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Maybe they’re recording right now.
I glance at one of the cameras. It doesn’t blink or do anything suspicious. Which somehow makes it worse. Because now I’m wondering if there’s a motion alert.
I’m wondering if he’s sitting somewhere, phone in hand, getting a ping that says, “Amelia’s moving. Bedroom cam. You might want to tune in.”
And good god, why does that thought make my thighs clench like I’ve just read a smutty one-bed trope romance with a six-foot-five lumberjack and a praise kink?
I fan myself. Literally. With my own hand. Like that will fix me.
And then, because of course, my inner bad girl decides to strut in like she owns the place, tosses her purse to the floor, and says, “Don’t worry, babe. I got this.”
Fully aware of where each camera is now, I stretch out and lie across the foot of the bed on my side. I rest my head in my hand and stare up at one of the cameras. Nothing too obvious. Just enough to say:You watching? Good.
And because apparently, I now have zero shame and a newfound taste for attention, I crawl up the bed like I just remembered I’m a lingerie model and forgot to mention it earlier.
By the time I settle back against the pillows and remove my sweater, I’ve fully decided that if he’s watching...he’s going toenjoy the show.
My sweater hits the bed and a second later, I’m cupping my breasts through my bra.
Soft, slow, and teasing.
I let my thumbs graze over the fabric, over my nipples, watching the camera like it’s his eyes on me. The knowledge that this might be live, that he could be watching right now, causes a fresh wave of heat to pool in my belly.
I unhook my bra and slip it off, deliberate and sexy as if I’ve rehearsed this scene a hundred times. I haven’t. But it turns out I’m a fast learner when properly motivated.
My hands trail down my body to my jeans. I undo them and shimmy out of them.
One hand returns to my breast. The other slips into my panties. And just as I drag a single finger along the slick heat between my thighs, my phone rings.
I glance at the name on the screen.
Gage.
I let a sexy smile make its way across my face, keeping my eyes on the camera.On him.
Then, I answer, breathless and just a little bit wicked. “Hi.” My voice is pure innocence. My hand is still between my legs.
“Be a good girl and spread your legs for me.”
My body hears that command and decides it’s his now.
My inner bad girl practically purrs, “Took you long enough.”
I obey him and wait.
“You’re inmybed. Touching what’s mine. Are you soaked?”
“Not as much as I would be if it was your fingers inside me.”
“That mouth,” he growls. “That fucking mouth.”
A beat of silence that’s all lust.
Then he says, “You’d be dripping down your thighs if was there. You’d make a fucking mess all over my hand, and I’d keep going until you did it again.”
“Oh god,” I moan, my back arching, heat flooding between my legs like his fingers are actually there.
“Take those panties off, Princess. I want to see that pretty pussy.”