Page 64 of In Case You Didn't Know
The moment the camera flickers to life on my laptop screen, I forget how to breathe.
She’s there. Sprawled across the guest bed like something out of a dream I didn’t know I could have. Her skin is glowing in the soft lamplight. The flimsy silk of her camisole clings to curves I’ve spent way too many nights trying not to imagine.
Her hair is a dark halo on her pillow.
She looks straight into the camera. Straight into me.
And in that moment, I’m no longer in my apartment. I’m not in New York, or in a crisis, or barely holding myself together by a thread.
I’m hers.
And she’s going to fucking unravel me.
Her hands flutter, sliding across the silky camisole, brushing her breasts. I see her mouth something into the camera.
It looks like my name. I’m instantly hard.
I lean forward instinctively, like I can somehow get closer. Like the pixels between us aren’t enough.
“Francie,” I whisper, even though she can’t hear me. Not through the camera. Only through the phone if I say it out loud.
I reach for it, fumbling for the call button before I can stop myself. It only rings once before she answers, sounding breathless.
“Asher…”
“Say my name again,” I command her, knowing my voice is harsher than I intend. More desperate.
She shifts, her camisole sliding up, revealing her smooth, soft stomach. My hand clenches into a fist on my thigh.
“Asher,” she breathes, and I swear I feel it everywhere. Like she’s touching me with her words.
I stare at her, trying to hold onto the last thread of control I have left. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Her lips curve. “Do you like watching me?” she asks.
“I’ve never liked anything more.”
She moves one hand between her thighs, dragging it slowly over the silk of her shorts. I nearly come undone.
“Tell me what to do,” she murmurs.
I swallow hard, trying to form words with a mouth as dry as the desert. My whole body is lit up like a fuse.
“Touch yourself,” I say hoarsely. “Touch that pretty pussy. I want to see you fall apart for me.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Her hand slides beneath the waistband of her shorts, and I catch the sharp hitch of her breath through the phone. My body tenses like a live wire, a pulse hammering in my throat as I watch her fingers move.
She’s slow at first. Teasing. Drawing it out and torturing us both.
“I’ve thought about you. About this,” she whispers. “So many times.”
I groan, dragging my hand over my jaw. Trying to ground myself. Failing.
“Thought about what, baby? Tell me.”
“You,” she breathes. “Your voice. Your hands. How your fingers felt inside of me that night. How it would feel if it was more.”
“Christ.” My hips jerk forward before I can stop them. I reach down, palming the thick ache in my pants. “You have no idea what you do to me.” She makes me want things I’ve never let myself hope for. Makes me forget the rules I built to keep people safe from me.
