Camera. Fuck. Right.
My breath stutters.
I push myself up, phone in hand, moving quickly now—up the stairs, into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.
The quiet feels different in here. Closer. More contained. “Okay,” I whisper.
“Are you by your bed?”
I glance behind me. “Yes.”
“Sit down.”
I do. No hesitation now. The mattress dips under me, my pulse already picking up.
“You said you were wearing shorts? Take them off. Slowly. Tell me when you're done."
I freeze for a second, but the ache in my core wins out.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband, shimmying the shorts down my hips, kicking them aside.
My bare ass meets the cool comforter, and even though I’m alone in my room I feel exposed, vulnerable. “Done.”
“Good girl. Now look at me.”
Heat floods through me, and my breath catches.
The screen shifts.
Incoming video.
My stomach flips.
I hesitate—then accept.
The image flickers to life. And there he is. Reclined slightly, phone angled just enough—and my breath leaves me in a rush.
I prop the phone against a pillow.
His face appears—sharp jaw, eyes dark with hunger—and then he angles down, showing his hand wrapped around his enormous cock, already rock-hard. Thick. Heavy.
The piercing at the tip catches the light as he strokes slowly, deliberately.
My mouth goes dry instantly. “Oh my god,” I whisper.
"Turn your camera on. I want to see you." His tone drops lower, rougher—a command wrapped in promise.
I do.
His eyes flick up—not at me, not yet—but at the screen.
Then they settle on me. Slow. Deliberate. Like he’s taking me in piece by piece. “There you are,” he murmurs. “Look at you. Already like this for me. Couldn’t even wait.”
Heat blooms across my skin. I shift slightly on the bed, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—my body, my breathing, the way I’m sitting.
The way he’s looking at me.
“Now listen carefully.”