Page 42 of Off Camera
“Bold of you to assume this is for you.” She dances her fingers up her leg and rests them on her hip. “It could be for anyone.”
“Don’t care,” I mumble. “Just like that I get to see it.”
“Such a nice guy.” Avery pulls the lace to the side, a slow and torturous sort of hell that makes me want to rip the fabric in two and buy her a new pair. A hundred pairs, if it means I get to have her like this again. “Gosh, I like being your friend.”
“I’ve never had a friend like this. Not as beautiful as you.”
“Do you want to touch me, Reid? Or do you want to watch?” she asks.
“I think I’d like to watch,” I mumble again. The last strands of my rationality slip out of my grasp. “Please.”
And I do watch.
I watch her, a rhythm to her movements. I study the way she touches her body, the things she likes and the things she does more than once. I take mental notes of the sounds she makes, of the soft and sweet hitch in her breathing when she lifts her shirt, no bra, and massages her round tits.
I watch and I watch and Iwatch, folding my large body over her small frame so I can hear every sound, so I can talk her through it, so I can tell her how pretty she is and how much I’d like to see her come undone.
Avery kisses me when she’s close, a rough and vicious press of her mouth I swallow down, hungry formore, more,andmore. She begs me to touch her when she’s close and I do, my fingers sliding inside her and moving in the way she likes.
And when she falls, she says my name. Again and again she says it—chantsit—and some primal, possessive part of me that’s never existed before rumbles to life in my chest.
She unzips my jeans and wraps her hand around my cock when she comes down from her high, stroking up and down and coating the head with her own arousal and blinking up at me with bright eyes.
I fall too when she puts me in her mouth and sucks my cock, a goddamn headfirst plunge into some unknown territory I’ve never been before.
This is dangerous.
Stupid, probably, to think I can keep my feelings in check and touch her platonically. Casually.
But fuck, I’m going to try.
She licks her fingers clean and I drag her to my bedroom. I set her out on the sheets and grab a condom from the bedside table, one thought racing through my head when she rides me to oblivion and fucks me like the world is going to end tomorrow:
I’m in big fucking trouble.
FOURTEEN
REID
Vegas in Julyis a horrible fucking idea.
I like winter. Snow and sleet and temperatures below one hundred and ten degrees. Not this heat wave that’s taken over the western United States and making my life a literal hell.
I’m drenched in sweat by the time I get to the convention center where the conference is taking place. With traffic and an Uber driver who got lost, there’s barely any time to shower and change out of my damp shirt before I’m sprinting downstairs, joining the long line of people waiting to check in.
“Name?” drawls a bored-looking woman when I reach the front.
“Reid Duncan.” I push my glasses up my nose and shove a pen behind my ear. “DC Titans.”
She flicks through the lanyards. “There you are. Social media.”
“That’s me.”
She hums and hands me the lanyard along with a crisp sheet of white paper. “There’s a list of events. The welcome presentation and keynote speaker start in twenty minutes, and attendance is required. After that, what you decide to do is up to you.”
“Who is the keynote speaker?” I ask. “It wasn’t listed on the website. I’ve checked the schedule every day for updates and haven’t found anything.”
“Do I look like I have that information?” she asks. “It’s above my pay grade.”
