Page 72 of Voyeur
Staring at the ceiling, I tried to focus. I tried to make my body move in ways that made me appear turned on, like I was on the verge of an orgasm as I worked my hand between my legs.
What would Callum think?
I let out a soft moan, hoping the sound would hold me in the moment and not take me to Callum. I couldn’t think about him when I was doing my job. And that’s exactly what this was. A job. He had to understand that.
It wasn’t like we were exclusive or anything, or had any claim on each other, but no matter how hard I tried to remind myself, my chest ached thinking about him. He already knew this about me.
He never outright said how much he hated it, but he’d stopped coming to the club. I could hear the irritation in his voice every time I mentioned work.
Instead of climaxing like I should’ve been doing, I was struggling to focus.
I forced my moans louder, writhing my hips harder, moving my hand faster, and then I tensed, faking the orgasm. I just needed it to end.1
After the light finally turned red, I lay there on the bed, feeling the weight growing heavier and heavier as I tried to picture myself from Callum’s eyes.
And for the first time since working there, I felt true shame.
It followed me out of the room. It hung over me as I removed my name from any more performances. There was no way I could be anything but sullen right then. After I managed to plaster on a fake smile and serve customers for the rest of my shift, I sat in the employee lounge, putting on my canvas tennis shoes when Jackson came strolling in.
“Please stay a little longer and agree to a sex scene with me,” he asked, giving me his best puppy dog eyes. I almost laughed because he knew they didn’t affect me.
With a heavy sigh, I shook my head and looked down to tie my shoe. “I can’t, Jackson.”
“Why not?”
Why not?
Callum. That was why. Not even the extra bill for my car repair hanging over my head was enough to outweigh Callum. I couldn’t stop thinking about him and what he thought of me. I couldn’t decide if I was wrong or right to turn down such good money for my teacher, someone who hadn’t said anything about commitment and being serious. It felt serious. God, it felt huge, sinking into my bones, making them feel too big and my skin tight. But maybe it was just me. How did I know if he felt the same?2
Here I was turning down good money based on what he may or may not have thought of me. Maybe I was just a student he was enjoying easy access to.
No. I knew that wasn’t it. I knew Callum enough to know he at least felt something. Frankly, I felt enough on my own to not want to perform a sex scene with Jackson. Even if it would have only been pretending.
“I’m. . .” How did I explain without encouraging more questions? “I’m seeing someone.”
“What?” he asked loudly, moving to sit next to me. “How have I not known? Is it serious? Is it new? Does he know you work here?”
I chuckled at his rapid-fire questions. “Yes, he knows I work here.” I answered the simplest question avoiding the others.
His eyebrows rose. “And?”
“And it just feels wrong now,” I admitted.
“Oaklyn,” he began. I looked up and found pitying eyes. “We need the money. It’s not about the sexual acts. That’s about the bottom line for things.”
“I know.”
“This is why I avoid relationships. I don’t have the financials to give up working here because someone doesn’t like it.”
“You wouldn’t take Jake3up on a relationship if he came calling?” I asked with one eyebrow raised, daring him to say he wouldn’t.
“That’s…that’s pointless to even think about.” His fists clenched and unclenched before he changed the subject. “So, tell me about this guy.”
“He’s great. Really kind and smart. So freaking hot.” I smiled just thinking about him.
“Where’d you meet?”
The smile dropped just as fast as it came, and I looked away, scrambling for an answer or deflection. “I, um. I can’t say.”
