Page 17 of The Devil's Daughter

“Yes. I’ll just watch.” I give him a dubious look, and he laughs. “I don’t plan to do what you’re thinking. I’d risk missing something.”

“Okay, if you say so. How’s this?” I set the phone on my bedside table, propped against the lamp. Then remember my charging stand. I dig into my bag and pull it out, hunt behind the table for a plug, and set the phone on the stand instead. “That’s better. Now my battery will last as long as it needs to.”

“Good thinking. Good angle too. Now just pretend I’m not here.”

“What if I want to keep talking?” I ask.

“It’s up to you. I’m muting myself, though, so you won’t hear me.”

“Okay. Wow, you really take this seriously, don’t you?” When he doesn’t respond except with a smile, I see the little “muted” microphone icon and roll my eyes. “Fine. You’re a fly on the wall, I get it.”

It’s a strange feeling, to know I’m being observed while I just do normal stuff. I start by dumping my duffel bag out on the bed and reorganizing my things; I refold my clothes, stowing them in the drawers of a large dresser across from the bed beneath a huge mirror. I hang my sundresses up in the closet, stashing my sandals and sneakers in there too. Then I carry my toiletry bag to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

I’m wetting my toothbrush when I realize the camera probably can’t see in. I debate bringing it in here, but that would probably ruin the effect. He’ll just have to live with the mystery of not being able to watch me bathe.

But I think about it the entire time I brush my teeth, to the point that curiosity takes over. Toothbrush clamped between my teeth, I step back out of the bathroom, walk toward my phone, then turn and face the bathroom door again, crouching down to see what the view looks like from Drake’s vantage.

Behind me, I hear, “The view’s fine. I don’t need to see everything.”

What Idosee is more than I thought. The toilet and sink aren’t visible, but half the glassed-in shower stall is. I don’t say anything as I walk back toward the bathroom, finish brushing my teeth, then rinse and spit.

I reach into the shower and turn the knob to hot. The side with the glass door isn’t within his line of sight, so I strip naked, then climb in, heart thudding . Water spray coats the glass, but I have no idea what might be visible from outside, only that he can likely see a silhouette of me naked at the very least.

I brace myself and close my eyes as I step beneath the spray, my entire body hotter from the awareness of being observed than from the heat of the water hitting my chest. I just stand there, breathing quickly as I step forward and turn my face up into the spray, knowing Drake very well might see more than just an outline.

I peek out the glass through slitted eyes as I turn, pulse quickening when I realize I have a crystal-clear view all the way to my phone through the wet glass.

Pretend he isn’t there. That’s what he wants.But my senses are on overdrive now, every sensation lighting me up as though he were in here with me. Is that a possibility now that we’ve started down this path? I’m indulging in his odd fantasy out of a sense of boredom, but I’m also more than curious about who Drake Stavros really is, and I have been ever since I discovered my father only enlisted his help because Drake owed him a favor.

But it isn’t as if I haven’t noticed how attractive he is, even if he comes off as completely inaccessible. Except now maybe I’ve learned the key to getting close. Is close possible? Or does he only experience pleasure and intimacy through the barrier of a screen?

I lose myself in wondering as I wash my hair and soap my body, still half-aware of being watched, but intent on following through on my personal hygiene. I’m business-like about it, though I probably go at a slightly slower pace than I might normally, drawing forth some of the dance training mom inflicted on me to guide my movements beneath the water and give him a little more of a show.

When I dip my washcloth between my legs, my flesh is engorged and sensitive, and even slicker than the water can account for. I gasp at the inadvertent pleasure of my own touch. It shocks me back to the present, and my thoughts distill down to one singular desire: to have Drake’s hands on me instead of my own.

I’m off-balance when I finally turn off the water and fumble for the towel as I step out. I take a moment seated on the closed toilet lid, just catching my breath. Every erogenous zone on my body aches right now. He can’t see me as long as I’m in this spot. I could take care of myself, and he’d be none the wiser, but something stops me.

My desire propels me out the door, towel wrapped tight around my breasts.

When I reach the screen, I’m confused, because I’m seeing the side of his… elbow?

“Were you even looking?” I ask. He moves and picks up his phone, unmuting the call as his face comes into view.

“Every beautiful second. I was casting to the TV in here, see?” He turns the camera on his phone, and I’m greeted with a larger than life image of what he sees, which is a very wet, half-naked view of me in nothing but a towel. My cheeks are pink and my eyes glassy.

“Oh. Okay then.”

“Did you need something?” he asks.

“Yeah, actually. I decided this should go both ways. I showed you mine. Now it’s your turn.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Why not? Shouldn’t I be allowed to make some rules too?”

“Sure, butbeingwatched isn’t something I’m willing to agree to.”

“How is that fair?”

---