Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
The food, sure.
But also the shows for the cameras.
Now that I knew for sure he was watching.
And he was enjoying.
Oh, things were just getting started.
Seven
Fitz
Eventually, the damn contractor interrupted a lively debate about the best art movements, a subject she was decidedly more passionate about than I was, but one I had been educated on from a young age, so I could at least hold my own in the discussion.
I'd been enjoying it.
Admittedly, it had been a long time since I'd enjoyed the company of a woman. I'd been busy with work. We had a big merger coming up that had to go right. I hadn't even shared a meal with someone in the better part of six months, let alone anything other than that.
Which was what I was going to blame my creepy, horny jerk-off session on.
Frustration. Pent up from months of denying myself a couple of stolen hours with a woman to get a release.
That was all it was.
I mean, yes, sure, Wynn was objectively one of the most gorgeous women I'd ever seen, and, yeah, she had a shitton of wardrobe malfunctions for reasons completely beyond me, but it wasn't about her per se, just about what she represented.
Womanhood, sexuality, and availability.
That was it.
Nothing personal.
Though, speaking of personal, it was absolutely unacceptable for her to have been getting herself off in my house during work hours.
It would be grounds for dismissal, surely.
Except, as soon as that idea popped into my head, I mentally swiped it away. But only because she was the best damn house manager I'd had. That was the only reason.
I had just grabbed a coffee, and was heading back to my office to look over some things after the contractors and Wynn had finally gone home.
And it was there that something felt off.
The chair at the desk, I decided, looking at it. It was pushed all the way in. I'd been in too much of a panic to go get cleaned up to have pushed it in.
My heart started to pound in my chest as my gaze went to my laptop.
Wynn had been in the office when I'd come down to get the door for the pizza. Had she happened to see the footage on the laptop? The camera feed of the den where she thought she'd been having a private moment?
No.
No, if she knew that, there was no way she would have stuck around for dinner and conversation.
She would have run out of the house and never looked back.
Which only meant one thing.
She hadn't seen.
The screen had probably gone to a screensaver by the time she walked in.
Relief flooded through my system as I made my way to the desk. It wasn't until I was in my chair that I woke my laptop back up.
"What the..." I hissed as the screen flashed back up.
Not of the den like I'd been expecting.
No.
Of my master bathroom.
Where I'd gone after jerking off to clean up. You could still see my watch on the counter that I'd taken off before jumping in a cold shower.
I hadn't touched my laptop when I'd gotten up.
And the feed didn't skip between the cameras.
Which could only mean one thing.
Wynn had been watching me in a compromised situation.
No, not only that.
She'd known I'd been watching her in one, and then she'd watched me in one.
Yet she's said nothing. And she shared a meal with me. And she talked about seeing me after the weekend.
What kind of woman wanted to come back to a place full of cameras that could watch her every move?
"Huh," I said with a snort, as everything started to come together.
I guess it would be the same type of woman who had so many "innocent" wardrobe malfunctions every single day. I mean no one's tits popped out of their shirts as often as hers did. No one's skirts hiked up just right so that I could see her high, round ass that she never covered with anything other than a barely-there thong.
Wynn was an exhibitionist.
She liked to be watched.
It gave her some sort of thrill to know that the cameras were around, that she was putting on a show for them, that I might be watching her at any time, that she could get me hard without even looking at me, or being near me.
"Christ," I hissed, raking a hand down my face as I went into the cloud, and found the footage of her in the den.
I wasn't sure how the hell I'd missed it before. How she'd carefully positioned herself on the couch so I could watch as she fucked her pussy, as she teased her breasts.
She hadn't even been facing the TV she'd put on before sitting down. But the camera instead.
She was putting on a show.
For me.
Because she somehow knew I'd be watching.
Because she wanted me to watch.