But I miss them.
Navigating that with Dimitri has been simple, and Killian might be harder—more turbulent and unpredictable—but it’s still a certain kind of familiar. The other day in the living room, I realized that I miss the weight of Tristian eyes. The sense that he’s watching. The knowledge—no, the anticipation—that any one of them could walk through my door and touch me. I miss the way Tristian’s hands make me feel, because he’s not rough like Killian, or cunning like Dimitri. He’s unexpected, pushing me to explore my limits over and over again.
I flip on the camera and settle it back on the dresser, pointed at the bed. Then, reaching for my phone, I take a picture of the skull with my camera and type: He’s watching. Are you?
11
Tristian
I stare at the text for a long moment, remembering three days ago, when I showed her how to enable the camera in the picture, before my body shifts into action. It’s not just the laptop that I open, or my fingers stroking across the keyboard to get the video to load. It’s my cock, hard and full, just knowing my girl is downstairs in that lingerie.
Unless she’s fucking with me.
God, please don’t let her be fucking with me.
The circle icon on the screen spins as the stream loads, but the video quickly blinks to life. The image is clear—I sprung for 4k, two-way audio for this one—and Story suddenly fills the screen.
“Fuck me,” I mutter to myself, my erection throbbing. I knew the set would look hot on her—she’s gorgeous, after all—but damn, she looks like an absolute vixen. The cups of the bra push her tits up into a nice, supple cleavage, and I can fully appreciate why Killer enjoys fucking them so much. I can just imagine the head of my dick pushing through those things, knowing what’s hiding beneath. The scars are partially hidden between them, but I can still catch a peek of raised, discolored skin. I wonder if the sight of my initial carved into her flesh will ever stop making my blood simmer.
Doubt it.
She walks back to the camera and reaches to the back of the skull, giving me a nice view of the panties. Scratchy feedback comes through my speakers, and then her soft, tentative voice. “Can you hear me?”
My lips quirk, voice emerging a couple octaves too low. “Loud and clear, sweetheart.”
“Well,” she moves back in front of the camera, giving me a flash of her ass, “what do you think?”
“I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” I sit back in the desk chair, wincing at my painful erection. “I also think if Rath steals those panties, I’m going to commit arson on the piano.”
I can hear him in there right now, pounding away at the keys. Ever since the night Story disappeared into his bedroom, the sounds of their fucking loud and obvious, he’s been a raging musical lunatic, playing into all hours of the night. It doesn’t bother me anymore, but he’s clearly recaptured his muse.
She laughs, shyly tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’ll try to hide them.”
Reasonably, I offer, “You can come up here and hide them on my face.”
God, but she’s fucking sexy like this, looking like a dish, but still so coy and uncertain as she ducks her head to hide a grin. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for taking care of me during my period. And for…” Her eyes slide away, a rosy blush spreading over her cheeks. “… before, with Killian.”
“Trust me.” I reach down to give my dick a squeeze. “The pleasure was all mine.”
She sits on the edge of her bed, and I can practically see her gathering up some courage. I don’t know what for, at first. But then her thighs fall open, giving me a view of the smooth expanse of skin, leading to the lacy fabric between her legs. My eyebrows climb my forehead as she intentionally runs her fingertips along her inner thigh.
“I was just thinking how…” Her head tips to the side, showing me the long column of her neck. “… you’ve really kept to my boundaries lately.” Her teeth rake over her lip as those fingers on her thigh slowly climb. “That’s not easy for you, is it?”
“You have no fucking idea.” My jaw flexes as I watch, realizing what this is. “But I keep my promises.”
“I kept my promise, too,” she says, moving her other hand to play with the strap of the bra, a slender finger tracing the lace detailing. “Even though I don’t have to anymore, I haven’t touched myself. Not without permission.”
Muttering a curse, I reach under the waistband of my shorts and take my cock in my hand, giving it a slow stroke. “No? Why did you do that?” God knows the rest of us have been beating our dicks like they owe us money.