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That video was a goddamn work of art. It wasn’t a lame bathroom jerk off with the toilet and my half empty shampoo bottle in the background. I had mood lighting and clean sheets. Atmosphere. I wasn’t just rubbing one off like a typical Tuesday morning. I was pumping one out to Rosilocks and her pretty, blushing tits, her cute emojis and flirty smile.

The video… too much too fast? Who the fuck knows with women. I knew by then she liked to play games–hard to get, cat and mouse–and I knew I could win her over. I just needed to let her know how I felt about her. How fucking hot she made me.

Except she blocked and ghosted me.

Pace Ashby wasn’t going to let a shitty dating app security system ruin a good thing. I hacked into her account and showed her what she was missing out on. All over her face.

The worst part wasn’t even campus security banging down my door a few days later. It wasn’t being led out to the parking lot, shirtless and panicking, and being shoved against a police cruiser before I was handcuffed. It wasn’t even the humiliating spectacle of it, the way everyone came out to watch.

It was that I heard that knock and hoped it’d be her.

It was the fact I let my guard down.

I hear her tentative footsteps outside the door, and the click of the doorknob turning, the creak of the hinges as she pushes it open. Without turning around, I order, “Shut the door behind you.”

I watch her through a camera focused on the doorway. She takes a few steps into the room, eyes sweeping over my belongings. There’s no bed in here, although there is a black leather couch. A coffee table sits in front of it with a stack of porn on top. Her nose wrinkles distastefully, and she quickly averts her eyes up to the bookshelves.

“That’s a lot of trophies,” she notes, hugging her middle. She looks small and scared on the monitor, her green eyes wide and alert.

I lean back, giving my balls some room as I fix my eyes to the image of her ass. “Father likes them on display.”

She hovers near the couch, fingers picking at the piping. Something flickers across her expression. A comment about Father? Some sharp remark? Whatever it is, she holds it back.

She holds herself back too.

“Despite whatever you and Lex have done in the med clinic, I’m going to need you to get a little closer for us to fulfill my obligation.”

Even on the screen, I can tell her cheeks turn pink, giving away that whatever actuallyisgoing on with her and Lex carries some weight. She moves closer. Nervous. She should be. This has been two years in the making.

“H-how are we going to do this?” she asks, fingers tugging at the dress hem. “I just—it’d be nice to be prepared.” Lower, she mutters, “For once.”

Fair, I think, considering the ceremony and the way Wicker took her. I’m sure Lex didn’t prepare her at all.

Spreading my knees, I adjust my cock. “I’m going to make it easy on you, Rosilocks. All you’re going to need to do is sit right here.” I swivel my chair around, patting my thigh, and I take the sight of her in. Fuck, that nightie. The video screen doesn’t do the real vision of her justice, all soft and shy.

I’m not the only one getting an eyeful. I’ve had my pants tugged down since I brought her up on the monitor. I grip the base of my bare cock in my fist, willing it to stay down.Not yet.

She gapes at it, stiffening. “You want me to sit in your lap?”

I give it a stroke. “You can watch me while I work.”

Her eyes drag away from my erection to the monitors, throat jumping with a swallow. “What is all this?”

I shrug and beckon her over. “I monitor Father’s security. Some in-house, some out.”

Her movement causes the skirt of her dress to rise up, giving me a view of the cotton panties that match the top. “Do you want me to, um…” Her fingers run to her hips, embarrassment clear in the aversion of her eyes. “... take these off?”

My eyes narrow. “Well, I’m not going to fuck you through them.”

Something in her face shutters, a bit of life draining from her eyes as she reaches beneath the hem, tugging the panties discreetly down her thighs.Toodiscreetly.

“Show me,” I demand, stilling my hand on my cock. “Lift it up.”

Turning her head away, she doesn’t look at me as she plucks the end of the dress up, giving me a reluctant view of her mound. Her thighs are mashed together, so I can’t see much except the shape of her.

“You’re waxed.” I let out a hard, frustrated breath. “Why thefuckare you waxed?”

Hastily, she drops the dress, glaring back at me. “What? It’s a covenant. Stella–I mean, my handmaiden–she did it this morning.”