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“I saw you. On the TV.” I didn’t just see her, I paused the screen and studied her like an obsessively hooked voyeur. There were a million things to be drawn to. Some people on the red carpet shimmered, but she shone like the only star in an ink black night.
A single beam lit up the red carpet. Mist rose, seeping around the shadowed photographers in black, their faces obscured, who they were completely unimportant, there to capture not to be noticed. Her eyes were closed with sweeping dark lines of makeup brushed over her eyelids. I watched her step in high heels to the center of the carpet, her gown flowing behind her in a sea of green-blue. Her lips were deep cherry red and I could almost feel them on my skin as her eyes opened and she smiled for the camera.
“You looked sensational. You stole the show in every way possible. I saw you on all the best dressed lists already. How did you do it so quickly? Get the dress that color?”
I could hear her shrug down the line. “I ask and people do. I wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”
“I like to know you are thinking about me. What are you wearing right now?”
“I just have panties and a shirt. And you?”
“I will show you.”
I flick the call to video and I watch the dots wait to connect. I wonder if she will accept but the chime comes and she appears on my screen and I see myself in the small tile on the bottom left corner.
“I am wearing a shirt, but it is yours.”
She laughs, “Same.” And she directs the camera downwards to show me my own t-shirt, not one she bought me either, a cheap old thing I wore one of the first nights and never thought about again.
“Take it off.”
I watch her hesitate. Filming isn’t allowed and I wonder if she worries about the rules, but I am not recording. This isn’t to keep, it is for now, to enjoy. Then she makes a move to follow my direction but I spot the dresser in the corner of the frame.
“Wait. Go sit there, at the dresser, rest the phone in front of the mirror. I want to see and watch everything. Can you do that for me? Can you be a good girl?”
She gives me a shy smile, a flush rising to her cheeks before she nods, standing. Making her way over.
She sits on the white leather stool at the dressing table. The dark room is lit with the soft yellows of the bulbs that line the frame of the mirror. She leans forwards and I let my gaze sweep over her features. I scan every detail from her lightly curled lashes to full rosy lips.
She gives her head a little shake and bouncy red curls fall forwards to frame her face. Her teeth lightly run over her bottom lip, the softest of bites with just a hint of pressure and she shivers. The light silky fabric of my black shirt slips from her left shoulder. Exposing creamy soft skin, the V spreads downwards, splitting at her chest so the valley of her breasts is on show, the hint of a curve at her full breasts but nothing more.
I feel the pulse between my thighs. Fuck. She is delicious. Heavenly. My mouth salivates just looking at her. “More,” I say softly.
She stretches her legs forwards and twirls her ankles. The shirt rides higher and higher up her thighs, skimming the top, almost high enough for a peek of her sex but not quite. She adjusts on the chair, letting the shirt cover the curve of her ass, a buffer between naked skin and cool leather.
Her eyes close, her breath held as her lips tremble. I am waiting for her touch to watch her fingers trace down her skin. To show me herself and to give me what I ask.
I watch silently as her fingers run down the exposed skin between her breasts until she reaches the last button. Her eyes flash open as the shirt falls open. Her rosy nipples are bared and I watch them harden.
“You are so beautiful. Touch yourself as if it were me. Show me how you want me to take you right now.”
She shrugs her shoulder and I watch my shirt fall. It skims her back, falling down the curve of her spine as she pulls her arms free. Naked, all for me.
Her fingers begin to explore. First the nape of her neck, then along her collarbone, the backs of her fingers trace the light outer curve of her breasts before her thumb flicks against her nipple and she moans.
It is intoxicating. A dizzying high. Every time she moves, I too begin to touch myself. Not mirroring, just going to the places my body craves, where I need the touch. Exploring whilst my eyes are focused solely on her.
The ultimate act of voyeurism. I feel the buttons of her shirt against my stomach. Cool cotton against my hot skin. The flush spreads from my chest to my thighs as I watch her palm dip between her legs—cupping, caressing, a possessive grip—before her fingers begin to move.
She watches me now, as I watch her. Our moans fill each other’s room. I have never done anything like this before but it is so incredibly sexy. I only want more and more and more.
My body gets there faster than my mind, eyes fixed on her perfect feminine form I give in to the pleasure and I climax for her, just as her own waves of orgasm begin. It is messy, neither of us in sync, the cameras drop.
Dahlia. What are you doing to me?
13
Dahlia returned and we dove into a day of sex and food and movies and just being with each other. It was bliss, I loved her suite, not just the luxury and everything you could want at the end of the phone, but it was the view that captured me the most. I loved it, I spent hours curled up in a chair watching the city pass by. It was better when Dahlia was curled up on me, running lines, reading contracts, practicing accents, but even without her… it was special and I cherished it.
