Voyeur - Lacey Alexander [23]
“And yet . . . here I am.” She swallowed at the realization, at the bluntness of their connection, distance be damned, and thought she should probably shut up now—but the wine kept her talking. “Does it make you feel powerful that I’m here, wearing this for you? Does it make you feel like I can’t resist you even though I’ve never met you? Or does it just make you think I can’t resist the lure of the forbidden?”
She sighed. “Maybe I can’t resist anything. Or maybe I’m only here because I’ve been drinking—who knows? Monica says I miss sex. I told her she was crazy, but maybe I need it more than I thought.
“The thing is, Braden, if I’m going to fool around with you, well . . . I wish it was you I was fooling around with, not this camera. Maybe that made it easier at first—that distance. But now it feels too distant.”
Too distant, and yet . . . just like the previous evening, she wanted to excite him. Whatever it took. Exciting him excited her. So she lifted her hands and smoothed them over the velvet that held her breasts. “I wish my hands were your hands,” she said softly as pleasure from the touch echoed through her in gentle ripples. She squeezed her breasts fully, aware of the hot ache it created and that the move pushed their rounded curves even higher.
“Do you like the way I look in this?” she asked, then admitted, “I do. I don’t think I’ve ever looked prettier in my life. I’ve never seen myself in something like this. Maybe that’s why I’m here—because I wanted to show you.” She lightly pinched her nipples through the velvet. “It feels so good on me, holds me so tight—just like you would if you were here.
“Would you run your hands all over my body?” she asked, gliding her palms down over her velvet-clad torso, her hips, then her thighs and the lace tops of her stockings.
“Would you part my legs?” She used her hands, splayed over her inner thighs, to spread them wide, wider.
“Would you touch my pussy?” She dragged one long middle finger up the velvet that enclosed her mound, then shivered from the sensation. Having his eyes on her heightened every little frisson of pleasure.
“You’d take off my pretty panties,” she told him, growing more confident now, and leaned back on the couch, legs together, lifting her ass just enough to peel down the tiny swatch of velvet. She let it linger high on her thighs, her legs raised upright, remembering this was a show—all visual—so she had to make it slow, make it good. Leisurely, she hooked her thumbs into the elastic band and pushed it painstakingly toward her bent knees. When the thong dropped to her ankles, she gently kicked it off, then looked back to the camera.
“You want to see my pussy again,” she said with surprising boldness. She bit her lower lip and peered darkly toward the camera. “And I want to show it to you.”
Sitting back up on the sofa and lowering her feet to the floor, she parted her legs as widely as she could. She felt herself opening for him and knew he could see how excited she was to be on display for him again.
“You want to touch it,” she whispered. “You want to touch me where I’m pink and wet for you.” She raked two fingers through her folds to end up circling her clit, then sighed at the saturating delight and said, “God, I want it to be your hand on me, stroking me, rubbing me.” She kept caressing herself—good, so good—heard her breath grow labored and wanted desperately to hear his, too. She loved knowing he studied her, but at the same time she yearned for much, much more. “Watch me,” she said, her voice going deeper. “Watch me touch myself for you.”
Her fingers grew wet with her desire, and she longed for something else. Him.
His hands—touching her.
His mouth—kissing her.
His cock—inside her.
Just like real sex, the touching was good, but there came a point in time when