Garrett
Once we get back to the lake house, our parents are on the porch, my mom with a glass of rosé in her hand and my stepdad manning the grill. The aroma of charring hamburgers fills the air as Mia and I bound up the steps.
“Got yours well done, Mia,” her dad says. She peeks over his shoulder to see the crispy black edges of the last burger on the grill. I’ve eaten with Mia enough to know that if she spots even the slightest pink in her burger, she loses her mind.
“Thanks, Dad,” she says, giving him a peck on the cheek.
“That should be a crime,” I tell her. “Paul, you’re an accessory to burger murder.”
He laughs, but she rolls her eyes at me.
“I’ve been telling her the same thing since she was a kid,” Paul adds.
“You two stop picking on her,” my mother says, putting an arm around Mia, who leans into her. Seeing them together…I’m reminded of the fact that Mia was just a kid when my mother came into the picture. She tragically lost her own mother at such a young age, so she clung right onto mine when they met.
My mother had me at only eighteen, and Mia’s dad had her at thirty-two, which meant when the two forty-year-olds met and fell in love, they each brought a child into the marriage who were thirteen years apart. But I think my mother relished the opportunity to start over with another child, finally having the daughter she always wanted. After my dad left, she devoted her life to me. She rarely dated; in fact, she never had much of a social life at all. I was a full-grown adult, just as her life seemed to begin again.
And then I’m suddenly reminded that the girl my mother sees as her daughter is the same girl I saw naked yesterday and haven’t stopped picturing her naked since.
“I need a drink,” I mutter to myself as I head inside. I go straight to the fridge in the kitchen, pulling out a light beer and setting it on the counter as I fish my phone out of my pocket. I’ve only been gone for a few hours, and I’m already itching to check my work email or any text messages from the team.
There’s nothing new in my email and not a single text from anyone.
“What’s that face for?” Mia asks as she leans over the counter and watches me. With the way she’s bent forward at the hips, she’s practically pushing her breasts out.
Does she know what a tease she’s being or is she really that naive?
“Nothing,” I say, cracking open my beer. “I was just asking myself how I’m going to survive this week without doing some sort of work.”
She rounds the kitchen counter, standing right next to me before she hops up onto the surface so that now, instead of having to face her overflowing cleavage across the island, I now have a close-up view. Her knees fall apart as she leans back on her hands.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s fucking with me, teasing me on purpose just to drive me crazy.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me. Unless you’re thinking about going back,” she says playfully.
I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or serious; there’s something almost flirtatious in her demeanor that’s throwing me off. Mia has never once been the least bit flirty with me, so I assume it’s sarcasm.
But after last night, I can personally think of about a hundred things we could do to make these next seven days downright sublime.
No. Stop it.
My dick has somehow grown a brain of its own, and it doesn’t care about the multitude of reasons I should avoid thinking about Mia this way.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” I reply.
There’s a twinkle of trouble in her eye. Then she snatches the beer out of my hand and raises it to her lips. Just watching the way her throat works as she swallows the liquid down, I realize I’m in big, big trouble.
After dinner, I get myself settled in my basement bedroom. The lake house is three floors, and the finished basement is usually reserved for guests, with a large cozy living room, a private bathroom, bedroom, and a door that leads to the hot tub out back. All in all, it has me wondering why I haven’t been taking advantage of this vacation home more.
Pulling out my phone, I check my email again, but still…there’s nothing.
Then, I feel my thumb drifting toward the new camgirl app. The one I just downloaded last night.
She wouldn’t be online right now, would she? She’s somewhere upstairs, two floors up, but our parents are home. Would she really be so bold as to go live with them just two doors down?
My question is answered when I open the app and see her name at the top.
WickedKitten214 is live.
Dammit, Mia.
When I click on her livestream, the video opens up showing her on her bed again, fully clothed, thank God, and drawing something in an open journal. She’s on her stomach with her knees bent, her feet crossed, nonchalantly chatting while drawing.
“I used to want to be an artist when I was a kid,” she says. “My parents took me on a trip to Venice when I was ten, and I remember these artists on the street that could paint a whole portrait in like fifteen minutes. And I remember thinking…I want to do that when I grow up.”
Then she lifts the notebook to reveal the drawing on the page, and I let out a loud cackle when I see the horrific sketch of her cat, Betty, with a lopsided head and crooked eyes.
She giggles as she says, “But as you can see, I’m no artist. My parents put me in gymnastics instead, which was fun, I guess. I was better at that.”
I find myself reclining on the blue couch, propping my feet on the coffee table as I watch her. She has a sort of charisma that’s perfect for the camera; she’s able to keep the broadcast entertaining, without letting the moment drag on or feeling awkward. How did I never notice how charming she is?
My eye keeps tracking down to the private room request button, but it would be pretty stupid to pay four-hundred-and-fifty dollars to chat with someone that I can walk up two flights of stairs, in the same house, to see for free. But then again, I don’t make smart decisions.
I punch my finger against the button and agree to the fee again, trying not to think too much about it. It’s research, I tell myself. I need to see this through. There has to be some reason I’m suddenly finding myself attracted to a girl I’ve known for fifteen years.
Seriously, why her? Why not any of the hundreds of girls that have crossed my path in the same amount of time. Hundreds of girls that I felt nothing for. But now, for some reason, I’m drawn to this one.
Mia notices my room request again and says goodbye to her livestream crowd. Then, just like last time, the screen goes black before asking me for camera and microphone access. Both of which I decline.
“Hello again, Drake,” she says with a crooked smile. The name throws me off for a moment, before I remember that drunk Garrett gave her the name of my ladies’ man friend, Drake. Mia would love Drake. Of course, he would love her too, but probably only once or twice.
“Being shy again, I see.”
I type out my response.
I’m just here to see you.
“That’s sweet. But I liked seeing you last time.”
Maybe later. Let’s just talk today.
I watch her read my messages, a tight-lipped, curious expression on her face. I wonder what she’s thinking right now. If the mystery of the man on the other end of the line is enough to keep her interested. Does she always give these men that dimpled grin and genuine warmth she’s giving me now? Have I ever seen her look at me like this in real life?
“What would you like to talk about, Drake?”
Tell me about yourself. I like to hear you talk.
Her expression softens. “Okay…” She reclines on the bed, looking up into the camera as she cuddles against a pillow, and I lie on the couch, almost mirroring her position, as she tells me everything I already know about her. And yet, it’s like I’m hearing it for the first time.
She talks about gymnastics, her failed attempts at cosmetology school, college, bartending, singing, and then again, her artistic skills. How many times did I tease her about her lack of direction and constant failures? Why did I have to pick on her so much about it?
I don’t feel like picking on her now. Instead, I type out my response.
At least you tried.
Sometimes trying is the hardest part.
You don’t want to get to an age and realize that you missed out on something because you never gave it a shot.
She laughs. “Well, tell my family that. They probably all think I’m one huge failure.”
I’m sure they don’t.
So how did you end up here, doing this?
She shrugs. “I guess I finally found something I’m good at.”
Do you like it?
“Sometimes. I like meeting new people. I like the way they make me feel about myself. And…I like the money. So, I can’t really complain.”
Are you happy?
She reads the question and seems to deliberate for a moment, twisting her lips as she thinks about it. “Yeah. I’m happy.”
I’m not convinced. What was that look for?
Her pensive expression breaks into a smile. “Nothing. I just…wish I could connect like this in person. For some reason, it’s so much easier over the phone or in messages or even on camera. But the minute I try to feel something with anyone in real life, I put my guard up.”
My thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment. Even more than the video chat last night, this feels intimate. Mia is telling me shit she would never tell me if she knew I was the one on the line. There’s no way. It’s like I’m meeting this girl for the first time.
“What about you? I’ve talked enough about me.”
What do you want to know?
“Hmmm…what do you do for a living?”
Might as well stick with the lie. If I’m going to pretend to be Drake, then I’ll be Drake. God, this feels so fucking wrong.
Construction.
“Oh, you work with your hands then,” she replies with a flirty smile, and I hate myself for the grin that stretches across my face. “Do you have someone in your life? A spouse or significant other?”
Nope.
“Why not? A good-looking body like I saw last night. You should be out there with a real woman, not here with me.”
I guess I’m like you. I can’t connect to real people.
Her expression morphs into a pout, but not a fake one. She looks genuinely sympathetic.
“When was the last time you had a girlfriend?”
A long time, I reply.
She wouldn’t believe me if I told her how long. But I’m strangely comfortable in this chat and feel the urge to tell her more. Or everything. Maybe it’s the anonymity, but I want to spill secrets to her that my own best friend doesn’t know. And I almost do, but then I realize that this is Mia, and if she ever finds out who is on the other end of these calls, she’ll know everything about me, and I’ve worked too hard and too long to keep them hidden. Especially from her.
But there are a few things I can give her.
This probably won’t come as a surprise to you, but I prefer to watch.
Seeing her read my messages is enough to drive me wild with the way her expression changes as she reacts to each one. It’s more enjoyable than I expected it to be. Mostly because this is Mia, and I am still drunk on the idea that she can be so open and sweet.
“Well, you did more than watch last night,” she responds with a laugh. It’s more natural than the one I’ve seen on her livestreams. More the real Mia.
Yes, I did. You caught me at a weak moment.
She laughs again. “It wasn’t that hard to convince you, Drake.” The tone of the conversation grows quiet and a little serious as her eyes drift downward, away from the camera. “Do you usually watch more than you partake?”
Yes.
“Would you rather watch me…or touch me?”
Fuck. This took a turn. A good turn, but not where I was expecting it to go. Or maybe I was. Maybe this is what I’ve been trying to get out of her this entire time. More of her. More vulnerable, naked, splayed out like a meal my eyes can devour. I’m sure as fuck not turning back now.
I’d love to fucking touch you.
When her hooded eyes lift to the screen, she reads my message and bites her bottom lip. “Okay, then. Touch me,” she replies, and my brows furrow. As she reclines on the bed, adjusting the phone so it’s hovering over her—the same way I wish I was—she gently glides her fingers over the front of her body. She’s still in that bikini top and those jean shorts, and my mouth is watering with the reminder that she’s just upstairs. And any moment now, I’m going to have that view I so desperately wanted.
“Pretend my hands are yours. And tell me what to do with them,” she says in a low, sultry whisper. “Touch me, Drake.”
Fuck me. Fuck me for using my goddamn friend’s name, when all I really want is to hear her say mine.
In fact, fuck all of this. If I’m going to tell her what to do, it’s going to be my fucking voice. I quickly hit the microphone button and do my best to lower my tone and keep it at a gravelly mumble.
“Slide off your bikini top. One side at a time.”
She smiles at the camera, her cheeks turning pink at the sound of my voice. “Oh, hello there.”
“Do it,” I mutter.
Her fingers gently pull the right triangle of fabric down, revealing her soft pink nipple, the bud already taut and ready.
“Pinch your nipple. Just until it hurts. I want to hear you whimper.”
She licks her lips, her chest growing heavy as she does. Sliding her fingers over one breast at a time, she twirls the sensitive bud in between her finger and thumb, and I watch her face for the moment the pain kicks in. A high-pitched moan slips through her lips, so I know she’s reached that point.
“Keep one hand there. Let the other slide down slowly.”
My cock is leaking in my shorts as I watch her touch herself, moving at a deliciously slow pace as she drags her fingers over her belly. And when she reaches her shorts, I tell her to unbutton them. The other hand is still working on her breast, squeezing and pulling enough to keep her at the precipice of pain and anticipation.
I don’t want to touch myself this time. I just want to watch her. Focus on her pleasure. Her movements. Imagining that it is my hands on her flesh, without the distraction of my cock between us.
“Show me how wet you are,” I whisper, and I pray my voice is masked enough, but since she’s still touching herself and not running down the stairs to confront me, I’m going to assume it’s enough.
My eyes don’t leave the screen as she slips her eager hands into her shorts, and I watch her face as she makes contact with her pussy. Her mouth falls open and her eyes shut halfway. Then, she slowly pulls the hand out of her shorts, showing me the moisture coating her finger, and I let out a guttural moan.
It slips out. A little too loud and sounding a little too much like me. But she’s so distracted that she doesn’t even notice.
“Taste yourself,” I tell her, not entirely sure if that’s crossing a line or if she even will, but I’m pleasantly surprised as she moves her middle finger to her lips. Opening her sweet mouth, she presses the digit against her tongue, savoring the taste of her own arousal. Suddenly, I don’t know if I’m going to succeed at keeping my own dick out of this. It’s currently straining, so hard it hurts, and it’s fucking begging for attention.
Later.
For now, she’s my focus. Only her.
“Does that taste good, Kitten?” I ask, the sexy pet name just rolling off my tongue.
She whimpers, sucking on her finger as she nods.
“Are you wet for me?”
“Yes,” she moans.
Just as I’m about to give her more directions, an alert pops up on my screen, informing me that our hour is almost up and I’ll have to agree to another $450 dollars to continue. Fuck.
Well, maybe this is a good thing. Keep her waiting, wanting. Draw it out.
“I have to go,” I whisper. “But I want you to make yourself come after the call. Imagine it’s my fingers in your sweet cunt, okay?”
“Yes,” she replies obediently.
“Will you send me a picture of your wet pussy after you come?”
Without hesitation, she replies, “Yes.”
“That’s my good kitten.”
With that, she smiles, her cheeks flushed with arousal.
“You like it when I call you that?” I ask.
Lips parted and eyes on the screen, she nods. “Yes.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Okay,” she whispers, biting her lip again. Then the screen goes black, and I can’t get my hand around my cock fast enough. The entire time I stroke myself, I do it knowing that two floors up, she’s fucking herself too. And when I come all over my chest, I imagine that we’re coming at the same time.
