Voyeur (3 page)

FLYB0Y2: That's not exactly fair.

FLYBOY1: Is your pussy wet right now? From talking about this?

Oh God, was it ever. And her heart beat so hard it hurt. But maybe she should lie. Maybe it would be wise to say something jocular, or sarcastic,

something to lighten the mood from the deep and dirty direction it had taken.

Only . . . she slowly realized that she
wanted
to tel him, wanted him to know.
FLYB0Y2: Yes. My panties are already soaked.

FLYB0Y1: Mmm, nice, baby.

Then a rather horrifying thought occurred to her.
FLYB0Y2: Can you see me right now?

FLYB0Y1: Yes, Laura. I'm looking right at you.

The knowledge made her want to shrink away. They weren't on equal footing—he seemed to have al the control.

FLYB0Y1: In fact, while we've been talking, your nipples have gotten hard. I know you're wearing a bra—I can see the outline through your shirt,

but those pretty nipples are jutting through anyway.

And growing harder by the second—she could almost feel it happening.

FLYB0Y1: You're blushing.

She'd never felt so trapped between embarrassment and arousal.
FLYB0Y2: I feel like I'm on a stage.

FLYB0Y1: I'm the only person in the audience.

She bit her lip.
FLYB0Y2 : Is that supposed to make me feel better?

FLYB0Y1: Yes. I like watching you.

Even that fed her desire, making her pussy flutter. Stil more nervousness flitted through her as she asked the next thing that came to mind, arousal

beating out embarrassment, at least for this brief moment.
FLYB0Y2: Are you hard right now?

FLYB0Y1: Very.

She didn't know why, but she chose that second to final y glance down at her breasts, shrouded in a comfortable cotton bra today. Maybe she'd

thought now that they'd turned the attention to
his
body, he wouldn't notice if she looked at
hers?
As he'd promised, the taut peaks poked visibly through.

FLYB0Y1: They're beautiful, Laura.

She played dumb, sorry to have been caught studying herself.
FLYB0Y2: What are you talking about?

FLYB0Y1: Your breasts, of course. Fucking beautiful. Watching you play with them last night made me want to slide my cock between them.

Oh God. Now her heart beat between her legs. And her breasts felt huge, bigger than their C-cup size. This situation was already insane, and it

seemed to be spinning more and more out of control. What was happening to her? Why couldn't she resist the forbidden al ure of their

conversation? Before she could weigh the consequences, she found herself perpetuating it.
FLYB0Y2: How big is it?

FLYB0Y1: My cock?

FLYBOY2: Yes.

FLYB0Y1: Big enough. :)

What guy
wouldn't
say that?
FLYB0Y2 : Big enough for what?

FLYB0Y1: Big enough to satisfy you. I promise.

But she needed more.
FLYBOY2 : Too vague. Could you be more specific?

FLYBOY1: Well, at the moment, it feels about the size of the Washington Monument.

She couldn't help laughing lightly.
FLYBOY2 : I'm looking for a number in inches, please.

FLYBOY1: Sorry, honey, can't say I ever measured.

She decided to push her luck even further.
FLYB0Y2: Do it now. If you feel as big as a monument, this is probably a good time.

FLYB0Y1: Probably so, but you'll just have to take my word for it.

FLYB0Y2: Why?

FLYB0Y1: I don't have a ruler long enough. :)

She lifted a grin in the direction of the webcam, amused, then posed the question that had just come to mind.
FLYB0Y2 : If you can see me, can

you also hear me? Am I typing all this for nothing?
She was suddenly trying to remember if she'd moaned very much last night.

FLYB0Y1: The camera captures sound, but it can be muffled, so typing is better.

Good. Maybe if she'd moaned, he hadn't heard.

FLYB0Y1: Well, hot and sexy Laura, as much as I'd love to talk dirty with you all day, I have to sign off now.

FLYB0Y2: Companies to take over? Empires to topple?

FLYB0Y1: Something like that.

She couldn't help feeling vaguely disappointed that they were suddenly done. But then he IMed again.

FLYBOY1: Will I see more of you tonight?

She pul ed in her breath at the loaded question.
FLYB0Y2 : What do you mean?

FLYB0Y1: Exactly what I asked. But let's make it earlier tonight. Ten, your time.

Ah, yes—it was an hour earlier in L.A. She considered the various ways she might respond, final y settling on simple clarification.
FLYB0Y2: Are

you suggesting something similar to last night?

FLYB0Y1: Yes, honey. That's EXACTLY what I'm suggesting. Except more.

FLYB0Y2: More?

FLYB0Y1: I want you to show me your pussy.

Laura pul ed in her breath, forced back to reality.
FLYB0Y2 : I can't.

FLYB0Y1: Why not?

She hesitated, thought it through—then told him the truth.
FLYB0Y2: I thought I was alone last night. I don't think I could do that again—or more—

knowing you were watching.

It was a slight lie, but last night had been more fantasy to her than anything else. Only just now had she truly discovered the fantasy had been reality

—and she simply didn't think she was bold enough to do it again with the ful knowledge that he was real y watching her every naughty move. And to

reveal herself even further? To show him the most intimate part of her, which only a handful of men had seen? And she had, at the very least, been

dating
those men. Never once had she fooled around with a stranger.

His reply took longer than usual.
FLYB0Y1: You don't know how much that disappoints me, Laura.

Her, too—in a way—if she was honest. But she knew herself too wel . And the fact was. as much as she'd just let herself slip whol y into this hot

conversation, when she drew back and looked at it sensibly, it stil seemed . . . dangerous.
FLYB0Y2 : I'm sorry.

FLYB0Y1: No, honey, I'M sorry.

The statement could be read two different ways, but she knew he wasn't apologizing for having made her uncomfortable—he was bummed to hear

the dirty fun was over.

She didn't answer, as there seemed nothing more to say.

Although it remained unnerving to know he was stil watching her. A solution came to mind, given that she planned to spend the next ten days in his

vacation home.
FLYBOY2 : Maybe I should move the camera, point it at the floor.

FLYB0Y1: Don't bother. I can move the lens around no matter which way you aim it.

Her back went rigid.
FLYB0Y2: So you're saying you'll keep watching me, whether I want you to or not? Whether or not I'm even doing anything .

. . naughty?

FLYB0Y1: What can I say? I like watching you. You like it, too—I can tell. So just think of me like a fly on the wall. And who knows, if I'm patient,
maybe I'll get lucky and you'll do something naughty for me anyway.

FLYB0Y2: Don't bet on it. I know I just had a very dirty discussion with you, but I'm slowly coming back to my senses.

FLYB0Y1: That's a shame. You do dirty very well.

Then an entirely new question hit her, the thought almost paralyzing her.
FLYB0Y2: Do you do this often? Watch women this way? Other people

who come here?

She wasn't sure why the notion upset her so much, but it did. Maybe it made her feel less consequential to him than she wanted to—even if she

didn’t
know him at al .

FLYBOY1: No, I told you-this happened by accident. But now that I've seen you, I want to KEEP ON seeing you.

She bit her lip, torn between relief, flattery, and . . . what felt like a very sensible worry that prompted her next reply.
FLYB0Y2: I suppose I could
unhook the webcam from the computer.

FLYB0Y1: You won't.

So confident.

FLYBOY2: You don't think so?

FLYB0Y1 : No.

And for some reason, she knew he was right. This was his home, and he'd been generous enough to lend it to someone he didn't know. Despite

the circumstances, it seemed wrong to mess with his equipment and risk breaking something or somehow screwing up his expensive computer.

It would be daunting to sit here working, knowing he might be watching her at any time, but so long as she kept her clothes on, it was no big deal.

Logical y, anyway. In fact, before long, he'd probably get bored and stop watching her at al .

As she sat contemplating that, he sent another message.

FLYBOY1: If you change your mind, I'll be here tonight at ten.

She drew in her breath, then simply lifted her gaze to the camera and quietly shook her head.

FLYB0Y1: By the way, assign yourself a new I.M. name other than mine. Flyboy2 just doesn't suit you. ;)

She felt a bit numb as she typed.
FLYB0Y2 : What does ?

FLYB0Y1: Something sexy. Good-bye for now, sexy.

FLYB0Y2: Good-bye, Flyboy. Happy empire toppling.

FLYBOY1: I'll see you tonight. ;)

* * *

The story final y took off—in leaps and bounds. By the time darkness fel around the mountainside home, Laura had written a chapter and a half and

had outlined approximately a third of the book in her mind. Turned out the man Aunt Mimsey had seen lurking around the neighbors' guesthouse

had been a dark, handsome, rugged sort, ful of mystery. Riley had confronted him—and been bowled over by his confident sex appeal.

Not a normal encounter for Riley Wainscott. Like Laura, Riley dated, sometimes had relationships that lasted a while, sometimes woke up happy

after making love, but always behaved sensibly when it came to men and sex. So much so that it was almost a moot point in Riley's life, a subject

that never real y played into Laura’s plots in any significant way—until today. For the first time, Laura had uncovered the sensual woman beneath

Riley's staid exterior. She'd let Riley experience an unbidden pulse between her thighs, just as Laura had that morning. And she knew that pulse,

that temptation, that forbidden instinct, would have real consequences for Riley and this case before the book was through.

She walked away from the computer with a familiar sense of satisfaction and progress—thank God, she was back on track!

Of course, walking away, leaving Riley and her enigmatic stranger behind, gave her time to begin pondering
other
things—like her online

conversation with Monica's cousin this morning.

She
still
didn't know his name. They'd shared an intimate exchange about her pussy and his cock, but she didn't know the man's name. Ridiculous.

No, more than ridiculous. More like shocking. What had driven her to continue the conversation when she'd known good and wel that the safe move

was to ignore his suggestive comments and questions?
Watching the pleasure wash over your face while you worked your hot little pussy pushed

me over the edge.
Okay,
way
more than suggestive. He'd been downright obscene. What she'd done this morning was so dangerous that she could scarcely believe she'd been so foolish, or so bold.

Moving into the kitchen, as spacious and lavish as the rest of the house, she dug in the refrigerator for the leftover spaghetti she'd cooked last night, trying desperately to ignore her physical response to the memory of this morning. Like it or not, thinking of him had her body humming again.

But then, hadn't her body been humming al day? She could tel herself it had been humming on
Riley's
behalf, for a shadowy stranger who might mean harm to Aunt Mimsey or her neighbors, but how could she deny to herself who that stranger
really
was? Her voyeur. Her companion in dirty message exchange. Her pussy tingled at the admission.

You need a shower—a nice, cool shower.
Despite the deep snow outside, the house remained warm from afternoon sun having blasted in through

al those enormous windows. So first she ate her spaghetti, hot from the microwave, accompanied by a glass of wine from the bottle she'd opened

last night, then she placed her dirty dishes in the sink and headed toward the master suite, to the immense marble shower.

As she reached the oversize bedroom, complete with oversize bed, oversize Jacuzzi tub, and oversize closets with mirrored doors, she stopped

and looked around. She'd slept in this bed last night, of course. And she'd showered here this morning. But al that had been before their online

conversation, before she'd found out he'd watched her rub between her legs until she came, before he'd told her he wanted her to do it for him

again.

Now she almost
felt
him here. She was sleeping in his bed, after al , on the same sheets, the same pil ows. She would undoubtedly dry herself off with a towel that had dried
his
skin.

Suddenly, a shower didn't seem like such a great idea. It only stood to make her al the more aware of her body, how sensitive it was feeling since

last night, how ready, how needy. "Fine," she murmured. "No shower."

TV. She would watch TV Sitcoms. Or some twenty-four-hour news channel. Nothing sexy
there.

As she moved back to the living room, she paused next to a set of tal oak bookshelves. She'd been meaning to inspect the books in the house

since she'd arrived yesterday but hadn't gotten around to it. And it seemed as good a distraction as any.

She found mostly classics:
A Farewell to Arms, A Tale of Two Cities, The House of the Seven Gables, To Kill a Mockingbird.
And upon moving