Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Does that make me a monster? Maybe.
Does it make me the villain in the story? I hope not.
But when I woke up today, I had two choices. Go to her house and confess, or log onto the secret camera and watch her work from home.
Since I’m staring at my computer right now, mesmerized by Chloe’s every move, it’s obvious what choice won.
As Chloe stretches in her chair, I lean closer to the screen. She’s wearing the black sweater I love, the one that brings out her eyes. I imagine I can smell her fruity shampoo through the pixels, that I can feel the warmth of her body as it innocently brushes up against me.
On screen, Chloe stands and walks out of frame. I hold my breath until she returns, coffee mug in hand.
This has to stop. I know it does. I’ve always known it. But not today. Today, I’ll watch a little longer. Tomorrow, I’ll be brave. Tomorrow, I’ll face the consequences.
She’s done with her live, and I’m hoping she’s in the mood to log into Dark Secrets. I considered messaging her earlier, but I want her to be the one that reaches out. Today, I want her to make the first move.
As if on cue, a notification pops up on my screen. Chloe has logged into Dark Secrets. My heart races as I switch tabs, eager to see what she’ll say. Will she confide in me today? Share another intimate detail of her life? Confess some deep and erotic fantasies that I can only hope to give?
I wait, fingers hovering over the keyboard, ready to respond. But minutes tick by, and she remains silent. I switch back to looking at the nanny cam footage to see if she’s changed her mind, perhaps wresting with her own demons.
I catch her as she’s removing her pants, her black sweater I love so much, and reveals a lacy black bra and matching underwear. She looks stunning, and a familiar ache settles in my chest.
Jealousy nearly knocks the air out of me. No. She’s getting ready to go live for all her subscribers. All of them. Not just me. I type out a message to tell her to stop, delete it, type again. No, I can’t. I promised myself I’d let her initiate today, and I can’t play the possessive boyfriend when I am anything but.
But I don’t want to share. Or do I?
I watch, transfixed, as Chloe settles in front of her camera. She’s adjusting the lighting, primping her hair. My fingers itch to reach through the screen and touch those silky strands. I’ve imagined running my hands through her hair countless times, but this . . . this is different. This is real, raw, unfiltered Chloe.
The chat on her livestream explodes with comments. I can’t bear to look at them, can’t stand to see other men lusting after her. But I force myself to watch, to be a silent guardian in the shadows of her digital world.
“I know it’s been a couple of days,” she begins. I can’t see her face as she’s been careful to angle the camera where it’s shadowed, but now that I know BlackAsChlo is Chloe, it’s so obvious. “Before we continue,” she says, her voice soft but clear, “I want to share something with you all. I’ve been talking to someone . . . someone special.”
She leans forward to read all the comments. Comments that are saying “no!” “choose me!”
“Don’t be jealous, everyone. He likes to share. We already did a little show for all to see. He’s a mystery right now,” Chloe continues, her voice a sultry purr. “But I think I might be able to convince him to join me on camera soon. Would you all like that?”
The chat explodes again, a cacophony of enthusiasm and jealousy. I can barely breathe. My mind races, trying to piece together what’s happening. Flashback of our night at Naughty and Nice crash into my mind like a tidal wave. Clearly it made as much of an impression with Chloe as it did with me.
Chloe giggles, the sound both innocent and knowing. “Oh, you naughty people. Always so eager. But patience is a virtue, you know.”
She leans back, giving her audience a tantalizing view. She runs a finger from her breast, down her stomach, down to the waistband of her panties. I can’t tear my eyes away, even as a part of me screams that this is wrong, that I should stop watching.
“Maybe I’ll give you a little preview,” Chloe says, her voice husky. “Just a taste of what’s to come.”
She hooks her thumb under the lace of her underwear, slowly pulling it down. I’m frozen, caught between desire and rage, unable to look away but hating the idea of anyone else watching.
Possessive. That’s how I’m feeling.
If I was being honest with myself, it’s been there all along, but now that I’ve had a taste . . . It’s suffocating.