Page 7 of CTRL+ME
FIVE
BUSINESS CARD
LYLAH
She left me here.
In her house.
While she’s going to be gone for hours.
What could I get into?
Usually, I’m not one to snoop the first time I’m in someone’s house; that’s more of a second-date activity. But as I wave from the front door and watch her car disappear into the distance, my mind races. My body feels undeniably comfortable around her and in her space, despite having just met the woman. But she’s mysterious, and one thing about me, I’m a nosy bitch.
I turn around and head into her bedroom and the en suite.
That’s where the jet tub is, anyway.
I don’t move to the tub immediately. Nope, I open up her cabinets and look around at all her makeup products and what seems like a thirty-step skincare routine scattered across the counter that probably costs more than a couple of months’ rent for me. I don’t find much else that’s worth my eyeballs, so I make my way over to the walk-in closet.
A walk-in closet the size of my studio apartment, and fuck, did I hit the jackpot in here.
The whole wall in front of me is covered in lingerie sets from floor to ceiling. It’s more than I’ve ever seen in one place. Even more than those huge sex stores off the sides of the interstate.
What the fuck does she do to be able to afford all this?
Actually… why does she need this much lingerie? I don’t think one human could possibly wear this many pieces, and to my knowledge, she doesn’t even have a partner. Not that you need a partner to wear lingerie, but this amount doesn’t make sense to me if she’s single and sleeping alone.
I walk back into the bedroom with my headspinning, trying to put the pieces together of what all this means, when I see the whole setup.
A tripod beside her dresser with a huge camera on it—a professional camera.
In her bedroom.
Pointed at her bed.
No.
She can’t be…
And like she planned for me to come in here snooping, she has a business card sitting on her nightstand. I snatch it up and scan the QR code on the back faster than I’ve ever scanned anything in my life.
Then my screen is filled with everything my wet dreams are going to be replaying for the near future. I read the page name, and my jaw just about unhinges from my face.
MILKY MAMI: THE MILF YOU CAN ONLY DREAM OF
My finger scrolls instantly, clearly having a mind of its own, and my eyes soak in every picture, video, and caption. Everything on here is just little teasers, so it will pull you in to subscribe. So what do I do?
Subscribe.
Highest tier, of course.
Which means I get accessevery timeshe’s live.
What the fuck am I doing?
And why did my pussy immediately react to the thought of her being?—
