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I close my eyes and rest my helmet covered head against the bricks. I will myself not to imagine Addie under the hot spray alone, small hands gliding over soft skin, caressing places I haven’t touched in ten months — that she knows about. These nightly visits don’t count, and I need her. I need to sink my cock into her tight heat. I need to fist her hair from behind and slam into her ass as she fucks her pussy with the dildo she keeps in her nightstand; it’s not as big as I am, but it’ll do.
Stupid rain. I want to be inside with her. I want to slide under her bed and wait. I want to feel the mattress sag as she climbs under the sheets and gets comfortable. I want to hear her pussy as she fingers herself whining my name.
My fucking name.
The one name she knows she shouldn’t have on her lips when she’s teasing her nipples and rubbing her clit, but I know if she ever moans another man’s name, I will find and kill him. It shouldn’t be my name, but it better only be my name.
It’s fucked up. I know I should walk away. I should stop going to that damn chatroom, stop looking for her messages. Her dirty fantasies that she leaves just for me, but I’m in too deep. I’m too invested. I need her. I want her. I crave the release she gives me. She’s become my drug, and I know there is no walking away from this for me. Not anymore.
I sometimes wonder if she knows it’s me. I wonder if she’s so vivid and detailed with her desires because she knows I will give them all to her without judgment or, maybe, she doesn’t care who satisfies this deviant side of her if it means getting railed by a cock.
It doesn’t matter. I get the messages. I get to collect her wishes in a jar on my nightstand and I get to think of all the ways I’m going to make them real for her.
Me. Only me.
Soon enough, I’ll let her see me, but for now, I get to sit and watch as she finishes her shower and emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and a fluffy towel.
Her wild mane is a damp wave down her back, the ends brushing the round curves of her ass.
The towel is unfastened and I’m holding my breath as it’s dragged off and tossed on the chair with her coat, but all I see is Addie in nothing but a pink flush from the shower and my eyes taking it all in.
I drink my fill of her body as I do every damn night. I let myself trace every line, every delicious curve. I linger and savor the high globes of her breasts, the soft pink of her pussy.
She tucks a stray curl behind her ear and props her phone at the foot of the bed, between her open legs.
For me.
The phone in my pocket buzzes and I swipe it on, careful to keep my camera and mic off. But there she is, open and wet. Pussy fully on display for me. Soft and perfect. The rain rolls off my heavy duty, waterproof case, a safety measure I learned quickly from the first time when the rain actually killed my phone in the middle of our chat.
I was not going to let that happen again. Ever. Time with Addie is precious. Nothing is ever going to keep me from them.
“I need you,”she breathes, voice desperate.
“I’m here, baby. Show me how much,”I text back.
My perfect girl spreads her lips between her fingers, teasing me with a clear view of her tight hole already soaked and ready to pull me in.
“Fuck, I miss her, dimples,”I write.“I miss how beautifully she cums for me.”
She pushes two fingers home and we both groan. Her digits are coated. A thin stream rolls free with her pumping and pools at her second opening.
I haven’t fucked her ass beyond a courtesy finger, but I plan to.
“I’ve been wet all day thinking about you,”she pants, lost in her own pleasure as her hips gyrate into her palm.
“Did you touch her?”
From my angle on the phone, I can’t see her head rock side to side, but I’m not watching the phone. I’m watching her live and in high definition splayed across her bed, one hand cupped over a straining breast, pinching and rolling the nipple while her other hand tries to get her off.
“No!”she gasps.
“Why?”
She’s not looking at the screen anymore. Her moans are louder coming through the speakers built in my helmet. Her back is arched nearly off the mattress.
“Get your toy,” I growl to myself, knowing she can’t hear me.
But she must have sensed the demand because she stops and moves to her drawer. A soft mesh bag is drawn out containing her toy. The phallus rolls into her waiting palm. She washes it quickly in the kitchen sink before returning to the bed. To me.
