Fuck.
I can practically feel her mouth on me—wet, warm, perfect—imagining those soft lips wrapped around my cock.
The thought alone has me ready to come in my boxers.
I want to take it out. Stroke myself right here. Paint her face with everything she’s done to me.
But I hold back.
I haven’t decided which version of me gets to have her first. And I won’t risk ruining it by revealing too much.
Not yet.
Instead, I reach out, tucking her hair behind her ears, fingers brushing gently over her scalp.
“Sleep, Angel.”
She watches me, confusion and questions swirling in those amber eyes.
But she listens.
She always does.
She settles back against the pillows.
And as I watch her breathing slow, I whisper into the air—too quiet for her to hear: “I love you.”
I’m pacing.
Have been for hours since I left Emily’s.
I can still feel her on my fingers. Smell her on my skin. She came apart so fucking beautifully.
I’m hard as a rock—despite having taken care of my aching cock twice already.
On the cameras, I watch as she stirs. Her eyelids flutter open.
She reaches out a hand—
Is she reaching for me?
My chest squeezes.
Shewantsme.
Her brow furrows as she sits up. She licks her lips, like she can still taste herself.
Fucking hell.
I grab my phone.
Anonymous:You’re so pretty when you come, Angel.
She reaches for her phone. A flush spreads across her chest and cheeks.
She types.
Emily:So I didn’t imagine that?