Page 30 of Play With Me

The muscles in his lower back and ass slowly flexed and released as he rocked his hips and himself in and out of her mouth. I was transfixed—not thinking clearly at all. This is not porn; it’s not for me to watch. I willed my fingers to do the right thing. End the call. Exit the window. Close the laptop. Anything!

Will growled deeply and put his hands on either side of her head, pushing hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear tenderly. I didn’t have language for how hot it was—only the feeling of it rushing through my body. I couldn’t see her face at all, but I could tell by his eyes searching hers that she looked up at him when he whispered, “This okay, baby?” She nodded. My stomach lurched at the quiet way he checked in, even when he was gearing up to face-fuck her.

I didn’t feel like analyzing the combination of misery and desire that twisted inside me. I’d sucked a lot of dick, but I’d never had sex like that before.

That could’ve been me.

He slid his fingers into her hair as he moved her head back and forth over his cock. Nathalie hummed her approval, and I felt the sound resonate in the back of my throat. Her hands had moved to her own clothed breasts, and she made soft noises of pleasure while I bit back my own.

“You can take more, Nathalie. Swallow it down and breathe through your nose,” he said, one of his hands wrapping around the base of her jaw—like he wanted to feel when she did. My face flushed at the respectful way he used her name alongside his filthy words. Admiration, not degradation. He wanted her to feel powerful, even on her knees. “You’re such a good girl. Your lips look so pretty around my cock.”

I shifted in my bed, and the movement or the sound of my sheets rasping against each other caught Will’s attention. I froze when he glanced around the room with hooded eyes. Hasan’s screen must have gone to sleep because he didn’t notice me.

Still gripping her head and pumping in and out of her mouth, harder now, he closed his eyes with a crooked smile and dragged his tongue across his bottom lip. Instead of taking the opportunity to think about what I was doing, I leaned forward as if it would let me see more of his body in the moonlit room. My face appeared in the picture-in-picture self-view, and I looked markedly like I was the one getting my dick sucked.

“You look gorgeous, Nathalie. I can’t wait to lick your pussy until you come on my tongue. Like I’m gonna come down your throat.”

Jesus. I bit down on my lip, but the tiniest whimper slipped out. Will’s head snapped toward me, and I watched the orgasm hit his beautiful face almost instantaneously. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he growled through it, tugging her hair back to expose her neck. I closed my eyes, imagining his cum dripping down my chin.

I was shook. Beyond turned on and even more ashamed. Like a man’s post-nut clarity can come with regret, my clarity post-Will’s-nut was that I was a fucking disaster. What was I thinking? I spied on them!

Will put his back to the camera and pulled his jeans up over his ass before lowering down to kiss her swollen lips and cheeks and eyebrow. He whispered words of praise to her and gathered her into his arms. A hollow weight settled in my chest.

His broad shoulders blocked her completely from view as he lifted and set her on his bed. He squeezed her calf affectionately before he turned around and looked directly at the camera, brows low.

Oh God, could he see me? No no no no no.

He wiped a hand down his face, exasperation evident, and slammed Hasan’s laptop closed.

Fucking fuck! What have I done?

I had lost track of time completely. I didn’t know if it was Monday or Thursday or daytime at all. My studio was located in the basement of a converted industrial building in Hunts Point. It wasn’t cute or comfortable, but it was cheap and had a pretty legit lock on the main entrance, so I felt like the luckiest bitch in the land.

If someone had asked me a few weeks ago if I was excited to move to Boston, I’d have told them I’m a New Yorker through and through and to go fuck themselves. While that would always be the truth sung from my soul, I had developed an itch. Not a gross one, but that itchy, restless feeling in my spine, an ache. I missed Hasan and needed him. My moral compass was spinning out of control.

This was why I was one hundred percent focused on completing these godforsaken lampshades and not thinking about pesky things like Will’s face when he came or how long my phone had been dead. I only charged it enough to bulk order Thai food every couple of days. I curled up in a sleeping bag whenever I got tired.

“This okay, baby?”

The other artists who shared this space kept asking me, “What happened?” like I knew what the hell they were talking about. After the fourth or fifth time, a sculpture artist I’d fervently wished was gay for years put his hand on my shoulder while I was balls deep in cutwork.

“Can I call someone for you?” he asked, obviously trying not to sound patronizing while still being patronizing.

The unexpected hand-skin on my back-skin injected piping hot adrenaline directly into my heart, and for one gasping moment, I was Neo being forcibly unplugged from the Matrix.

Goddammnit, Terrence! Maybe one does not give one a jump scare when one is hand-carving geometric designs on one’s twenty-ninth leather-hard, thirty-inch-diameter, bowl! Maybe one could expect a more hinged response if one had kept one’s hands to oneself, you dick!

“I don’t even have anybody to call anymore, Terr!” I’d said, laughing a bit hysterically, and spinning around on my stool, arms out wide. “I love New York!”

I guess it was possible he’d been standing behind me for three straight hours waiting for an opportunity to interrupt without my noticing—wouldn’t be the first time. It wasn’t possible that he was genuinely worried. He’d always been a douche.

Although.

He had caught me washing my hair in the emergency eyewash station earlier, with my old Shock Jocks on because—Surprise!—the hand soap at the eyewash station is not tear-free. And maybe I had shared a few lonely meals with the new-age Neolithic bust he’d been working on.

Okay. Fine. I’d send him an apology fruit basket.

I was still spinning on my stool when the giant, metal door to the studio flew the fuck open and hit the wall with a crash.