Page 45 of Love Her

“Just like the one I want to eat—and fuck,” I corrected. “And very near to the ass I want to spank so hard you can’t sit for a week.”

She smiled wickedly—then reached over and got some sort of throw-pillow to place beneath said ass and hitch it up, so her hips were pointed straight at me.

She was feeling better already—and so was I.

“Get your toy and fuck yourself for me.”

She gave the camera an innocent look—then reached over to pull it out of the folds of her linen. “But I thought only feminine hygiene products were allowed down here?”

“You’re allowed to masturbate—but only if I’m watching.”

“You’re so mean,” she said—and meant it slightly—I could tell by the way she looked off screen. “I didn’t come at all for two months, after you left here—until we were in the bathroom.”

“Really? Because I jerked off so much thinking of you it’s a wonder my dick doesn’t have calluses.”

She rose her head up to gawk at me.

“Every meeting I took with you sitting across the table, studiously ignoring me, just like I’d told you to—I came in here to beat off after. Every day when I got home, I’d close the door to my apartment and my dick would jump out. Every night before I went to sleep—just so I could try to sleep—and every fucking morning in the shower. I didn’t know if you were the world’s most obedient sub, or if you’d entirely forgotten me, and I knew I couldn’t risk asking.”

She rose up on her toes in protest, throw pillow falling aside. “I could never forget you!”

“Then show me,” I demanded—because even though I believed her, I wanted to see.

She picked up the purple monstrosity and shoved it in her pussy—I heard it go in with a wet sound.

“Good girl,” I purred. “Fuck yourself, little moth. You have some catching up to do.” Lia moaned, as she pulled out the toy and then thrust it back in. “Keep going,” I said, utterly turned on by watching her make pornography for me.

“Like this?” she teased, lifting her head up to give me an innocent expression.

“Precisely. Do whatever you need—I want to hear you come.” She hauled it in and out of herself, looking sweetly at me, and I let her hear me breathe roughly, as I stroked myself from hilt to tip. “Goddammit, you’re beautiful.”

I heard her give a laugh of delight. “Would you still love me if I were blonde?”

“I’d still love you even if you were bald and toothless—I mean, honestly, that part might be better?—”

“Rhaim!” she protested loudly, snickering.

“As long as there’s enough of your pretty mind left enough to sass me.” Although, given the difference between our ages, she was probably going to get the short end of the stick.

Assuming I didn’t get myself killed framing one of the St. Clair sons for murder.

Assuming I didn’t die right now from not getting to properly fuck Lia again.

I leaned forward, so I could get closer to the screen she was on, with my dick in my hand. “Someday—I’m going to use that toy in your pussy, while I fuck your ass,” I threatened—and watched her freeze. I let go of my dick immediately. “Have you ever had anyone in your ass before?” If she’d never been on top, it seemed likely.

“Not…anyone I wanted there?” she said, like she was guessing, and I leaned even closer on my desk. I couldn’t see her face—because she’d rocked back to stare up at the ceiling.

“Who?” I demanded—and when she was silent, I switched course. “What are you thinking?”

“That he’s fucked up enough of my life already. I don’t want to give him this time too.” She pushed onto her elbows to stare at the camera, pulling the toy out, letting her knees knock together. “You don’t have to know everything about me to love me, do you?”

I wanted to say yes—but it wouldn’t have been the truth. And also because if I had, it would’ve been fair for her to want total honesty in return, and as fearsome as I knew she knew I could be, I really didn’t feel like giving her a Who’s Who of People I’d Buried.

“No. I just want to protect you is all.”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “I’ve always known that. Ever since I was thirteen.”

I wish I could’ve remembered more of that blurry night she’d decided to set her eyes on me. There had to have been some extenuating circumstances—but I could barely remember helping her, muchless anything else that’d happened after three cocktails twenty years ago.

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