19. Chapter 19

Remember that age-old adage that parents used to tell their kids about how sitting too close to the TV screen would mess up your eyesight? It's a miracle I'm not blind, considering how close I am to my monitor right now.

The great huffs of hot air from my nostrils are practically fogging up the screen like a damn dragon.

As I watch Siren stare at herself in my bedroom mirror, my eyes narrow suspiciously.

I fucking knew it.

The sinking sensation that began in my gut after her refusal to eat all of her dinner solidifies into a solid block of cement.

I had a feeling it stemmed from some misguided notion that she was heavy, though I don't think I ever wanted to be proven wrong about something so much in my life.

Jesus Christ.

If those feelings are a direct product of her time with that bastard Gaspari, it's just another reason for me to wanna kill him if he isn't dead already.

If she had those thoughts about herself before he came along, I wanna hunt down whoever it is that made her feel shitty about herself and strangle them with their own entrails.

How can she not see that she's literally perfect in every way? Even her smartass mouth, which frequently makes me wanna stick something in it just to shut her up.

Whether that's my dick or food would depend on the situation.

I'd like to say that I never intended to watch her, but that would make me a liar.

Every area of my house is equipped with at least one camera, each feeding directly into this room.

One monitor is devoted to nothing but small boxes containing the live feeds from all over the house.

If I need to get an up-close and personal look at a particular room, I simply pull that camera's feed and enlarge it to full screen on another monitor.

On the largest monitor, which sits directly in the center, I watch as Siren looks towards the closed bedroom door, and a wave of unease prickles beneath my skin.

Not unlike goosebumps, though I'm not sure if whatever's about to happen is gonna be good or bad.

The girl is such a wild card that I never really know what to expect.

That notion isn't dispelled when she suddenly grips the waistband of her borrowed sweatpants and drops them to the floor.

I'm caught so off guard, that I nearly fall out of my chair.

Just as I'm righting myself, she grips the hem of the long t-shirt before hesitating briefly; a moment suspended in time that I have a sneaking suspicion will play on a loop in my head later.

Seeming to make her mind up, she slowly drags the shirt up, revealing inch by tantalizing inch of generous thigh.

Did I say my nose was pressed to the computer screen before? Right now, I'm so close that I'm pretty sure I'd test positive for radiation.

As the hem of the shirt rides higher to reveal the bottom of her ass, I have the briefest moment where I entertain the idea of looking away, turning the cameras off, and allowing her the privacy she deserves.

But I don't.

Call me a degenerate, but if she stays here for any length of time, she'll come to learn that there's exactly zero expectation of privacy in this house.

I have no doubt that if she ever finds out that I've got every room bugged, she'll have my balls for a change purse, and seeing as I happen to like my balls exactly where they are, I'm just not going to tell her.

My breaths are coming faster now as all hesitancy seems to leave her, and she quickly jerks the shirt over her head, kind of the same way you'd rip off a Band-Aid until she's left blissfully naked in front of my bedroom's full-length mirror.

I do actually fall out of my chair at this point.

As my forehead bangs into the monitor, the chair slides out from beneath my ass, where I've been literally sitting at the edge of my seat, and I fall flat on my back.

The momentum has the chair wheeling across the room and into the opposite wall, where it makes contact with a resounding thud.

Fuck.

This room is soundproof, but I still have the irrational fear that it's possible that Siren may have heard the noise and will come to investigate.

Quickly getting up, I drag the offending chair back over, and while muttering a good number of expletives that would've had my mama taking me to church, I reposition myself before looking back to Siren's on-screen image.

As sick as it may seem, my recent one-on-one wrestling match and subsequent loss to the office chair has done nothing to lessen the shot of arousal that took hold the second she slid those pants down her legs.

In fact, no amount of inner chastisement or the reminder that she's fresh off the heels of weeks worth of trauma can dissuade the erection that's now tenting my pants of the notion that now is not the time or place.

Taking my hand, I press the heel of my palm against the nuisance, hoping it'll take the hint and pipe down.

I snort at my own pun.

Pipe down.

I've gotta remember that for later .

Unfortunately, the only thing accomplished by my oppressive hand is a shot of electricity that goes straight to my balls, further decreasing the amount of breathing room in my pants.

It doesn't help that my eyes have returned to the monitor just in time to see Siren do a complete 360 turn in slow motion, or maybe it just seems that way because my brain has gone offline.

As she faces the mirror again, she appears to be pinching different body parts between her fingers.

What the fuck? Eyes narrowing dangerously, I watch as she seems to inspect her body from different angles for several minutes before finally dropping her arms to her sides and turning away from the mirror.

I wait for her to pick up the clothes she discarded on the floor, but, to my surprise, she doesn't.

She leaves the borrowed shirt and pants where they fell before climbing, naked, into my bed.

My bed.

Fuck, I might as well just tie a bag around my dick at this point because it's already suffocating.

My fingers itch to zoom in on that perfectly round ass but I don't.

I may be something of a voyeur, but I'm not a skeeve.

I do have some willpower.

At least until I see her chest take a deep inhale, and she turns onto her side, seemingly burying her face in my pillow.

Cocking my head to the side, I throw that willpower out the window, and with the tap of a few keys, the camera zooms in on her face.

She does indeed have her nose pressed into my pillow, and if I'm not mistaken, there's a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

As quickly as it took for her to turn from the mirror and lay her head on my pillow, her expression has morphed from one of irritation to one of … bliss? Contentment? What changed? I sit there, staring for so long that my eyes turn blurry, and I realize I haven't blinked in about a solid minute, my gaze too busy darting from one feature to another as if trying to memorize every detail.

In that vein, I zoom out a little, taking in her chest's now slow rise and fall that indicates she's already fallen asleep.

As I watch the rhythmic movements of her chest, I think back to the way she was in front of the mirror, and I realize, though she may have exuded the same type of sass earlier as the old Siren, the girl that stood before that mirror wasn't someone I recognize.

I almost feel like a shit for watching her when she had her guard down. Almost.

Sudden movement out of my peripheral vision has my senses going on red alert.

As my eyes come back from where they've been staring off into space, I relax a little when I see that it was just Siren turning over in her sleep.

That relaxation lasts for all of three seconds, which is about how long it takes my woman-addled brain to realize she's turned over onto her back, so deeply asleep that the pain of her wounds must not register.

The move has effectively kicked the comforter off the majority of her body.

Her entire torso is exposed, as is one entire leg that's bent at the knee and flung wide.

Subconsciously rubbing my hand over a mouth that's gone dryer than the Sahara, I feel my already stiff cock swell to a painful degree.

Unfortunately, the pressure of my palm does nothing to assuage the intense burst of hunger within me.

Even as I berate myself for what I'm doing, I can't tear my eyes away from the screen.

As I zoom the camera in, my gaze roams over every exposed bit of flesh I can find.

Starting with that outstretched leg that has no business being stretched that wide unless it's to fit my hips there.

It's my rotten luck that the blanket is still covering the other leg and the apex of her thighs.

Feeling very much like a little kid that's in danger of getting caught looking at porn mags by his parents, I eat up every new vantage point that the zoom feature allows.

By the time I reach her navel, I'm breaking out in a sweat, and my dick is throbbing.

Moment of truth.

Am I gonna do what's best for me and turn the cameras off? Possibly do some much-needed research on Gaspari or my father? Or am I gonna be a complete weirdo and get myself off to the digital image of this woman sleeping in my bed? Fuck it.

No one would ever consider me normal anyway.

I lean back in my chair, spreading my knees as wide as the armrests will allow.

It takes minimal effort to pull the waistband of my loose shorts down, allowing my erection the freedom it so desperately needs.

Gripping my shaft at the base, I squeeze hard, closing my eyes and counting backward from 10 in the hopes that I won't immediately spill in my own hand.

As soon as I open my eyes, I realize just how futile that action was.

Just seeing the dips and curves of Siren's bare hip and stomach have my hand involuntarily stroking upward, then back down in a hard pump.

The move has me gritting my teeth and my hips kicking upward slightly as if I'm not fucking my own fist but instead pushing my way into something warm and infinitely softer.

By the time my gaze roves over her naked breasts, my hand is moving at a steady pace that's one or two pumps shy of tipping over the edge into a frenzy.

I imagine being in that bed with her, running my tongue around her cute little belly button before dragging it upward to capture first one tight nipple, then the other, in my mouth.

I wanna torment her with my tongue until she's begging me to stop, until we're both a mass of sweaty limbs and racing hearts, so that I can taste the salt on her skin.

Running my thumb over the head of my cock, I spread the moisture leaking from the tip, using it as lubricant as my hand moves furiously up and down; all the while, my gaze never leaves the computer.

As soon as my eyes find her face, I know it's over.

I expect my attention to remain there while I finish, but inexplicably, my gaze travels back down to her side, between her ribs and her hip.

The spot I saw her pinch in the mirror earlier.

There.

That's now my favorite spot.

The place I'll grip onto while I ride her body hard.

Letting out a groan that's a mixture of ecstasy and agony, I keep sight of that spot as I give my shaft one final stroke, angling it upward, coming all over my stomach.

After a moment or two, the rigidity leaves my body, and I practically melt into the chair.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Throwing an arm over my eyes in an attempt to shut out my own self-loathing, I release another groan, this one full of frustration and … shame? Maybe.

Can I promise I won't do that again? Absolutely not.