Page 39 of The Arrangement

The two other videos were longer; one was just over ten minutes, and the other nearly fifteen. I honestly didn't know what the normal length was for full pornographic films, but being as Quinn had his own platform, I supposed it could really be as long or as short as he wanted. Hannah hopped onto my lap, already vibrating with her purrs of welcome. I set her down gently, giving her a placating pat on the head.

"Not right now, honey, mommy's looking at adult things."

She skittered off, obviously offended by my rebuff. As I pressed play, I realized I had never watched a whole porno before. I didn't need ten minutes of foreplay and orgasms; I didn't have time for that. I was on a schedule and had things to do—a two-minute quickie was really all I ever needed. But apparently, the people paying for this content had more time on their hands, and honestly, good for them.

It started with me straddling his chest, my knees sitting just underneath his armpits until he grabbed my thighs and pulled me up towards him. I remembered the flush that had spread over my neck and chest when he did that. The way that heat pooled in my stomach as I felt his hot breath glance over my sex, or the way he never took his eyes off of me while he completely devoured me.

Except once, I remembered my hips rolling on their own accord and his eyes shut, and he moaned against my clit like my arousal was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. I watched as Wolfe’sfingers dug into my hips as his tongue entered me, fucking me slowly as he held me in place.

Opening my mouth in astonishment as the point of view changed, I watched as my back arched and my arms grabbed at his hands, still holding my hips as if I needed something to ground me as I tipped over the edge on the masked man's tongue. It ended with my half giggle, the camera I had strapped around my neck rising and falling with each breath as the red lights cascaded us into an erotic silhouette.

Okay, so, no notes. At all. Blowing out a breath, I grabbed a previously discarded water bottle and drained it quickly, feeling suddenly very hot.

The next video was the one I was most nervous about.WhyI thought that I should give a blowjob when I had barely had any experience…AND film it? I shook out my hands like I could get rid of the nervous energy before I pressed play.

Oh.

OH.

Unlike my video, I could see both of us the entire time while it would focus on Wolfe's masked face and then to a profile view of myself as I…I covered my eyes for a moment before peeking through my fingers. In all of my life, I never thought that I would be watching myself give a blow job in high definition. I made sure to watch for any tells of my identity, any slip of my mask, anything that might scream, "Hey, this is Georgia Ann Clark!" But I saw nothing. And to be honest, any focus on myself slipped away as I watched Wolfe's lips part while he panted. As I slowly unwound him. With each swipe of my tongue and every twist of my wrist I took him as deep as I possibly could, my mouth straining around the thick length as he unraveled over me. I couldn't look away from his pupils, blown wide by desire as he took my ponytail in his fist, holding my chin in the other as he gently fucked my mouth.

The noises he was making made heat bloom in my core; God, the way he moaned was like sex itself. When he came, he had bitten his lower lip, a guttural groan slipping between them regardless.

A knock at my door had me dropping my phone and clapping my hands over my mouth as if it would retroactively silence my response.

Another knock.

I quickly turned off the video and walked to the door, fanning my face with my hand and hoping I didn't look like I was watching porn. Which I absolutely was, obviously.

I opened the door just a crack (because who knocks and doesn't call first? A serial killer, that's who.), keeping the chain attached, when I came face to chest with another person.

The other person was holding a takeout container, and the takeout container was attached to a hand attached to my next-door neighbor.

"Quinn? What are you doing here?" I asked, half wondering if my sinful thoughts of this guy had manifested him on my doorstep.

He shook the box, the other hand stuffed in his pocket, and the smell of the autumnal chill on him. "Went out to eat, got a to-go order, thought you'd want it." Quinn was looking anywhere but my face. Not responding, I closed the door and unlatched the chain to open it fully, Quinn looking reluctant to be standing there.

"Why did you get a to-go order if you didn't want it?" I asked, a hand on my hip and a puzzled expression falling over my face,

"Oh my godddd Clark, just take the fucking food." He exhaled, thrusting the heavy box at me before turning on his heel and quickly unlocking his door.

"Uh, thanks?"

Quinn grunted and retreated into his unit, slamming the door behind him. Bewildered but also hungry, I locked my door and opened the heavy styrofoam container curiously to find a full serving of spaghetti and meatballs, a side of parmesan cheese, and a breadstick.

I found myself looking over at my front door as if I could see into his apartment, giving an invisible him a confused look. My fingers still tingling from where they had briefly brushed his. Hesitating, I sat it down on the counter like it was a bomb, crossed my arms over my chest, and looked at it. Hannah was the first to jump up on the counter and sniff it, her small white paw coming to try to steal the breadstick before I took her in my arms and kissed her head.

"So he brought me dinner?" I asked her, her rumbling purrs thundering in her voluptuous body. "These definitely aren't his leftovers." Hannah just looked up at me with her huge eyes, blinking at me a few times and licking her lips as if to say, 'Free food is free food.' And she had a point.

The spaghetti was delicious.

Chapter 21

Georgia

Hemingway's had been uncharacteristically busy, a few regulars and a photoshoot with a local photographer that often paid a small fee to use the space for her book-loving clients. Sarah had popped over during her break, a vanilla latte in hand as she hopped onto one of the stools behind the register with me.

“I brought you a sandwich, and it’s not even expired.” She winked at me conspiratorially as she handed me the warm, paper-wrapped croissant.

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