Page 25 of Watch Me

The lights are off, the apartment still, and it’s a relief that Tate and Zoë aren’t sitting on the couch, catching me creeping in. The wall of windows at the back of the house lets murky, grey moonlight into the room that makes it easy to see. I walk softly around a low shelving unit to get a view of the bed, half afraid of what I might see, but there’s only one sleeping form in it—Zoë, curled up on her side, one small bare foot peeking out of the covers.

The fact that she’s alone floods me with relief. I should want my son to be home, but it’s less complicated this way. I don’t have to think about how to deal with Tate just yet.

I reach for the bluetooth speaker on the dresser and lower the volume way down, cringing as the button beeps with each touch. But if Zoë can sleep through this music at full volume, surely a few beeps won’t wake her up.

My mission complete, I turn to leave… and then hesitate. It’s too tempting to take a moment to look Zoë over as she sleeps. The thin veneer of my self-control falters and cracks, and I turn back, letting myself indulge in the illicit pleasure of standing unseen in the dark, running my eyes over the shape of her hips, the arch of her foot, the softness of her closed eyes. It’s almost like touching her, this invisible watching. My gaze is a soft, probing caress trailing tenderly over her neck and jaw, stroking the slack line of her lips, luxuriating in the intimacy of this secret examination.

It doesn’t surprise me when my cock stirs, and the electric crackle of arousal makes the hair on my arms stand. This is my kryptonite, watching unseen, so the results are predictable.

She’s more beautiful than ever like this, the worries of the world lifted from her brow, and all her stage makeup washed off. She looks as young as her twenty-two years, and it fills me with tenderness.

I tell myself it’s with well-meaning affection that I sit down on the easy chair at the foot of the bed instead of walking out of the room.

She’s young to work so hard, to be so driven. She’s the opposite of my lazy, privileged son, and for the first time, I really let myself think about what a bad match they are. She’s the kind of girl who would give herself readily over to him, throw herself into caring for him, only to be taken for granted. In fact, it’s already happened.

There’s such a beauty to her—not just the glowing skin of her cheeks or her thick, wavy hair tossed over the pillow, but in the way that she is. Her hard work, her creativity, her sense of humor, and her passion. Fucking Salomé, the strangest and most erotic stripper I’ve ever met.

I lean back in the chair, enjoying the spread of warmth through my core, and unabashedly let myself get hard.

There’s no one to see or judge, and it feels harmless even though I know exactly how wrong it is.

But I’m not touching her. I’m not doing anything worse than what I’ve already done.

I’m letting myself imagine how warm and wet her mouth would feel when one green eye opens and looks right at me, giving me a jolt of adrenaline. My pulse jackhammers under my skin.

I’m caught.

A fucking dirty old man watching her sleep. But then she closes her eye as quickly as she opened it, an almost imperceptible smile on her lips, and doesn’t move.

I stay frozen in place. Is this a game? Is she feigning sleep because she wants me to watch her?

I know I should get up, leave, walk away… but the small, knowing smile on her face has me chained to the chair. And when she sighs and gives a little feline stretch, lifting one knee over the cover so that her bare ass is exposed in the moonlight, I can’t do anything but stare.

Pervert is what Rebecca had called me once, tired of the way kink threaded through our sex life. The way I wanted to spank her or tie her up. Mild stuff, really, but I had never been able to be my true self with Rebecca because I knew she wouldn’t accept it.

She was right, even though she never knew the half of it. For as long as I can remember, my needs have been outside the norm. Maybe that’s why they feel so powerful—they rarely get fully expressed. And it’s that perversion inside of me that keeps me rooted to the spot now, my entire focus locked on my son’s girlfriend’s ass as she slides her knee upwards, tantalizing me with a shadowy glimpse of her pussy.

The scene has changed. What was a secret thrill for me alone has now become a game between us, and I don’t know if she knows the rules, or how far it will go. For now, I can only watch, my breathing shallow and my cock throbbing between my legs.

Even though it’s deliberate, her ruse of being asleep is just as much of a turn-on as when I thought I was spying on her. The same power dynamic is at play, only now, instead of being powerless, she’s serving my needs.

I tell myself that her body is nothing I haven’t seen before. Nothing that hundreds of men haven’t seen before, really. And that as long as it’s dark, and Tate’s not home, and she’s pretending to be asleep, it’s innocent enough. But when she rolls herself up onto her knees and leans back, sliding her hand between her legs and wordlessly spreading her pussy with her fingers, I have to stifle the small groan that rises in my throat.

All thoughts of what I should or should not be doing go out the window as she lifts her ass in the air and starts fingering herself. Every urge I’ve suppressed, every inappropriate thought I’ve had, comes roaring to the surface. Despite myself, I have to run a hand over the bulge in my pants, squeezing my shaft through the fabric.

I’ve already gone too far. I should never have faltered, never turned to watch her sleep, never sat down. Now I’m hard and breathless, a rhythm of need pulsing through me that demands release.

The sight of her finger stroking her clit, and the glistening velvet of her pussy spread wide for me, chokes me with an urgency I have to give in to. I pull the waistband of my pants down and free my straining erection, pure hot desire washing through me.

My breath comes in short and fast as I jerk myself, eyes fixed on her wet slit and moving finger. There’s a clenching inside of me, raw and rough, and all I can think about is grabbing her hips and thrusting my cock deep into her hole. I know I need to come, fast, before I lose all control.

And then she sucks in a high-pitched breath, and a tremor goes through her, and I’m transported right back to the VIP booth—the way she shivered, the way her cunt felt under my fingers—and suddenly I’m coming too, moaning involuntarily as my cock spasms, cum running over my fingers, my heart hammering against my rib cage, throwing my head back and gasping for air.

In a moment, it’s over. She collapses on the bed, her face turned to the side, breathing heavily and eyes still closed, and I’m sitting in the chair with my slackening member in my hands, sticky with cum. I hardly know what happened.

As if on cue, the music ends, and silence descends on the room. All I can hear is my own heart beating hard in my chest. Zoë wriggles slightly, pulls the covers over herself, and nestles into the pillow without looking at or acknowledging me.

I don’t know if I’m supposed to say or do something, but after a minute, it becomes clear that she’s continuing to pretend to be asleep. I pull my waistband back up, wipe my hand on my pant leg, stand up, and quietly slip out of the room.

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