Page 61 of Total Exposure

Her looking at me through the black lens of the camera mounted on the fireplace mantel at the foot of her bed. Me looking at her through the filter of green night vision.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“I know who you are,” she says back. Even though I didn’t say that into the intercom.

It sends a chill along the nape of my neck that I can’t seem to shake.

She swings her feet over the side of the bed, her naked body highlighted in bright green instead of the creamy white she is in real life. She stands, baring her sexy physique to the voyeur on the other end of the lens, and whispers something so low, I can’t make it out.

And she reaches over to the moon nightlight, finds the manual switch on the cord, and turns out the lights.

I watch her—I can still see her in the night vision, and it’s my job to watch her, anyway—as she pulls the covers back on the bed, gets in, and hides.

I lean back in my chair and let out a long breath.

It’s a dangerous game I’m playing. There are a lot of things at stake. But I just don’t seem to care. Jordan is the perfect addition to the chessboard. A play for checkmate if ever there was one.

I spend the next thirty minutes rewinding the footage of what we just did up in her bedroom.

I obsess over every breath she takes. Tormented by her small whimpers and moans as I eat her pussy. Haunted by her need. Consumed with the idea of what will come next.

It’s only after I start to get hard again that I realize I’m still wearing come-stained jeans.

That shakes me out of it, but only long enough to wander over to the pile of clothes I stacked in the corner the second day I was here and pull on some cut-off sweats.

I take off my shirt, sit back in my chair, and rewind. Again, and again, and again. My hand inside my sweats, on my cock, pumping up and down as I think about how all this is gonna end.

Not caring.

There’s so many more plays to make before we get to the end, it’s not even time to care.

I come into my hand, gushing more than should be possible after emptying myself earlier, then get up, wipe myself off with the t-shirt I just took off, and settle back into my chair to watch her.

She wants to watch too.

I’m feeling generous, I guess. Because I’m gonna give her that gift.

When he asks me why, I’ll tell him I didn’t plan it. It’s the truth. I didn’t come here and accept this job to fuck with Jordan. It was just an opportunity, I’ll say. Just another move in the game.

Besides, Evangeline’s into it. She obviously gets off on being watched and there was no way to miss the breathless excitement when I offered her Jordan up as a potential target. And the way I see it, what better way to cure her, right? Let her switch places for once. Be the watcher instead of the watched.

When I’m sure she’s asleep and there’s nothing more to be seen tonight, I reach for my phone, find Jordan’s contact, and press his number.

“Yeah,” he says, after the first ring.

“What do you think of this girl?” I ask.

“In what way?” he asks. He sounds distracted—or maybe annoyed—and I can hear him shuffling papers around, like he’s still at the office or maybe working from home.

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

“I’ve only seen pictures of her, and none of them were very telling. So”—I can practically hear him shrug—“fuck if I know. Fuck if I care, either. And neither should you. I’m not paying you to care if she’s pretty.”

“You know, you’re pretty cocky for a guy who holds no cards.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

Yeah, I think to myself. I’m here all right.