Page 60 of Before Now

“Eyes on me,” he commands, and mine flutter open, connecting with the screen. “Keep them right fucking here. They’re mine. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck yourself for me, baby. Hard and deep like I’d fuck you right now.”

I swear, the voice and words are enough. The visual of him fucking his hand almost makes it too much.

My fingers drift lower, to my dripping entrance. I push two inside, and I immediately clench around them when Foster groans, the sound pure lust.

“More,” he says. “Show me how your cunt will look stretched around me.”

I withdraw, adding a third before driving back in. It fills me, but he’d still fill me more. My hips lift to grind against my palm while I thrust, obsessed with the way Foster’s watching. He jerks his dick faster, and I match his pace.

“God, I want it to be you inside me,” I admit.

I want him touching me. His hands and lips and tongue.

His eyes flick up to the mirror from under his mask—the sensation of him staring straight into mine a lash of pleasure all on its own. “You have no goddamn idea.” Then he looks down to see me about to break into pieces on my bedroom floor, fingers pumping hard and deep like he told me. “You gonna come for me?”

I dig my teeth into my bottom lip, barely capable of nodding. The pleasure is twisting along the edges, so close but a breath out of reach. Part of me wants it to stay there and leave me at the precipice so I can stay lost in my favorite escape. In him.

“Foster.” And then because it feels so fucking right, I repeat it twice more.

He all but growls, “Come, Remi.”

I bite back a cry as the climax slams into me, like he jerked it by the leash. My legs shake, heavy-lidded gaze staying on him through the quiet moans.

“Fuck, I need that on my cock,” he says while my pussy continues to pulse around my fingers. He tips his head back, and his abs tighten. “Shit.Fuck.”

He works his fist up and down his shaft faster until he groans, cum shooting out as he finds his release. Muscles rippling, lips parted, his hard chest heaving.

Foster said I was a beautiful thing, but he’s a work of art. Watching him is its own brand of pleasure.

We’re both panting when he gives one last slow stroke. I can still feel my orgasm lazily sinking into my bones. No one in the actual flesh has made me come so hard. Left me so utterly wrecked.

And he never even touched me.

I slide my fingers out and drop onto the plush carpet beside me. Foster must fall backward onto his bed because my view goes from his incredible body to the ceiling. Fair, since I’m giving him the floor and a dresser.

“Eyes,” he says before flipping his camera around.

His appear on my phone, still through the mask. Up close, I can finally tell the color’s an icy pale blue, darker around the edge. They fit the rest of him—unfair in how they captivate me.

I smile and bring the pillow with me onto my own bed. I flop down and switch modes on my phone, showing him the same. With the red light and sharp shadows, the bruising is lost in the silver and teal and black that swirls around my eyes.

He sighs, his gaze flitting over the screen, like he’s studying me. Memorizing.

It feels almost more intimate, looking at only his eyes and the sea of black surrounding them.

“You were wrong,” I tell him, lying naked aside from the arm warmers. “This was a worse idea.”

“Hmm, was it now?” I can hear the smirk.

I nod, study, memorize. “Nothing like this is ever happening again.”

Foster chuckles—staring right at me. “Whatever you say, my beautiful liar.”

17

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