The room’s thick with friction—gear clinking, boots scuffing against tile. They talk in clipped sentences, eyes sharp, scanning maps and data streams the way we always do at briefings.
Final checks. Final breath. No room for doubt now.
Talia cuts in—again—reiterating the plan like we haven’t all memorised it by now. “It’s a waiting game,” she says, voice cool and clipped. “Word is, they’ll make a move within the nextforty-eight hours. We’re just holding for final confirmation from the last whistleblower.”
While she drills through protocol one more time, I flick open my laptop, eyes scanning the perimeter feeds on another routine sweep. Motion trackers, thermal scans, camera loops… all clear.
Until something blinks into frame.
And suddenly, this becomes something that definitely is not a standard sweep.
Are you kidding me? In the middle of the day? With a house full of people two rooms over?
I blink twice, just to be sure I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. Yep. No mistake.
I’d almost feel bad for how badly she’s bottling that frustration—if she hadn’t absolutely brought it on herself.
Some people weaponise silence. She’s out here weaponising denial.
I glance around—quick and practiced with a poker face I’m very proud of—making sure no one else can see what’s unfolding on the screen. The way her body moves around that soft black toy, how she arches into pleasure like she’s starving for it.
That’s for my eyes only.
Not that she knows. Christ, if she ever found out… I don’t even want to imagine what she’d say. What she’dthink.
But I can’t look away.
I’m locked in—mesmerised—as she writhes, bliss pulling at every muscle in her body. She’s intoxicating. A little demon in silk skin, here to undo me cell by cell.
I shift the laptop farther onto my lap, concealing the evidence of exactly what she’s doing to me without even trying.
Out of all the goddamn times to do this, now?
Unreal.
But I’m not turning it off. Not a chance. She’s got me. Front-row seat with no escape.
Talia’s voice drones on in the background, strategy and risks and recon codes—but it’s all static to me now. I’m too far gone.
This breaks every rule I set for myself.
And yet here I am.
Watching.Wanting.
Falling harder for the one girl I swore I wouldn’t touch.
I zoom in, detail by detail—her body framed like a masterpiece I’ve got no right to study, each movement burning deeper into me. This is punishment. A lesson in denial I keep forcing on myself like I deserve the ache.
The things I want to do to her… they border on sacrilegious. Twisted cravings I haven’t felt in years—buried urges clawing their way back up with her at the centre of all of it.
And the worst part?
She might not even run.
She watched what I did to Adam. To his little sidekick. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t fold. Just stared like she understood me. Maybe she wouldn’t run from the things I’d do to her.
Maybe she’d beg for them.
