Voyeur - Lacey Alexander [9]
As she reached the oversize bedroom, complete with oversize bed, oversize Jacuzzi tub, and oversize closets with mirrored doors, she stopped and looked around. She’d slept in this bed last night, of course. And she’d showered here this morning. But all that had been before their online conversation, before she’d found out he’d watched her rub between her legs until she came, before he’d told her he wanted her to do it for him again.
Now she almost felt him here. She was sleeping in his bed, after all, on the same sheets, the same pillows. She would undoubtedly dry herself off with a towel that had dried his skin.
Suddenly, a shower didn’t seem like such a great idea. It only stood to make her all the more aware of her body, how sensitive it was feeling since last night, how ready, how needy. “Fine,” she murmured. “No shower.”
TV. She would watch TV. Sitcoms. Or some twenty-four-hour news channel. Nothing sexy there.
As she moved back to the living room, she paused next to a set of tall oak bookshelves. She’d been meaning to inspect the books in the house since she’d arrived yesterday but hadn’t gotten around to it. And it seemed as good a distraction as any.
She found mostly classics: A Farewell to Arms, A Tale of Two Cities, The House of the Seven Gables, To Kill a Mockingbird. And upon moving down to lower shelves, she was surprised—although instantly knew she shouldn’t be—to find a small collection of classic erotica: Story of O, The Pearl, volumes by Anaïs Nin and the Marquis de Sade. Her breasts felt heavy just looking at the titles, thinking of her flyboy voyeur reading them, getting excited, getting off.
The gentle sensations in her cunt urged her to reach for one of them—but no.
Tonight was all about sitcoms and news and maybe something by Hemingway a little later. Tonight was about ignoring the tender throb in her pussy when she thought of the nameless, faceless man to whom the books belonged. In fact, it would be a good time to stop thinking of that part of herself as her pussy. Time to be the staid, dependable, sensible you.
Just then, her gaze fell on a small framed photo on the shelf above the erotica. She gasped at the sight. Two men dressed in cargo shorts held up a gigantic fish between them. One wore a T-shirt that said FLY ME, BABY! along with a graphic of what looked to be an old biplane with a big propeller in front. He was darkly handsome, as Monica had promised, his chin covered with a few days’ stubble. Although in the photo he appeared lighthearted and casual, his dark eyes were piercing. And she couldn’t help noticing that, despite his loose, baggy shorts, there was a nice bulge visible in front.
The other man was lighter in coloring—dark blond, wavy hair, with a classic ski bum look about him—and Laura knew without doubt that the first guy was her guy, the man who’d spied on her last night and talked nasty to her this morning. God, he was gorgeous. Her nipples tightened within her bra as she studied him, wishing the photo were closer up. Her crotch responded, as well, seeming to swell beneath her pants.
Finally, she set the picture back down and let out a sigh. Him being gorgeous really had nothing to do with her quandary. It made it no less frightening and dangerous to exchange dirty talk with a man she didn’t know.
Nope, no less dangerous—but certainly even more of a turn-on now.
She let her eyes fall shut, feeling doomed.
But then she regained her strength and told herself to stick to her original plan. She padded to an easy chair that sat adjacent to the sofa where she’d sprawled so brazenly last night, then reached for the remote and flipped on the big-screen TV. She was in luck. World