Voyeur - Lacey Alexander [17]
FLYBOY1: Why?
RILEY: I’ve never . . .
I’ve never what? she asked herself. She didn’t know how to say this. But she tried again anyway.
RILEY: I’ve never really done THAT before.
FLYBOY1: Really? You’ve never used a vibrator?
RILEY: No.
FLYBOY1: Damn, honey.
RILEY: What does THAT mean?
FLYBOY1: That now I’m EXTRA glad I got it for you.
She let out a sigh. Was she so very odd? Did every other woman on the planet own a wide array of such tools? RILEY: Why do you consider a vibrator so vital to my existence?
FLYBOY1: Because you’re a very sexual person.
She blinked at the computer, shocked and annoyed. RILEY: How do YOU know?
FLYBOY1: Another sigh. RILEY: Okay, okay. But I told you last night . . . I’m not usually like that. I don’t do those things. FLYBOY1: You do now. And you’re beautiful touching yourself, you know. I barely managed to wait until you came before I did. And that’s not a problem I generally have. Time to get down to business. And she’d just made a decision. She’d said it herself. She was smart, sensible, and conservative. Not a prim goody-two-shoes who wore turtlenecks and insisted on dating a guy forever before sleeping with him—not anything exorbitant or extreme. But she was simply an even-keeled, middle-of-the-road woman who didn’t go to the other extreme, either. And last night had been inexplicably extreme for her. It was time to get back to normal here. RILEY: I can’t keep doing this. FLYBOY1: Why not? RILEY: It’s so . . . dirty. And I don’t even know you. FLYBOY1: You’re GETTING to know me. RILEY: I don’t even know your name. FLYBOY1: Braden. RILEY: Is that your first name or your last? FLYBOY1: First. Braden Stone. Laura hesitated. Braden. She liked it. Sounded strong. Rugged. Sexy. But that was hardly a reason to back down on what she was telling him. RILEY: Well . . . I still don’t know you. FLYBOY1: And yet you want me. True enough. Her pussy was pulsing again just from IMing with him like this. A guy she couldn’t even see, or hear, let alone touch. And damn it, she’d just thought of that part of her body as her pussy again. If she really wanted this to end, that would be a good place to start. In fact, maybe she should just quit thinking about that part of herself period. When she still hadn’t replied to him a minute later, he sent another message. FLYBOY1: I want you, too. I want to see you come again. I want to see you use the toy I sent you. Dear God. The very idea of that was . . . unfathomable. Still, she didn’t answer. Simply because she had no idea how to respond to such a raw, intimate request. FLYBOY1: See you tonight, snowflake. Ten o’clock. I know you won’t let me down. Chapter Four What arrogance. He was so sure of himself. So sure of her, too. She couldn’t help rolling her eyes at the computer. Well, he had another thing coming. RILEY: Are you still there? She was going to tell him what she’d intended to in the first place, the part about him going too far. Only no answer came. Drat. She tried again. RILEY: Hey, are you there? Answer me. Damn it. He must really be gone—off to raid yet another corporation or fly an airplane or something. “I hate you,” she whispered to the computer screen, even knowing he could no longer see or hear her. Which was probably why she said it—since she didn’t really hate him. Far from it. She was intrigued by him. Had a strange crush on him. Felt bizarrely lured in by him. It was the last one that scared her—how did this guy make her want to do these shockingly out-of-character things? Why did she want to please him, excite him, so much? She glanced over her shoulder to the bookshelves where the photo of him sat. Was it just because he was hot? Admittedly, if he’d been twenty years older or twenty pounds heavier—or, frankly, just not attractive to her—she knew she wouldn’t keep perpetuating this. In fact, she probably