Voyeur (5 page)

her crotch before drawing back to the panties' top edge.

Do you want to see me? See my pussy?
She kept the words inside, but her own hunger to show him, to be this other entity, to release this other part of herself she was just now discovering with such shock, drove her. She'd never known she was such a dirty girl. She'd never known such

forbidden fires burned inside her.

But burn they did—hotter and hotter with each passing second, she discovered—until she rose to her feet, squarely facing the camera, then

smoothly lowered her panties over her hips, down her thighs, pul ing damp lace from in between, then pushing the thong past her knees. The fabric

fel to her ankles, al owing her to step free of it, at which point she turned around and bent at the waist, bracing her hands on the back of the sofa, letting him look at her from behind. Instinct led her to lift first one knee onto the couch, then the other, parting her legs slightly, arching her ass toward him.

You wanted to see me so badly—well, here I am, baby.

Look at me. Look at my pussy.

At that moment, it was the greatest part of her, fil ed with need and want and a raw hunger that knew no shame.

Oh God, she wanted him back there, behind her, wanted to feel his hands on her ass, his hard shaft pushing its way inside. Without forethought, she

looked over her shoulder, into the camera, and said, "If you were here right now, I'd beg you to take me like this. To fuck me hard and deep."

A thousand miles away, he watched her, mesmerized—and spoke back to the screen even though he knew she couldn't hear. "Aw, baby— you're

so
fucking hot." His cock jutted from his open pants and his fist wrapped warm around it.

He'd spent a few sad, lonely minutes thinking she real y
wasn't
going to show, that he'd real y had al of her he was going to get—and then, when he'd been just about to give up and walk away, she'd appeared in that pretty and unexpected bra-and-panties set, her hair and face done up to

make her into the sexual being he knew she was. A sizzling heat had burned from his chest to his dick at the sight of her. Al that waiting hadn't been for nothing. And now Laura was showing him her pretty little cunt, tel ing him she wanted him to fuck her, and his whole existence in that moment

became about good, hot, nasty sex.

He watched in pure amazement as she turned to sit on the couch, parting her thighs wide, draping one leg over the sofa's stuffed arm to put her

pussy even more widely on display. He feasted on it with his eyes—so pink and open—wishing he could do so with his mouth. He heard the light

sound of her breath, coming labored as she stroked one long, tapered finger through her wetness.

"Damn, honey," he murmured, pul ing at his cock.

His own raspy breath joined hers, seeming to fil the darkened room.

"More," he urged her. "Touch it for me."

It was almost as if she'd heard, and he let a wicked smile take him as her middle finger began to twirl hard, rhythmic circles over her clit, now

protruding so prettily from her slick folds.

"Oh yeah—rub that pretty pussy for me."

She did, thrusting lightly now as the first two fingers of her right hand extended down into her parted flesh. Her left hand rose to cup one breast,

squeezing, raking her thumb across the taut mauve nipple pointing out over the uneven edging of her bra.

"So nice, baby," he breathed toward the screen, wishing she
could
hear, wishing al this fucking distance didn't lay between them. At first, that part had been exciting—but already, this fast, he wanted to do away with it and be with her, two bodies thrusting together, the way it was natural y

supposed to be.

But on the other hand, who was he to complain? Laura Watkins had surrendered herself to him in a way she'd never planned and admittedly never

thought she could, and his cock swel ed further with dark, masculine pride at knowing this show was just for him, for his pleasure, and hers. If a few states separated them, hel , this was surely the next best thing to being there, and a damn hot treat to have grown from his innocent late-night peek

into the house last night.

He gripped his hardened length tighter, wanting to give it to her so bad he could almost taste it. He kept his eyes glued to her gorgeous cunt, her

bountiful breasts, the lost look of passion on her pretty face. She was getting close, he could tel , rubbing herself more intensely, gritting her teeth lightly, squeezing first one breast then the other with more ferocity than he'd yet seen from her.

"That's right, honey," he said lowly, "keep going. Get yourself off for me. Get yourself off."

Her breath came heavier stil , and so did his own. He tugged at his cock, matching her rhythm and knowing he couldn't hold back much longer.

"Come, baby," he urged. "Come for me now."

The circles she rubbed over the top part of her pussy grew faster— and deeper, too. He could tel from the way she moved her hand, from the sweet

agony reshaping her face. She was panting now, and then began to let out short, hot little sobs: "Oh . . . oh .. . oh . .."

His chest rose and fel as desire tightened inside him, centering in his groin. His dick throbbed in his hand.

And then she released a high-pitched cry and he saw the ecstasy transform her expression—even with her eyes shut, her muscles relaxed, and any

agony on her face softened to pure pleasure. She lifted herself in a harder, slower rhythm against her hand as she rode out the climax—and he

said, "Ah, damn," since he knew he was going to come, too, no stopping it, and he exploded in long, intense bursts into the tissues he, thankful y, had already placed at his side.

The heated pulses forced his eyes shut and delivered the usual brief-but-blissful out-of-body experience before it al faded to exhaustion and let him refocus on the screen.

Laura sat on the couch, stil now, but her legs remained prettily spread, like a centerfold picture on his computer. She licked her upper lip and

looked straight at him, eyes glassy. In the aftermath of orgasm, her skin seemed to glow on the high-resolution screen, and she looked thoroughly

satisfied . . . yet her expression made him wonder what
else
lurked inside her.

"This isn't me," she said quietly to the camera. Then gave her head a soft shake that made her hair bounce and her breasts jiggle lightly. "I don t know what you do to me."

His chest spasmed at her words. He hated that she didn't understand that this
was,
indeed, very clearly
her.
But he loved being the man getting to show her. And he continued to be al the more astonished to realize, once more, that it had happened completely by accident, and through a mere

computer screen.

I know what I do to you, Laura. I get you hot. Hotter than anyone ever has.

And I'm going to get you even hotter.

Hold on tight, baby, because this ride is just starting, and before it's over, I'm going to make you do things you've never even thought about

before.

Getting up and walking out of the room, stopping only to scoop up her sexy panties on the way, had felt no less than surreal. Laura had spent the

next ten minutes fluctuating between embarrassment, disbelief, and the odd sense of exhilaration that had remained after so openly touching

herself for her corporate-raider-flyboy-without-a-name.

She couldn’t believe she'd done it. But she also couldn't believe how utterly incredible it had felt.
Knowing
his eyes had been on her—not just a fantasy—had excited her more than anything ever had. Starting out, of course, she hadn’t been sure she could real y do it—but oh, had she ever

done it! And once she'd let go of her worries and fears, once she'd forgotten about everything else but his eyes and her body, it had been sinful y

easy.

To her surprise, she didn't feel like changing into comfy pajamas afterward, so instead she'd slept naked. She woke up the next morning feeling

freer and more energized just from remembering the previous night. She put on only a pair of white cotton panties and a strappy yel ow cami to

head down to the kitchen, wondering why she hadn't started wearing less here sooner. Despite the snow outside, the house stayed warm—overly

so when the sun was out—so she'd probably be much more comfortable this way than she had the first night and through the day yesterday.

After consuming coffee and a bowl of cereal while looking out at the peaceful white setting—where she noticed the tracks of a rabbit or some other

smal animal—she headed straight for the computer, as anxious as Riley Wainscott probably was to find out what exactly the dark stranger was up

to and if it had anything to do with the priceless antique broach that had turned up missing from Mrs. Dorchester's jewel box during her writing late

yesterday. Aunt Mimsey certainly thought him suspicious, but Riley was holding her judgment for the time being—and planning to investigate him a

lot
more thoroughly before she made up her mind.

By noon, Riley had stumbled across the man pawing through the Dorchesters' toolshed behind the flower garden. But instead of making up some

excuse when she opened the door and their eyes met across the dimly lit space, instead of trying to push past her and run away, he'd instead

looked at her like a man who wanted to
possess
her. Her blood had run hot and Riley had been stunned, having never suffered such a visceral

reaction to a guy before.

Then he'd kissed her.

Long and hard and passionate.

Riley felt the kiss everywhere—from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She knew she should push him away— he was a suspect, not

to mention a total stranger—yet she couldn't find the strength to end the most glorious kiss of her life. His mouth captured hers, leaving her

no choice but to submit. The musky scent of him permeated her senses and he tasted vaguely of mint.

When final y the man pul ed back—stil holding her in his strong embrace but giving her the chance to peer up into his dark, commanding

eyes—she thought of everything she should be doing right now: breaking free of his hold, asking him what the hel he was doing in here,

finding out just exactly who he was. Yet his smoldering gaze made it hard to think of detective work at the moment, and when she opened her

mouth to interrogate him, she instead found herself uttering one lone and tel ing word. "More."

The rumble of a large vehicle cut suddenly through Laura s concentration, forcing her to abandon Riley for the moment. Was someone arriving

here?
Must be, she presumed, given that the house was located at the end of a long driveway, several hundred feet off the winding mountain road.

This was the first vehicle she'd heard since her arrival.

She hopped to her feet, rushed to the door, and glanced out the narrow panel of glass beside it to see a standard-issue white delivery truck. The

logo on the door said TRIXIE’S
in a rather elaborate script. Trixie's?

She was waiting to see what on earth was coming to "Flyboy" from a place cal ed "Trixie’s" when she happened to glance down and notice her nipples pointing prominently through her little top. And damn it—she only had on panties below, which she'd total y forgotten about, so caught up

had she become in Riley's sensual encounter.

She dashed for the stairs, jogging toward the master bedroom. Unthinkingly, she shoved open the nearest mirrored closet door and—voila!—spied

a white terry-cloth robe like you sometimes found in hotels. Yanking it from the hanger, she thrust her arms inside.

When the doorbel rang, she started toward it, tying the robe in front on the way down the stairs. She opened the door to find the young man on the

other side smiling at her as if they shared a private joke. "Laura Watkins?"

She flinched. She'd been sure this would be something for her voyeur. Who knew she was here?

Wait. Monica, of course. Which made the pieces fit. Trixie's must be exactly what it sounded like to Laura—some racy lingerie shop. And Monica of

the red lace surprise had apparently taken it upon herself to send Laura something
else
slinky and sexy.

"Yes, that's me," she final y said.

He handed her a shiny black box sporting an even shinier thick black ribbon. Predictably, she blushed, since they clearly both knew something

designed for sex was inside.

"Thanks," she murmured, embarrassment overriding any thoughts of a tip, then practical y slammed the door in his face, turning the lock. After which she headed to the couch where she had so brazenly touched herself for her stranger last night.

Wow, apparently Monica was downright
determined
for Laura to see some action on this trip. Dear God, if her friend only knew about the

unexpected—not to mention
bizarre
—action that
had
occurred.

Not that Monica would ever find out. They were best friends, but something about this felt so immeasurably
private
that she knew she'd never share it with another soul.

Although it flitted through her mind that another sexy outfit might actual y come in handy, under the circumstances.

Maybe.

She let out a sigh. Was she real y going to do it for him
again?
Going to
keep
doing it? Taking her clothes off and rubbing herself to orgasm for a stranger behind a camera? Put in those terms, it sounded absolutely horrifying.

If only it had
felt
that way, too, it would be a lot easier to resist the odd temptation.

As it was, wel . . . she hadn't contemplated it yet today. She'd certainly
remembered
it. She'd certainly felt
alive
and
energetic
—and
creative!—

today. But she hadn't thought to the future, to what would happen now. Maybe she just hadn't let herself.