Page 137 of Seeds of Malice

Ivy: Okay.

Me: And spread those legs, my little slut. I'm watching you.

I glance at the TV.

She looks at the camera, biting her lip.

My cock throbs and my chest aches.

Fuck, I miss her.

She texts.

Ivy: I forgot you put a camera in my room.

Me: I just turned it on. Now, be my good sexy slut, and don't hold back.

She beams at the camera, pursing her lips, and slides her hand over her thigh several times, never touching her pussy but getting close.

Fucking tease.

I didn't even have to train her to do that.

Me: Turn on the video.

She obeys.

I split the screen on my TV, adding the video to the second one. I hit record, then play on the footage. My eyes dart between Ivy in her bedroom and the footage of the last two weeks.

It's a masterpiece.

I lean closer, palming my cock, breathing hard, unable to keep my eyes on one screen longer than a few seconds.

I'm lost in her the same way as the last four hours.

Ivy screams on the video, "I love being your dirty little whore, Dax. Fuck me harder."

I groan.

Clapping pulls me out of my trance and I jump up.

"Bravo!" Bobby applauds, standing in the doorway with a grin on his face.

I turn the TV off.

"Hey, why'd you end the show?" he questions, walking toward me and lighting up a joint. He takes a deep breath, holds the smoke in his lungs, then offers it to me.

I realize I haven't smoked in a week.

Ivy's kept me on a natural high.

I grab the joint and deeply inhale, letting the smoke sit in my lungs for as long as possible before I slowly exhale.

"Turn that back on," Bobby demands.

My gut dives. "No."

He raises his eyebrows. "No? What do you mean no?"

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