Page 127 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

The shower doesn’t help despite using ice-cold water. All I’ve been able to think about since that stupid selfie–that I asked for, of course–is what Miles and Sophie are doing togetheroffof the convention floor. Miles told me they have neighboring rooms and all I can imagine is themenjoyingeach other in their downtime.

I’m not jealous, which is probably the most surprising part about the whole situation. Well, maybe a little, but only because I’d rather be there with them. Joining them. Fucking them. My skin is hot and one hand snakes down my body to find my cock, growing hard thanks to my vivid imagination.

I brace my other hand on the tile beneath the stream of water and hang my head, calling forth images ofSimonBrody Says. The way both Miles and Sophie were eager to do as I ordered. The moans Sophie made when Miles ate her sweet cunt, the whimpers whenI fucked her. The whine when Miles came deep inside her and how beautiful they both looked with my cum all over them.

Stroking myself isn’t enough and I glance up at the detachable shower head. Keeping the pressure consistent at medium strength and the water ice cold, I pull it out of the holder. Twisting it, I bring it down until the spray hits the underside of my tip and a moan escapes my lips. The cold water does the exact opposite of what I would expect and I feel the tingle all the way down in my toes. Using one hand to cup and massage my balls, I use the water as if it’s another hand. Practically stroking with the stream, I angle it up and down the bottom of my shaft and I can feel my release tugging at me.

It doesn’t take long before I explode, the jet of water altering the trajectory of my cum as it flies at the wall. Hunching over, I drop the shower head and bring my hand up to squeeze every last drop. Nothing compares to being inside Sophie, of course, but my head is a little clearer when I step out of the shower.

When I return to my computer, not only has the contact responded, but they’ve sent over an enormous file. I quickly click through so I can gain access to the information. My fingers run through my hair for what feels like the fiftieth time today just as it all finishes downloading. The file on Jesse Davis is larger than I anticipated, but only because he’s been involved inso much. He’s been written up by his superiors for aggression–I didn’t know that happened for cops–and has been investigated for his treatment of suspects during their arrests.

For some ungodly reason, though, he’s been allowed to train new officers. To mold them to his twisted sense of justice. The system is so fucking flawed, but it’s no surprise. Bad apples beget bad apples and the cycle continues.

I lose time clicking through file after file, muttering to myself and shaking my head every now and then. It’s vile, baffling that this man still has a job. When I come to the most recent information, my jaw tenses.

Jesse is on administrative leave following his mother’s sudden death. It looks like she passed at the end of July after a nasty car accident and I have to wonder when Caleb started showing up at Sophie’s front door. Either the loss sent Caleb off the deep end or he realized he has nothing to lose by going all-in, trying to get Sophie back.

Either way, he’s more dangerous than ever. I have to tell Mel. I need her help and poor Natalie is innocent in all of this.

I unlock my phone and click Mel’s contact. I can’t wait for a video call and I don’t want to send an email about this. She picks up on the third ring.

“You never call.”

“Hello, Mel. Hope you’re having a pleasant Friday.”

“You too. You never call. What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been seeing someone,” I start.

“I know.”

Of course, she does.

“Her ex is stalking her.”

Mel hums and I wait for her to speak.

“I assume adult actors face a higher number of potential stalkers than the rest of us,” she muses, speaking casually as if Sophie isn’t in danger. I frown.

“I don’t have the statistics. You don’t have an opinion on me dating a porn star?”

“She’s hardly a star.” Mel’s tone isn’t unkind. “She’s getting there though.”

Oh god. I don’t want to know the amount of research she’s done.

I stammer, trying to find words to change the subject and steer the conversation away from Sophie’s job. No fully formed words come out.

“You could have come to me the moment something happened, you know.” She sounds… hurt. Why does she sound hurt? “I would have helped.”

“You would?”

“Of course. I believe we’ve cultivated a friendship over the years, don’t you?”

“You’re still my boss,” I remind her. I suppose I do think of her more like another sister. A somewhat cold, distant sister.

“We already work in a gray area. This would at least be on the lighter side.”

I take a deep breath.

---