Voyeur (4 page)

down to lower shelves, she was surprised—although instantly knew she shouldn't be—to find a smal col ection of classic erotica:
Story of O,
The
Pearl,
volumes by Anais Nin and the Marquis de Sade. Her breasts felt heavy just looking at the titles, thinking of her flyboy voyeur reading them, getting excited, getting off.

The gentle sensations in her cunt urged her to reach for one of them—but no.

Tonight was al about sitcoms and news and maybe something by Hemingway a little later. Tonight was about ignoring the tender throb in her pussy

when she thought of the nameless, faceless man to whom the books belonged. In fact, it would be a good time to
stop
thinking of that part of herself as her pussy.
Time to be the staid, dependable, sensible you.

Just then, her gaze fel on a smal framed photo on the shelf above the erotica. She gasped at the sight. Two men dressed in cargo shorts held up a

gigantic fish between them. One wore a T-shirt that said
FLY ME, BABY!
along with a graphic of what looked to be an old biplane with a big propel er in front. He was darkly handsome, as Monica had promised, his chin covered with a few days' stubble. Although in the photo he appeared lighthearted

and casual, his dark eyes were piercing. And she couldn't help noticing that, despite his loose, baggy shorts, there was a nice bulge visible in front.

The other man was lighter in coloring—dark blond, wavy hair, with a classic ski bum look about him—and Laura knew without doubt that the first guy

was
her
guy, the man who'd spied on her last night and talked nasty to her this morning. God, he was gorgeous. Her nipples tightened within her bra as she studied him, wishing the photo were closer up. Her crotch responded, as wel , seeming to swel beneath her pants.

Final y, she set the picture back down and let out a sigh. Him being gorgeous real y had nothing to do with her quandary. It made it no less

frightening and dangerous to exchange dirty talk with a man she didn't know.

Nope, no less dangerous—but certainly even more of a turn-on now.

She let her eyes fal shut, feeling doomed.

But then she regained her strength and told herself to stick to her original plan. She padded to an easy chair that sat adjacent to the sofa where

she'd sprawled so brazenly last night, then reached for the remote and flipped on the big-screen TV She was in luck. World news.

Another glass of wine and maybe she'd get sleepy enough to go to bed early—as in before ten o'clock.

A few hours later, Laura lay in bed in her snowflake pajamas, tossing and turning. Like last night, the wine had left her more loopy than sleepy, but

she'd gone to bed anyway. Of course, she'd taken a volume of Anais Nin with her and, before turning the lights out, had read about a woman having

her "sex" shaved by two men. They'd touched the freshly smooth skin there, then teased her open with erotic brushes of a feather. Another story had featured a woman riding a large rocking horse with a knob built in to rub her clit.

God, what a stupid thing to have let herself read!

She couldn’t resist shifting her gaze from the vaulted ceiling to the digital bedside clock. 9:54.

She tenderly bit her lip, trying madly to ignore the way her
own
sex pulsed, begging for her touch. Or
his
touch.
Any
touch.

Of course, she couldn't do what he'd asked of her. There was simply no way. Last night had been bad enough, but to know for sure he was

watching? And to reveal herself to him—ful y. She shook her head against her pil ow. You can’t. For God's sake, you don't even know his name.

Even so, she found her breath trembling and her bel y clenching way down low as she reached to push back the covers.

Maybe she didn’t know herself as wel as she thought.

It had been a damn long day. Because unlike last night when he'd simply unzipped his pants, pul ed out his aching cock, and jacked off, today he'd

been stupid enough to wait, to want to hover on the edge of excitement al day, anticipating what might happen tonight. It was like a game he'd

wanted to play with himself—with her, too.

Now his dick physical y hurt. He'd floated somewhere between half-hard and ful -blown erection al day, through meetings, phone cal s, and lunch

with a senior VP. with whom he was doing some important negotiations.

The whole time he'd been fantasizing about Laura Watkins, mystery author, sex kitten.
She
didn't think she was a sex kitten, that was clear. But he knew she was—he'd seen the proof, and gotten off to it. Her hot little show, combined with their steamy conversation this morning, had excited him

more than anything had in a very long time.

Now, as he sat in his Malibu home in a dark, quiet room lit only by his computer screen, a warm sea breeze wafting through an open window behind

him, he found himself watching the clock, feeling as eager as a teenager getting his first peek at Internet porn. And he began to relive a few of the

fantasies that had grown in his mind around lovely Laura today at times when he most definitely should have been focusing on his work. Yep,

mil ions of dol ars at stake every hour, and he'd been fantasizing about a woman. But he'd felt powerless to stop—the images had simply kept

invading his brain without his permission.

During a meeting with Cressler, Inc's entire board of directors, he'd imagined her in the Jacuzzi in the Vail house, soaping her luscious breasts,

tweaking those hard, pretty nipples, then rising on her knees to run a soapy cloth between her thighs, sighing just like she had last night on the

webcam.

Those visions alone were enough to keep him going for awhile, but by the time he got stuck on hold waiting for one of his investors around eleven,

he'd imagined a sexy Laker girl he'd once dated walking into the master suite's bathroom, just as naked as Laura. Pam possessed a lush, curvy

body, much like sexy Ms. Watkins', so envisioning the two of them together seemed a foregone conclusion for a guy who admittedly got off on the

idea of women fooling around with each other. Pam's long blond hair had been swept up off her neck in a clip, her pussy waxed bare—and he knew

from experience she kept it that way. Laura's hair had hung finer, a warm shade of chestnut, and fel just past her shoulders, but in the fantasy, Pam had moved behind her and pul ed it up into another clip, as wel .

Pam had stepped into the bathtub fil ed with bubble bath and whirling water, kneeling across from Laura, and the two of them had begun to wash

each other's breasts. They giggled and cooed and made him al the harder as he waited on interminable hold. Thank God he'd had a suit jacket to

cover his jutting cock since he'd been sitting in a large, open lobby.

Soon the two lovely women had begun kissing—gentle meetings of moist lips and warm tongues that made him think for a moment he might come

in his pants like a schoolboy. They'd embraced softly, their plump, soapy breasts brushing together. He wondered if Laura had ever been with

another girl
outside
of his fantasies. He doubted it, but it was nice to think about.

Final y, his investor had come back on the line, reclaiming his attention but not weakening his lust. It had been at lunch with the rambling comptrol er of Ion Electronics that the fantasy had continued. He'd needed to hear what the man was saying—there was a pivotal merger on the horizon and he

couldn't risk fucking it up—but he couldn't help himself. When he'd seen a pretty girl across the restaurant who, at a glance, made him think of Laura Watkins, he'd been taken back to that big bathtub and the two sensual women inside it.

As the Ion comptrol er talked about recent acquisitions adding to the company's value, he'd seen Laura sitting on the edge of the tub, legs parted,

Pam's face in between. Laura had caressed her breasts, just like last night, and she'd moaned and howled as Pam licked her pussy. God, how
he

wanted to lick that pussy. Hel , just
see
that pussy for starters.

And as the Ion comp droned about employee security and pension plans, he'd seen himself entering the picture, kneeling on the tile surrounding the

Jacuzzi so that his cock was level with Laura's pretty mouth. She'd opened wide with a big smile and lowered her lips over him, moaning from stil

having her pussy eaten below.

Even reenvisioning it now had him sweating.

He shook his head to clear it and looked at the smal gold clock on his desk. It read a few minutes past nine, which meant past ten in Colorado.

Damn—he'd quit paying attention and the computer had slipped into screensaver mode. He rushed to move the mouse and light back up the

screen. Then he clicked on the icon for the webcam at the Vail house.

The room was empty, dark but for the pale il umination provided by the blanket of snow outside the wal of windows behind the computer.

His heart fel . His cock almost deflated. He'd been sure she would be there, putting on another sexy little show for him. After the way she'd

responded to him this morning, he'd been sure she wouldn't be able to resist. After al , she was alone in that big house, just writing al day—surely

she needed some kind of sexual release. And he'd given her a forbidden and exciting way to get it.

Even so, as he focused the camera, shifting the lens about the room, the space remained quiet, stil , shadows of sofas and tables and nothing

more. Apparently, heel misjudged her enthusiasm. Apparently, she wasn't coming to the
last
meeting he'd set up for today, the one he'd waited for through al the rest with a raging hard-on. Looked like the forbidden aspect of their fun was, just as she'd intimated,
too
forbidden for her.

"Damn," he whispered in the dark. "I want more of you, honey."

Laura looked in the mirrored door on the closet, studying herself from head to toe. Her hair fel in loose waves around her face, which was made up

with mascara and lipstick—same as she might apply for a night out clubbing with Monica and the girls. Around her neck, a beaded red choker. The

scant lacy red push-up bra plumped her breasts nearly to her chin, making them look large and sexy. Below, she wore a matching red thong that

clung so tightly to her mound that the fleshy rise already looked swol en with desire.

When she'd found the smal shopping bag containing the bra and panties in her suitcase yesterday, she never dreamed she'd be so thankful her

friend had snuck it in, with a note that said:

Just in case yon decide to give up the solitude and find yourself some ski stud. Love, Monica.

Wel , she hadn't given up the solitude, nor found a ski stud, but she had the next best thing—a stud with a webcam who wanted her. When al was

said and done, she simply couldn't resist the same excitement she'd experienced last night upon just
pretending
someone was watching her. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to deny herself the real thing. She remained afraid, but also needy. That need pulsed through her veins as tangible as

the flow of blood.

So she'd final y given in to the temptation. At least for now. She might have regrets later, but in this moment, it was show time. And there would be

no cotton pj s tonight.

She took a deep breath and moved barefoot from the bedroom into the living room, then turned on the lights, but used the dimmer to keep them

soft.

His eyes were on her, she could
feel
them—instantly.

The very knowledge made her nipples constrict within the scal oped edge of red lace that held her so snugly.

As she moved to the sofa, she felt like she was returning to the scene of a crime. Deliciously wicked. Her cunt vibrated against its lace confinement, the tender scratch of the fabric a further titil ation.

Upon sitting down, she gently bit her lip, looked toward the webcam, and spoke quietly. "I wasn't going to do this, but here I am, for reasons I can't explain." Then she peered more intently at the green light, imagining she could see him, eye-to-sexy-eye. "Are you ready?"

She envisioned him—drawing the image from the photo on the bookshelves—sitting behind his desk, getting hard for her. The thought nearly took

her breath—everything about this was utterly overwhelming. In fact, she feared if she thought too hard about what she was doing, she might get

scared again and back out. So instead, she simply began, reaching both hands up to cup the lower halves of her breasts.

They were heavy, ful and round in her palms. She imagined her flyboy groaning at the sight of her touching herself for him and wished she could

hear it. Wished again that she could see him, just like he could see her.

She closed her eyes and gave her lower lip a smal , sensual nibble, imagining how grand it would be if he sat right across the room from her. The

camera
should
provide a sense of safety—and maybe it did, maybe the distance between herself and her voyeur was the one factor that al owed

her to do this. Yet at the same time, she wanted him nearer, wanted him here.

Watch me,
she thought as she tweaked her nipples through the lace that barely concealed them. She then massaged them ful y, wishing for
his
hands, thinking of his cock doing what he'd said this morning— gliding between the plump mounds of flesh.

Watch me,
she thought as she slipped her fingertips into both red cups, lowering them just enough to free the beaded pink peaks. Her face

warmed at revealing them to him again. She remembered how "fucking beautiful" he thought they were and toyed with her hardened nipples, letting the sensation trickle through her, al the way to her lacy panties, making her pussy quiver.

Oh yes, watch me, baby, watch me.
She ran her hands down over the smooth curves of her stomach, sliding them over the lace at her hips, letting her fingers splay onto her thighs. Moving slow but never stopping, she parted her legs, let her hands glide inward, both of them sweeping firmly over