”
“So you do the math.”
“You…” I swallow, or try to, but all my emotions are jammed up in my throat. “You watched those videos while you were in my room? But I… I was right there.”
“And you were right here,” he bites out. “In my lap, and I still didn’t have you. So yeah, I watched you on my screen while you slept only a few feet away. Because you were right there but still you were a million miles away. And I fucked my fist too because you wouldn’t let me get close to you. You wouldn’t let me have you.”
“You’re…” My breath snags in my throat and comes out as a hiccup. “You’re crazy. You’re obsessed.”
His chest shudders. “Told you I could teach you things about obsession.” Then, “Still feel safe with me?”
Yeah, he did say he could teach me things. I didn’t believe him then, but I do now. I also didn’t believe that I could be as crazy as this, as him but apparently I am because I don’t hate this. In fact I think I might like it. I might love it. Just as much as leaving my window open for him to sneak into my room in the middle of the night. Just as much as doing this for him.
How can anything or anyone bad touch me when he’s obsessed with me the way he is? When only a few feet of distance between us seem like a thousand miles to him.
But more than that I love that I help him. That watching me helps him focus. I was worried about that, wasn’t I. So maybe I don’t have to. Maybe I can take his pain away. Maybe he was right all along and I don’t want to wait any longer. Not even a single second.
Gripping his thighs, I say, urgently, “I want it. Right now.”
He watches me a beat, probably trying to ascertain what I mean. But I don’t have to tell him because he reads it on my face. And his own face goes hard for a second before he swallows, as if dislodging too many emotions from his throat like I had to do just now. Then, “You wanna put on a show for me, baby?”
“Yes,” I admit, feeling both shame and pride prickle my skin.
He studies my face before saying, “Because you want this as much as me, don’t you?”
I nod, blushing as a quickening starts up in my belly. “Yes.”
I go to stand up then, get on his lap, dance for him like he always wanted me to. Bridge this gap between us so we can finally, finally touch. Kiss, even. But he doesn’t let me. His grip is still as tight, and if anything he inches back a bit. Then keeping our gazes locked, he fiddles with his phone. I watch his thumb press and swipe before he says, “You’re going to stay on your knees tonight.”
As disappointing as that is, I still have to squeeze my thighs at his commanding tone. Not to mention, at the fact that he’s still holding his phone up. “Is it… Is it going?”
“Yeah,” he says.
The burn that I feel in my belly at that, on my whole body is something I’ve never felt before. It’s like there’s a spotlight on me, a big halogen light, displaying every single nerve ending and every single speck of my soul. But instead of hiding, it only makes me want to display myself more. It only makes me want to throw my shoulders back, arch my spine, show him everything that is his to see.