Page 56 of Perfect Pitch

“What the fuck?” Since I wouldn’t dare watch porn on a company device, I hope like hell someone hasn’t hacked into the Hudson network. Our computer savant, Sam Akin, will lose his ever-loving mind if some teenager breached Hudson to get off.

And that’s when I realize it’s not something as basic as pornography. No, because I fucked up in the way I disconnected our call I have a front seat to witnessing the most beautiful sight in the world—a woman losing herself in a fantasy.

As I slip the slide to undo my slacks, Austyn’s fingers twist her nipples, more gently than I would. I try to imagine how they’d elongate in my mouth as I pressed them up against the roof while sucking on them. As bright as the mulberry streaks in her hair, her low moan indicates her love for nipple play when her back arches gracefully off the sheets.

That’s when her fingers coast down the flat plane of her stomach, and I choke out, “Austyn. You’re camera’s still on.”

She freezes. Her breath traps in her lungs and she gasps, “You mean you’ve been watching.”

“Just a few seconds. I swear.” I rethink it. “Okay, maybe closer to a few minutes.”

Her tongue coasts out of her mouth, wetting her lower lip. “You’re trying to kill me,” I accuse.

“I...”

“What?”

“Did you like it?” Her words are barely audible.

My voice is so low I have to place my lips on the mic for her to hear me. Unfortunately, in the position she’s in, that means her tit is practically under my lips—separated by thousands of miles and digital technology. “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.”

“All right.”

“Do you do this every time we talk?”

“Every single time.” She gives me the answer without hesitation.

I groan, “I fucking love it.”

She rolls over and her long hair covers those parts of her I want to lick and suck first. “Well, I suppose I’d better start taking care of... certain matters in the living room then. I don’t want to spoil my fun when I’m touching myself thinking about you in my bed.”

Now, it’s my skin that’s kindling with a different kind of heat. “If you do, I’m going to spank your ass.”

“I’ll probably enjoy it. Good night for real this time, Mitch.”

The little imp didn’t just admit to... fuck yes, she did.

I don’t know whether to be disappointed or grateful the screen turns black and no more sounds emerge. I dab at the beads of sweat that pop out on my skin. “I swear I’m going to have a heart attack at thirty,” I say to thin air.

Because Austyn Kensington admitted to fantasizing about me while getting herself off in the room I used to call my own. And due to this fucking last-minute jaunt of Beckett’s, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Rumors are swirling around #redemption. What does @marcohoude have planned now?

—CuTEandRich3

A few weeks later, I take a cab over to Redemption which—to my surprise—is only a few blocks away from my apartment. Following the protocol given to me by Louis Scott last night, I use the call box to be buzzed through the gates. A voice calls out, “Yeah?”

“Kensington.” I stopped questioning my need to be known by my last name. Kensington is who I should have been had my mother not been cruelly tossed aside by her one true love. For her, for my family, I’ll do our name proud. I decided this right about the same time I settled on the outfit I’m wearing—a pair of hot pink quilted leather shorts and matching jacket with black heels high enough to put me on level with any man.

Nothing else comes through the box but the heavy metal gates begin shifting. Well, here goes everything, I think with wild hilarity.

The cabbie follows my directions and takes me beneath the grand portico. I quickly throw cash at him, likely tipping him three times the bill in my nervousness, and open the door closest to the night club.

That’s when I hear a thunderclap ask incredulously, “You’re Kensington?”

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