“Watch me,” I order the blinking red light. “Watch me c*m for you.”
And then I do. It tears through me from my center outward, white-hot, my back arched completely off the bed, both hands working me through it as I cry out his name to an empty room.
The aftershocks roll through me for a long time. My legs twitch. I lie there with my eyes closed, both hands still between my thighs, and let my heart rate come down on its own.
When I finally open my eyes, the red light is still blinking.
I pull my fingers free, then roll onto my side facing the camera. My skin is flushed and damp, but as the sweat cools, I start to shiver. I wriggle under the covers and pull them up to my chin.
“Just a reminder,” I say to the lens. “That was for me. Not for you.”
The adrenaline is already fading, replac
