Page 65 of In Case You Didn't Know
She lets out a whimper, her back arching slightly, her eyes flickering closed as her rhythm picks up.
“I like you watching me,” she whispers. “I like imagining that you need me. Desperate for me.”
“I am,” I rasp. “I need you so fucking much.”
The connection between us feels heavy. Pulsing with an emotion I’m not sure I can name.
Her breath starts to speed. Her lips part. She’s so close I can almost smell her arousal.
I can’t pull my eyes away. She’s imprinted on my brain. All soft and full of desire and so achingly pretty.
I palm myself harder.
“I want to come for you,” she whispers.
“Do it,” I growl. “I want you to fall apart. I want you to scream my name.”
I want to be there with her. To taste her. To be inside of her. My dick aches for her. God, I’m never going to recover from this. I’ll never be able to go back. I’ll never be able to stay away.
She cries out, soft and broken, her body tensing as the pleasure peaks. She lets out a cry, then says my name.
I’m on the edge of coming with her. But I stop. I want to concentrate on her.
Her hand slows as the waves pass over her. My eyes don’t move. None of me does. Her own eyes lock on the camera like she’s handing me something sacred.
And I take it. Gripping it with both hands like it’s the only thing keeping me sane right now.
“Francie,” I rasp. “You’re killing me.”
Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, her cheeks flushed, her body loose. Her eyes are shining as they stare at the camera.
“I wish you were here,” she says. There’s no seduction in her words. Just truth.
“I wish I was too.” I’d spend the whole fucking night making her feel good, just to hear her say my name again.
She smiles softly. Sated. Her gaze is a little unfocused. She looks sleepy. Fuck, I want to hold her.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice low.
She nods slowly, still catching her breath. “Better than okay.” There’s that smile again. Soft, sweet. Just for me. “Are you?”
I swallow hard, emotion crawling up the back of my throat like a threat. “Yeah, I am now.”
She blinks slowly, that hazy, satisfied look still softening her features.
“You should go to sleep,” I tell her. If I were there, I’d hold her until the sun came up. Trace her skin until she fell asleep in my arms. I’d do anything to stay close.
“I know. But I’m scared you’ll go all weird on me again.”
“I won’t,” I promise. And then. “I’ll turn off the camera.”
“No,” she murmurs. “Not yet.”
Her words wrap around me, like a weighted blanket.
I don’t say anything. I just sit there, watching her eyes flutter closed. The smile still on her lips as her chest starts to rise and fall in a steady rhythm.
And even though I’m alone in my apartment, exhausted and aching, I’ve never felt less alone.
