He shakes his head. “No. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

I set down the pint. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to feel uncomfortable at this point. Just watch one or two.”

His jaw sets, a new look—one I haven’t seen before. It is cute, in a stubborn sort of way. “No, I’m fine. I don’t want to see it. Just explain what happens. I’d feel awkward watching. Like I’m invading your space. That’s a personal thing you do. Just tell me how it works.”

I tilt my head, trying to think about the best way to describe my chats. How each one is different. Orchestrated by the client and traveling whatever direction that mind might wander in. “I’ve.… got a better idea.”

CHAPTER 22

I SMILE INTO the camera and wait for a command. I am in lingerie, a red lace set sheer enough to tease but modest enough that he’ll want it off. I wet my lips and listen to the shake of his breath.

“I don’t know what to say. I’ve never done this before.”

I smile. “Tell me what you would do if you were here. Would you want me to come closer? Or would you want to come to me?” I zoom the camera in, using the remote in my hand, letting it pan over my breasts, down my lace-covered stomach, and to the bit of silk between my closed thighs.

He groans softly, and I feel my own breath quicken. “God, the picture is so clear. Can I—Can I tell you what to do?”

I smile. “Yes. This is about you. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Open your legs a bit. I want to see… yeah. Zoom in on that spot. Please.” The please is an afterthought, stuck awkwardly to the end of the sentence, as if he is unsure if what he has asked for is appropriate. I smile, my face out of frame, amused at his hesitancy. This will be fun. He has no idea what I am capable of. For once, I feel confident in our physical exchange, as if I have the upper hand.

I recline on my side, zooming the camera in until it is centered on the spot between my thighs, a side angle, one that shows the detailed cut of my panties. I draw one leg up, bending it at the knee, and run my hand softly down my leg, until he can see the edge of my fingers. “What would you do, if you were here? Would you move this aside?” I dip my fingers underneath the lace and tug slightly, just a hint of movement, enough to show him that I am shaved, enough to tease him, to cause his words to come quicker, and to flow without thought.

“Yes.” A rough whisper.

“Yes, what?”

“I would move that aside. Slide them over—all the way. Slide them over and let me see your pussy.”

The word is so strange, coming from his voice—so unexpected that I break character for a moment, look up in surprise, and have to find my bearings, my composure. I tug on the silk, harder than is needed, and grind my hips slightly, wanting to regain the lead, wanting the shake and uncertainty back in his voice. I pull the panties fully to the side, exposing my most private area to the high-def camera’s eye. Slick. Shaved. Wet. I run a finger down, traveling to the lips of my sex, the slit that is already ready and wanting, begging for attention, this experience catching it off guard, and it is raring to play.

“I want you to pull out your cock, Jeremy. Pull out your cock and stroke it for me.”

My arm, the one that was supporting me, collapses, and I relax on the bed, turning my face and angling my body so that my upper body is in the background of the shot, him able to see when I lick my lips and stare into his camera. I picture his face before me, the intense look in his eyes when he is aroused. I have seen that look before, seen the thin control when Jeremy’s kissed my lips while his erection raged against his pants. And right now, imagining that look in his eyes, I want him here, before me. I want him to yank down his pants and fully thrust, let me feel every thick inch until—

“God, I want to fuck you so badly.” He pauses. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that—”

“Tell me.” I pant, sliding two fingers inside of me, my legs spread wide for his eyes, my cunt needing more than the weak assault of my fingers. I need him, rigid and hard, without a condom, nothing but the heat of his skin inside of me, thrusting, filling, taking me and breathing life, lust, experience inside of me. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to make love to you. I want—”

“More!” I gasp, pushing myself up and spreading my fingers, letting the camera see the throb of muscles inside of me, staring into the camera with need, letting him see every bit of truth in the words I am about to say. “I need you. I want you. Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. This is about honest need, want. Tell. Me. What. You. Want.”