He Sees You When You’re Sleeping Read Online Alta Hensley

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Contemporary, Erotic Tags Authors: Alta Hensley Advertisement

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I wish you could see me, she leans forward, giving me a peek at a different angle.

You like it when people watch you. Don’t you?

I do.

Would you like us to fuck while people would watch? Is that a fantasy of yours?

I’d love it.

Then we’ll make that fantasy a reality someday, I promise. But not yet. Tonight, you get to come because you are such a good girl. Pump your fingers in and out, just like I’m fucking you. I issue another command. Imagine my cock sliding in and out of your tight hole, filling you up, stretching you wide.

She obeys without hesitation. The sight before me is a potent mix of vulnerability and strength. The surge of my own climax builds within me, and I know it’s only a matter of time before we both reach the pinnacle of pleasure together.

I watch as her breaths become shallow, her hips rising and falling in perfect harmony with the movements of her fingers. She’s so close. I can see it in the way her chest rises and falls, the glistening sweat upon her skin. She’s on the precipice of orgasm, just as I am.

Make yourself come, pretty girl. Come for me.

My words seem to ignite something within her, and her body responds with a wild intensity. Her hips buck wildly, her fingers moving faster. I can see her eyes closed tightly, and her mouth wide open in a silent scream of pleasure.

I’m coming, I’m coming! She moans.

The moment of her release is matched perfectly by my own. I grip my throbbing cock tighter, my body shuddering with the force of my release. I can feel myself coming, my hot seed spilling onto my hand, my breath catching with the force of my climax.

Oh fuck, I groan, my voice hoarse from the intensity of the moment. My hand goes limp, and I look down at the mess of my release, feeling both satisfied and a bit dazed.

As the waves of pleasure subside, reality crashes back over me like a cold wave. What have I done? The guilt that had been simmering beneath the surface now boils over, churning my stomach. I quickly close the laptop, unable to look at the screen any longer.

My hands shake as I clean myself up, disgust and self-loathing coursing through me. I’ve crossed a line I swore I never would. I’ve violated her trust, her privacy, in the most intimate way possible.

The phone buzzes with a new message from her. That was amazing, it reads. Thank you for making me feel so good.

Each word is a dagger of shame. She has no idea of the depths of my betrayal. I can’t bring myself to reply, to continue this charade. But if I don’t, I could fuck with her head and give her self-doubt—the last thing I want to do to her.

I force myself to type a response, my fingers heavy with remorse. You’re welcome. You were perfect. Such a good, good girl.

I’ve turned off the camera, and I can no longer see what she’s doing. I desperately want to see her. I already miss watching her, even though I know it’s wrong. My finger hovers over the laptop, tempted to turn it back on. Just one more look, I think. But I know if I do, I’ll be right back where I started.

The room feels too small, suffocating. I need air. I stumble to the window and throw it open, gulping in the cool night breeze. But it does nothing to wash away the stain of what I’ve done.

My phone buzzes again. It’s her. Are you still there?

I hesitate, unsure how to respond. Part of me wants to confess everything, to beg for forgiveness. But I know that would only hurt her more. So I type back, Yes, sorry. Just got distracted for a moment.

I was worried you’d left, she replies. I always feel a bit needy after . . . you know.

Her words twist the knife of guilt even deeper. She trusts me, feels safe with me, and I’ve violated that in the worst way possible. I want to comfort her, to reassure her, but every word feels like a lie.

I’m here, I type back. You’re stuck with me.

There’s a pause before her next message appears. I should get some sleep, she types. Work tomorrow. But this was . . . incredible. Can we do it again sometime?

My stomach churns. The thought of repeating this violation makes me sick, but I can’t let on that anything is wrong. Of course, I reply. I want to hear more about your fantasies.

I want to hear about yours as well.

I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the keys. How much further down this rabbit hole am I willing to go? But I can’t stop now. I’ve already crossed so many lines.

Sweet dreams, I type back. We’ll talk more soon.

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