He watches me a beat, probably trying to ascertain what I mean. But I don’t have to tell him because he reads it on my face. And his own face goes hard for a second before he swallows, as if dislodging too many emotions from his throat like I had to do just now. Then, “You wanna put on a show for me, baby?”
“Yes,” I admit, feeling both shame and pride prickle my skin.
He studies my face before saying, “Because you want this as much as me, don’t you?”
I nod, blushing as a quickening starts up in my belly. “Yes.”
I go to stand up then, get on his lap, dance for him like he always wanted me to. Bridge this gap between us so we can finally,finallytouch. Kiss, even. But he doesn’t let me. His grip is still as tight, and if anything he inches back a bit. Then keeping our gazes locked, he fiddles with his phone. I watch his thumb press and swipe before he says, “You’re going to stay on your knees tonight.”
As disappointing as that is, I still have to squeeze my thighs at his commanding tone. Not to mention, at the fact that he’s still holding his phone up. “Is it… Is it going?”
“Yeah,” he says.
The burn that I feel in my belly at that, on my whole body is something I’ve never felt before. It’s like there’s a spotlight on me, a big halogen light, displaying every single nerve ending and every single speck of my soul. But instead of hiding, it only makes me want to display myself more. It only makes me want to throw my shoulders back, arch my spine, show him everything that is his to see.
“Which means you tell it to the camera,” he goes on.
I swallow, trembling. “T-tell what?”
His eyes flash. “How wet you are for me.”
My breath hitches and I glance to the phone once again. “To the… camera?”
“Uh-huh. You wanna put on a show for me, don’t you?” I nod with absolute certainty, and he goes on. “You want to give me something to watch, to remember. Well, this is how you do it. You look into the camera, and you tell me all your secrets. Every single one of them. So when you’re gone, I can watch it over and over andrememberhow it was.”
Maybe I should take a stock of his words, be worried about them. Because somehow, they feel so final. They feel like bad news. Secrets. I have so many of them and no matter what, I can never ever tell him. But that’s not what’s happening here. This is something else. This is about him and me. Our connection, this crazy cosmic thing that we feel for each other. That made me watch him through his window that first time and that madehimwatchmein my green t-shirt and purple barrette years later.
I won’t let anything else come between us tonight. No parents, not even the girl he loves and the reason why we’re doing this. It’s just us.
So I do what I want to do, preen and show him more of my body, all the little dips and curves. And as my heart takes flight in my chest, I glance over to the camera. “I-I’m wet.” His fingers flex on my throat but I keep going. “I’m so,sowet right now.”
There’s a spasm in my lower belly at this, and my pussy pulses. My entire body blushes and burns with both shame and arousal. And how natural this feels. Like I’ve done this before. Like I’ve posed in front of a camera a million times before this moment, and I know exactly what to do.
I know exactly how to bite my lip, how to blink and stare at the lens and whisper all my secrets. “I’m so wet, I’m dripping,” I continue and I feel him stiffen in my periphery. “I can feel it too.”
“Feel what?” I hear him say.
I lick my lips and answer to the camera, “My p-pussy pulsing.”
“Yeah?”
I nod, digging my nails into his thighs. “And when you… put pressure on my throat and don’t let me b-breathe, I think I,”—I lick my lips again—“come a little bit.”
He does it then, flexing his grip on my throat, making it hard for me to breathe and I jerk. My thighs shake and my channel contracts so hard all I can do is flutter my eyes closed and moan.
“Like this?” he asks then.
Panting, I open my eyes and look at the camera. “Yeah.”
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“So good.”
He hums. “Yeah, you look so good too. Gasping for breath, choking under my fingers. Like I could do anything to you and you’d let me.”
“Yes, anything. You could do anything to me, whatever you want.”
He exhales sharply and squeezes my throat again. I gasp, moaning, my hands flying away from his thighs and coming to grip his wrist, his forearm. I feel his coarse hair under my palms. I feel the veins pulsing and I think about how I must look right now.
