Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
I laugh, take the mask, and slip it over his head. It fits perfectly, accentuating his sharp jaw and the streak of gray at his temple. He looks dangerous and hot and wholly himself.
“Not bad, Captain,” I say, running a finger along the edge.
He grabs me, flips me onto his lap with military efficiency. “Wait until you see what I have planned for Saturday,” he growls in my ear. “We’re doing the double toy challenge. You better get yourself warmed-up.”
I lose it, giggling into his shirt. The last of the sadness from this morning melts away. This is my real life now: exciting, titillating, and shared with someone who loves every part of me.
Jack holds me for a while, then we get up and start sorting the gear for the shoot. While we’ve uploaded some pre-recorded videos to my channel, this weekend is different because Jack and I are going to do a live stream of the two of us for the first time. It’s going to be hot, and as we sort cables and test battery packs, my excitement grows. This is going to be awesome.
When the prep is finally done, Jack pours us a beer, and we sit on the floor, backs against the couch, ankles touching. He puts his hand over mine.
“We’re going to kill it this weekend, sweetheart,” he says. “And after, we’ll celebrate. Just us. No cameras, no audience.”
I think of the show, of the viewers, of my mother, of everything that brought us to this point. But mostly, I think about Jack, and how somehow, against all odds, this is the truest version of myself I’ve ever been.
I take his hand, squeeze hard. “It’s going to be awesome,” I agree with a smile, “because it’s both of us. What could be better?”
The flash in Jack’s eyes as he bends to kiss me is all I need because with two of us against the world … anything is possible.
Holy cow, it’s game time. The spare room at the back of the house is now the equivalent of a professional filming studio, and every inch of it is a testament to obsessive, nervous over-preparation.
Jack’s installing blackout curtains—heavy, triple-layered, with velcro edges to kill any stray beam of light. He stands on a stepladder, arms raised, muscles flexing under a plain black t-shirt, as he nails down a panel with the same focus he used for putting together rifles. I drag the ring lights around, playing with distance, wattage, and color until every surface is bright but not harsh. Shadows are the enemy, second only to a camera catching my actual face.
We take turns looking through each lens—three angles, all trimmed to cut off the top of Jack’s head and keep my profile obscured. We run a series of test shots: me sitting, me standing, me bending over the edge of the bed with my hair in a tangle. Jack’s new mask is brutal and hot, black leather with silver grommets, and when he puts it on, he transforms: from dad’s best friend to a mythological beast, all sinew and blue eyes flashing through the cut-outs.
I lay out the toys and lingerie on the bed like a surgeon prepping for operation. Dildos—silicone, glass, dual-density—plus a couple of vibrators, a plug or two, and a small glass bowl of lube. Each is wiped down, lined up, and ready. The lingerie is mostly black mesh, straps and cutouts, plus a new bodysuit that makes my boobs look like they’re going to claw their way out.
Jack tests the mics, playing back audio on his phone, and is satisfied only when our voices sound clear. He writes out a checklist (old pilot habits die hard) and we run through it, ticking off: ring light 1, check; battery backup, check; masks and gloves, check; webcam privacy shield, check. We double and triple check that the guest room door is locked, that the window shade is down, that the Amazon Echo is unplugged just in case Alexa has a sideline in blackmail.
The show is scheduled for eight p.m., peak viewership. We do a dry run: I put on a bunny mask that literally has big white ears attached, and then straddle Jack while he clamps his huge hands around my hips and pretends to growl. I try out my new “Bunny” voice—higher, breathier, almost cartoonish. Jack laughs, which breaks character, and I hit him with a pillow.
Thirty minutes to curtain, and the nerves hit, hard.
“I feel like I’m about to walk down a school hallway naked,” I say, pulling at a loose thread on the bodysuit. “Where everyone’s watching.”
Jack comes up behind me, his hands warm on my shoulders. “That’s my favorite dream, sweetheart. I love that one.”
I giggle before slapping his hand lightly.
“Oh my god! You’re so bad!”
My man merely pulls me close against his hard chest, that big body soothing me.