She padded barefoot toward the bedroom, her hips swaying just enough to make it obvious she knew I was watching. “We film in the living room. Lighting’s better.”
“So now you a director?”
“Today, I am,” she said, returning with the old-school camcorder.
I flopped down on the couch while she fiddled with the lens. “Remind me again why we’re doing this?”
She glanced over her shoulder, biting her lip like she held back a grin. “Because you said I couldn’t outdo that shitty Italian porn.”
“I said no such thing.”
She set the camcorder down. “Youimpliedit.”
She pulled her hair into a messy bun, then tugged it loose again with a groan before heading to the bathroom.
“Okay, no, I hate that. I’m doing a ponytail.”
“Of course you are,” I rolled my eyes.
I wanted to get started already.
When she emerged from the bathroom with her hair in a ponytail and the Catwoman mask in hand, I nearly swallowed my tongue. She’d changed into a black crop top that clung to her and black lace panties that barely deserved the name. She didn’t even like black, so I knew this was all for me.
I sat up straighter. “Jesus. Are you trying to kill me?”
She just laughed sweetly and tossed me the Ghostface mask. “Now get dressed. And put the condom on.”
I changed into black sweats, the condom, and nothing else. The mask was dangling from my fingers when I re-entered the room.
“So how’s this gonna work?” I asked.
Carmen adjusted the camcorder, peering through the viewfinder with focus. “We hit record. We stay in frame. You don’t look at the camera too much.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
She pointed at the couch. “Sit.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She slid her mask on, hit record, and crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. When she stood between my knees, she bent at the waist, lowering her face to mine. The mask hid her eyes, but I couldfeelher staring.
“Still think I can’t do better?” she asked, voice low and wicked.
I shook my head slowly. She climbed into my lap and straddled me, her fingers sliding the mask on halfway.
And then she kissed me.
Carmen rolled her hips once in my lap—slow and controlled—just enough to make me groan under my breath. Her mask tilted down slightly, and she licked her bottom lip with infuriating patience.
“You ready?” she asked, her voice coated in mischief.
I nodded, already too hard and strung too tight to give her the sarcasm I normally would’ve tossed out by now.
She grabbed the Ghostface mask from where it rested around my head and pulled it up over my face fully, adjusting it so it sat just right. Her fingers ghosted across my jaw before trailing down my chest.
With that, she rose up just enough to slide out of her panties and toss them somewhere over her shoulder. She kept the crop top on and straddled me again, knees pressing into the sides of my thighs.
I couldn’t touch her. Not yet. She wanted control tonight, and something about watching her take it was sexier than anything I could’ve come up with.
