Page 25 of The Close-Up
A slow wave of heat washes all the way up my chest, my neck, my face. I could swear I’m breathing as fast as he is. Observing Simon get so worked up is having a similar effect on me. Inside I’m tingling; between my legs, I’m aching.
I really, really shouldn’t be. I know I shouldn’t.
Because this is wrong. So, so wrong. I drew a line—I’m supposed to have a friendly and professional relationship with Simon. But that line is long gone now. I set fire to it the minute I decide to watch this video. And if I’m being honest, I’m not the least bit interested in stopping.
With wide eyes that refuse to blink, I continue to gawk. Simon’s head falls back and a hard swallow moves down his throat. His face is flushed, along with his neck and torso. His chest is pumping faster and harder, a surefire sign that he’s about to lose it.
Jaw muscles bulging and abs tensing, he lets out a grunt that echoes loudly in the room.
Having been Simon’s fangirl all throughout my twenties, I’m familiar with his O face. And I can spot his tells from a mile away. But every single time I see it, it gets me. It’s like this cocktail of giddiness and nerves. There’s something so intrusive about watching someone lose themselves to pleasure, even when they open themselves up to it—even when they want you to watch.
Now I’m holding my breath. I know what’s coming. My blood is hot as it pumps through me; my breath is fire every time I inhale. No matter how wrong it is, no matter how many rules I’ve broken in the past ninety seconds, I need to do something to relieve this full-body throb. Otherwise I’ll disintegrate.
Just as Simon starts to fall off the cliff, I hear the sharp sound of metal clanking on concrete. It’s so loud and sudden, my shoulders jerk and my gaze darts from the computer screen to the window. Like a reflex, I smack the laptop shut and stare wide-eyed at the yard.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Not this. I absolutely, most definitely don’t need to be seeing this right now.
But I am. I’m staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at shirtless Simon, clad in just a flimsy pair of gym shorts, back from his run, standing right in front of me in the backyard.
And my god, what a sight it is. From where he’s standing he can’t see me—he’s faced away and looking toward the trees, hands on his hips as his chest heaves with each breath he takes. There’s a dumbbell at his feet on the concrete patio next to the grass—probably where the harsh sound seconds ago came from.
“Fuck,” I mutter as a hot breath shoots from my lips.
This is a hell of a scenario. Seconds ago I saw Simon all sweaty and breathless while in the middle of a sexy act and now I’m seeing him all sweaty and breathless from his workout. It’s a distinction my brain doesn’t care to make. All it cares about is that I’m seeing Simon in real time, in the flesh, just feet away from where I’m sitting, making a lot of the same movements and sounds he made in that sexy camming video.
He’s just as sweaty. His skin is flushed the same shade of pink. His muscles are bulging just like they were in that video. His chest is heaving just as hard. His jaw is just as tight as it was. And my body. My poor body can’t take it.
When he bends down to pick up the dumbbell, he makes a grunting noise that lands deep in the cavewoman recesses of my brain. It’s the same sound I heard him make on camera seconds ago. And it’s the last straw for me.
I jolt up from the chair, nearly knocking it over, and scramble over to my suitcase. I dig out the vibrator Harper packed as a joke, rip off the packaging, and instead of the bed, head straight for the bathroom. I need the water to muffle the ungodly noise I’m guaranteed to make. Plugging the drain of the tub, I undress and climb in. I set the vibrator on the ledge of the tub, then slip my hand between my legs and let my fingers take over as the water level rises around me. It’s not long before I’m shaking and shuddering, gasping and yelping. I’m careful to cover my mouth with my free hand so I don’t make too much noise. I’m gone before the water level makes it to my ankles.
But I can’t stop there. That first orgasm was a quick one, something to take the edge off. Masturbating has always been a regular activity for me, but since ending things with Brody, I haven’t been in much of a feisty mood. Apparently all it takes to turn that around is a two-minute video of Simon being turned on followed by forty seconds of watching him work out shirtless in front of me.
This time when I touch myself, it’s slower, more measured—more civil. I’m not a crazed animal satisfying a carnal urge anymore. I’m slightly more human and have the mental fortitude to remind myself that I like the buildup just as much as I like the payoff. I’ve always been someone who preferred long, drawn-out sex and masturbation, so I give myself exactly that. After a few minutes and when the water starts to cover my belly as I’m lying down in the tub, I hit climax number two. This time, I let out a breathy yell. It’s quieter than the one before, and I’m glad. That means I have the energy for one more.
I go for the vibrator this time, building myself up just like I did before with gentle, teasing pressure from my hand. Minutes pass until the water makes it all the way up to my chest. Holding my breath, I kick the faucet off with my foot. My chest heaving, my eyes pressed shut, my breath ragged, I press the pink silicone against my most sensitive spot. My mouth falls open and I let out a moan to end all other moans. I quickly cover my mouth with my free hand. Thank god Simon is outside and everyone else is out of the house because even against my palm this sound is unholy. The heat builds to that unbearable point, where pleasure and frenzy combine. Inside I burn hotter and hotter until I just can’t take it—
There’s a knock at the bathroom door, and my eyes fly open.
Shit.
I think—is that Simon?
“Naomi? Are you in there?”
Yup. That’s Simon.
I try to lower the volume of my voice, but it’s too late. My body is too far gone. It doesn’t matter that my brain is sending messages to the rest of me to get myself under control and be quiet.
Because right now climax has taken hold of me. It is in control. It’s calling the shots, and it doesn’t give a flying fuck that Simon is on the other side of the door, about to hear the orgasm that’s about to claim me.
I try to loosen my grip on the vibrator, but it’s no use. It’s like my hands are acting of their own volition. My uncontrollable shout bounces off the walls of the bathroom. It’s so loud my ears ring. There’s no question that Simon can hear it too.
“Are you okay?” His voice is urgent.
All I’m able to do is yell-gasp the word “yes” as the orgasm rips through my body.
Finally my hand releases the vibrator. It lands in the cradle of my belly, but this orgasm is strong as hell. My arms and legs thrash against the tub, water splashes onto the white tile floor. The opaque shower curtain tangles against my arm so tight, the shower rings rattle against the rod up above. I don’t even have time to feel embarrassed about it. I’m caught up in the sensations, my hands gripping the tub to weather the ecstasy convulsing through me.
