Page 18 of A Smile Full of Lies (Secrets of Stonewood #1)

Chapter

Twelve

KNOX

The cursor blinked on her last message, still open on our DMs in the confessional forum.

GraveyardGirl93

Okay. Question. Is it crossing a line if I get myself off to @NoxObscura’s videos? Because I want to. Bad. But I feel like that makes me some kind of creep.

She’d sent it to StrayDog777, not knowing I was the one on the other end.

I leaned closer to the monitors, jaw tight, hand sliding down to my zipper.

Bone conduction headphones pressed against my temples, feeding me every sound from the laptop mic across the hall.

I’d muted the hidden bookshelf camera’s feed…

too much distance, too much room echo. But the laptop?

It was right there on the bed beside her, close enough to catch every shaky breath, every faint moan, every rustle of sheets.

I could hear her like she was in my lap, and still catch the ambient creak of floorboards or doors if I needed to.

My cock was already throbbing, the need a live wire under my skin. I dragged the zipper down, freeing myself into the cool air, the relief sharp enough to make me hiss. She’d asked permission from me to get herself off and she didn’t even know it.

God, that made my need so much worse… made it unbearable.

“Come on, baby,” I muttered under my breath, voice low enough no one would ever hear but me. “Do it. That’s it. Show me.”

My left monitor played the close-up video of her face from her laptop camera: flushed, her pretty blue-green eyes glued to her phone, devouring one of my Nox Obscura videos.

On the right monitor, I could see the wide shot from the bookshelf: her body taut with hesitation, every muscle telegraphing want.

That thin tank top and boy short underwear combo was fucking killing me.

I wrapped my hand around my cock and stroked once, slow, almost punishing. Waiting. Holding. Daring her to make the choice. Because the second she touched herself to me — to the mask, to the voice, to the faceless stranger — I’d know she was already mine.

Her hand hovered just above the waistband of her boy shorts, trembling like she was fighting herself. The audio feed caught the stutter in her breath, that sharp little gasp she bit back like she was ashamed of it.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the monitors.

On the left, her face filled the screen — lashes lowered, lips parted, teeth worrying her bottom lip raw.

On the right, the wide angle showed everything else: her whole body stretched out on top of the comforter, nothing left to the imagination.

I could see the dark shadow of her straining nipples through that godforsaken tank top, and those damn boy shorts…

I prayed she’d take them off. The arch of her spine as she shifted was pure art.

I drank in the restless drag of her thighs against the comforter, the way she clenched and uncurled her toes like every inch of her wanted it.

I wrapped my fist tighter around my cock and pulled, slow and deliberate, holding myself to the same unbearable edge she was trapped on. Her hesitation was my torment. Her need was my fuel.

“Touch yourself, princess,” I muttered, my voice a rasp, guttural with restraint. “Do it for me.”

She couldn’t hear me, but it didn’t matter. She was going to do it, I just fucking knew it.

Her fingers brushed over the thin cotton between her legs, and the sound she made — half gasp, half moan — shot through my headphones like a live current. I hissed and stroked myself harder, syncing to her rhythm.

Every screen, every sound, every shaky breath proved it — Ros thought she was teetering on some forbidden edge. She thought she was making a choice. But she wasn’t.

She was giving in to me.

She finally peeled the boy shorts down, wriggling out of them with a little twist of her hips that had me grinding into my fist. She tossed them aside, leaving herself bare on top of the comforter, nothing between me and the sight of her neat little landing strip and the pretty pink pussy glistening beneath it.

“Fuck,” I groaned, stroking myself harder, my hips jerking into my hand. The wide shot had me starving, but the laptop feed — the close-up of her face — nearly destroyed me.

She grabbed my hoodie from the bed and buried her face in it, inhaling like a fiend. The sound of her breath caught in the mic, shaky and desperate. She was high on me, and she didn’t even know it.

Her fingers slid between her thighs, and I nearly came right then. The slick sound carried through the headphones, obscene and perfect, circling her swollen clit, spreading wet heat everywhere. My cock twitched in my hand, pulse hammering at the base.

She thought she was alone. She thought I was across the hall, asleep in my bed, oblivious. She thought she was safe behind a locked door, free to ruin herself on her fingers while she pretended she wasn’t imagining me catching her.

But I was here. I was watching. I was listening.

And the sickest, sweetest part of it?

She’d sent her confession straight to me. She’d begged me for permission. And now she was getting herself off with her face buried in my hoodie, while I watched her pretty pussy twitch and clench around her own fingers — when what she really wanted was me.

Her fingers circled her clit, slow at first, testing herself. My hand matched her pace, stroking from base to tip, squeezing hard enough to make my breath catch. Every little gasp of hers hit my ears like a detonator.

“That’s it, princess,” I murmured, teeth clenched, jaw so tight it hurt. “Just like that. Nice and slow, let it build for me.”

She dragged two fingers lower and slipped them inside, her hips arching, thighs falling open wider. The slick stretch echoed in the mic — wet, obscene, mine. My fist stuttered on my cock, then fell into rhythm with her, every pump synced to the push of her fingers inside herself.

I leaned closer to the monitors, whispering filth she couldn’t hear but I knew she’d feel. Knew it.

“You don’t even realize, do you? Every breath you take with your face buried in my hoodie, every sound you make — belongs to me. You’re already mine, sweetheart. Always have been.”

She gasped, back bowing, hoodie clutched tight to her face like it could ground her. And I lost it, hips snapping into my fist in time with her frantic thrusts.

“God, I should storm in there right now, pin those pretty wrists down, shove my cock where your fingers are, and fuck you until you scream my name. You want that, don’t you? You need it.”

Her whimper hit the mic, trembling, broken. My cock jerked hard in my hand, precum slicking my fist.

I was fucking feral, syncing to her rhythm, whispering every filthy thing I’d sworn I’d never let her hear… not until she was irrevocably mine.

Her thighs trembled, toes curling against the comforter. I watched her face in the laptop feed, saw the instant she lost control — the way her mouth fell open, the way her eyes fluttered back, the way she choked on my name without even realizing it.

That was it. My princess falling apart to me, under me, because of me — even when she thought I wasn’t there.

She came with a sharp cry muffled in my hoodie, fingers working herself in fast, desperate pulses.

I stroked harder, rougher, matching the frantic roll of her hips until the coil inside me snapped.

Cum spilled hot over my fist as I jerked through it, my own groan drowned out by her moans in my ears.

The perfect fucking symphony of Ros undone on one side of the hall, and me wrecked on the other.

And then — buzz .

My phone vibrated against the desk. I barely had time to catch my breath before I saw it: a like notification from @MidnightRose.

Not GraveyardGirl93. Not the confessional mask she wore with me on the forum. No — this was her real self, the account she let the world see. She’d just dropped a heart on the very Nox Obscura video she’d come to.

Another buzz . She’d followed.

Jesus Christ. I nearly got hard again just from that.

But clarity hit sharp in the aftermath. If my phone went off every damn time she liked a post, she’d figure it out. Ros wasn’t stupid. She’d put two and two together, and then this little secret, this tether between us, would blow wide open before I was ready.

I wiped my hand clean, grabbed one of my old burner phones from the drawer, and started signing in. Nox Obscura would live there now — permanently on silent, tucked away. I’d keep the mask airtight. She’d never see how close the monster really was.

But fuck, knowing every time she touched herself to my videos, she’d drop another heart?

That was its own kind of high. That my words as StrayDog777 had pushed her there?

God, I loved it. And the way she breathed in my scent on that hoodie while she fucked herself with her fingers?

I’d never forget that moment as long as I lived.

I sat there in the afterglow, chest heaving, and all I could think about was the two masks she wore.

@MidnightRose: The glossy version she let the world see. Pretty, playful, curated — her face hidden just enough to stay mysterious, but not so much that she wasn’t still herself . Rambling in her videos about her favorite horror movies after our Wednesday night movie nights, things like that.

Then there was GraveyardGirl93. The throwaway account on a forum.

The one she thought was safe because it was anonymous.

That’s the account she used to spill her secrets.

The one where she felt safe enough to confess all her darkest cravings.

The one she dropped straight into my lap without knowing.

And me? I was everywhere.

I was StrayDog777, coaxing her out of her guilt with every carefully placed word.

I was Nox Obscura, the masked monster making her wet enough to soak the sheets in my guest room.

I was Knox, the overprotective neighbor who dragged her across the yard and forced her under my roof when her life fell apart.

Her roommate. Her safety net. Her lifeline. Her guilty pleasure. I was everything to her, and she didn’t even know it yet. Everywhere she turned, she crashed right into another version of me, and I wasn’t fucking sorry.

I pulled myself together, zipped my pants back up, and killed the monitors.

I took my bone conduction headphones off, silence ringing in their place.

On my way down the hall, I let her hear the slow creak of my bedroom door as I opened it.

I let my bare feet slap against the hardwood floor in steady, confident strides, not bothering to be quiet.

I was being loud enough to fuck with her.

Part of me hoped it would be enough to make her lie there under her my guest room sheets and wonder if I’d heard her moaning… wonder if that’s why I was up.

But I wasn’t going to bed. Not yet. I headed to the kitchen for a beer.

The cold bottle clinked against the counter as I twisted the cap off, the hiss of carbonation rising into the dark kitchen.

One long pull cooled my throat, but it didn’t cool the fire that had been boiling in my blood ever since Ros told me how her interview went today.

Sam Myers. That smug son of a bitch thought he could proposition Ros like she was some desperate girl he could leverage with a paycheck. He thought he could reduce her to a hole for him to use, while dangling her future like bait.

Not on my watch.

I stalked back down the hall, stopping at my office door just long enough to scoop my laptop off the desk. When I got back to my room, I wasn’t quiet about shutting my door, either. I wanted to make sure Ros knew I wasn’t asleep. Far from it, in fact.

I sank down onto the edge of my bed, set my beer down on the nightstand, and opened my laptop. My fingers flew over the keys, pulling up Stonewood Living’s scheduling system.

I created a calendar event that would push to everyone’s devices the second I set it.

Mandatory video call. 9:00 AM. All board members, executives, and editors are required to attend.

I’d burn that sorry motherfucker Myers down publicly and professionally. He’d choke on his own arrogance while the rest of them watched.

Ros had been humiliated today. Belittled. Put in a position she never should’ve been forced into. I couldn’t take that moment back for her, but I could make damn sure the man who caused it regretted the day he opened his mouth.

I hit confirm , drained the last of my beer, and leaned back with a savage smile.

By morning, Sam Myers wouldn’t know what hit him.