Eventually, Han came to Victor’s room to get him for lunch with some associates Kuang wanted them to meet while they were in Shanghai. Victor was forced to close the app on the sight of an unusually laser-focused Dawn pulling out her drawing tablet.
The meal took place in a basement bar that couldn’t be found on any websites or Google Maps even. No business was discussed. Mostly Kuang’s friends told them how lucky they were to have escaped to America and how tough things had been for the Shanghai mafia since the handover.
“We used to run this town. Now we can barely run our protection rackets,” one of them lamented.
Victor did his best to appear appropriately sympathetic. But there was an engine inside of him, revving to go back to the room.
He claimed he had a bad hangover and needed to return to the hotel to lay down when Han tried to invite him to drinks at some sky bar he knew afterward. He felt terrible lying to his brother. Lying to loved ones…that was the first sign that your addiction was back.
However, those guilty thoughts disappeared in a flash when he opened the app to the sound of her whimpering.
He hated her, but that old protective instinct fired up in an instant. Someone was hurting her. Where the hell was Wayne? How had he let someone get in there to—
What Victor found on the screen stopped those thoughts cold.
The security camera app favored the camera feed with the most amount of movement. So the bedroom feed now filled up the screen.
It was after midnight there, and she had gone to bed. She wasn’t hurting. At least not in the way he had thought at first. Her hand was underneath her nightshirt, working her nipple. And the other hand was curled around the handle of an instrument that was partially embedded beneath her shorts.
He couldn’t see below the waistband, but the memory of what he’d found in her nightstand came back in a flash. Victor knew exactly what he was looking at as he watched her hips undulate against the buzzing machine between her legs. Eyes glued to the screen, he unbuckled and took himself in his hand.
Her eyes were closed. Was she thinking about him as she worked the instrument up and down? Someone else?
The idea of it being someone else made him fist himself all that much harder. He hadn’t killed the guard who’d gotten too friendly with her. But Ears was on Han’s detail now, and his brother knew better than to ever use him when meeting with Victor. Maybe that had been a mistake.
He hated that Dawn did this to him. Made him consider killing one of his men simply for accepting dinner from her. Hated that just watching her touch herself made him harder than that C-pop star ever could.
He hated it, but as she worked the vibrator between her legs, he jerked his cock. And when she came, he did too, splattering his cum across the room’s fine carpet.
Even then, he couldn’t stop watching her. Not until she put the vibrator away and fell asleep.
There was no more resisting after that. After he returned to the States, he fell into a new routine, of sorts. In the mornings, he woke up and opened his iPad to go directly to the feed of her still sleeping. He only let himself watch her for a little while in the mornings—no more than thirty minutes. Getting to watch her for longer at night was his reward for making it through another successful business day.
She wasn’t nearly as disciplined as him, and her schedule varied wildly. Sometimes he found her drawing at the kitchen table when he got in around midnight. Sometimes she was sleeping. And about once or twice a week, he caught her with the large vibrator between her legs.
He preferred that, but it didn’t matter what she did. He jerked off to her just the same. Morning and night, he fucked his hand while watching her. It was a good way to release any sexual tension before going into his business day with a clear head. That was what he told himself.
Months passed in their strange little routine. But then something strange happened in late April.
Dawn had led an extremely frugal life since securing a job. Before he stopped allowing her to shop for her own groceries, she’d use her own funds to pay for whatever she decided to buy, including her bike. And even after Wayne started purchasing all of her groceries, she insisted on paying for everything else with funds from her own bank account. Her one last bastion of pride, he supposed.
Pride wasn’t something she was allowed to have. He’d take that away from her too. Perhaps for their second anniversary, he’d decree that she was no longer allowed to work at her sad little Lower South Providence daycare.
