Legacy (Sociopath Series Book 2)(70)
I chuckle. “That would really piss him off.”
“I know, right?” She tips her head on to my shoulder. “You should spend some of yours on something ridiculous, Lee. It’s therapeutic.”
Therapeutic. Right. Which is why Rachel still sees her therapist twice a week, twelve years after Aeron assaulted her.
“I’m doing more than that,” I point out. “SilentWitn3ss is ready to go, more or less. Eventually, it’ll render his stupid news channels obsolete, and he’ll run out of all his blood money way before you spend yours. It’s like, lights, camera, f*ck you.” I snort. “And unicorns.”
“You know people are just gonna use that camera thing to make porn,” she teases.
“Is that an invitation?” I stroke my elbow along her slender ribcage, teasing and slow. “You want to try out one while we’re...?”
“Making love?”
Fucking. We’re f*cking.
“Yeah,” I mumble.
She bites her lip. “I could be persuaded.”
She might accidentally post the video on Facebook, however, and then I’d be f*cked in quite a different manner altogether. Best to host it on my laptop alone.
“Hang on then.” I drop a kiss on her shoulder before slipping off to find my bag. It sits beside a globe cocktail cabinet—some other expensive, useless trinket bought simply because she can—and I drag out my laptop, along with the latest prototype in its battered plastic case. “I just need a second to sync it up, and then…” I peer back at her from the sofa, wiggling my ass a little. When you feel stupid naked, doing something that makes you look even stupider always helps, if you’ve noticed. “Then we can see how it works.”
She blows wisps of hair from her face. “Like you didn’t already do this in your trials.”
“Different subject matter. Far less interesting if you ask me, but we can’t put porn up at expos, apparently.”
“These expos must be very dull.”
“Most profitable things are.” I flick buttons, get the app up, connect to her WiFi. The app is the newest addition; Finn, a dorm mate of mine, wrote it in like three days. Then I flick the teeny switch on the underside of the SilentWitn3ss, which is a flesh-colored tube gently tapered to sit behind the ear. “Baby, come over here.”
Rachel huffs and rolls her eyes good-naturedly, scooting across the comforter on her knees. She crosses her legs to sit beside me, and I lean in, stroking her hair up into a makeshift ponytail until I’m so close that our noses bump. There, I find her small, dark eyes with mine; there, she keeps the briefest grey flash of the tattered thing she is, not broken but snapped and hacked and chopped right down the middle. Broken is the wrong word for Rachel. It implies her hurt was accidental, that she was just a vase knocked off a window ledge by a careless cat.
“Here—hold it up, like this.” I nudge her hand with my knee, nodding until she brings it up to fist her hair. “I need to fit the camera. It’s flexible, see…you’ll hear a couple cracks while I shape it to your ear.”
“Sexy.” A small smile plays at her lips. Our voices have taken on that quiet, other-world quality; no matter what we say, there’s always tension. The candied kind.
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” The tube crackles as I position it just so for the camera to peek up without obstruction.
“So nobody notices this? Really?” She rolls her shoulders, her eyes darting sideways as if she might be able to see. “Feels like it’s poking out.”
“Depends. You don’t have to wear it covertly, but I designed it so you could, if you wanted.”
“Does it have a mic?”
“Uhuh. A real powerful one.”
“Wow.” She drops her bunched hair, letting it cloud and cup her chin, and brings her fingers to stroke the protrusion at the back of her ear. “But I mean…cops and stuff, they already have this kinda thing.”
“It’s not for cops. It’s for everyone else.” With careful fingers, I re-arrange her hair so it’s tucked away from the lens. Then I glance back at the laptop, where the app beeps softly—everything’s synced. Ready to go. “Could come in useful, right?”
“Right,” she whispers, staring at me. “It won’t, like, come off if we get a little carried away?”
“Stays on for runs.”
“Interesting.” She runs the tip of her tongue across her teeth.
“No harm in pushing it a little. Just to make sure…”
Somehow, I’m in her lap with my arms around her neck, and then I’m toppling back on to the rug as she crawls over me, her mouth warm and playful. After everything she’s been through, you wouldn’t pin Rachel as the one wearing the trousers, would you? But in moments like this, she does. And I like it. I let her. I encourage her, and all the while, my little invention records each shiver of flesh and shudder of breath.
This is the thing about girls, see. Doesn’t matter that we only finished ten minutes ago. We can go again, and again, and again…
Rough rug against my back. Hot friction between fiber and skin, oil to flame, fierce and hungry. Rachel’s tongue is wet velvet on my nipple, sliding down in a legacy of goose bumps to map the underside of my breast, and my moans are so light and sweet that they roll around the back of my throat like the ghost of a lollipop. With a shift of my knee, my leg is tucked between her smaller ones; another shift and her soft, sticky * lands on the top of my thigh. Though she holds still, I move my thigh up and down, push, push to the left a little, back down...and Rachel begins to sigh. To ride. Jagged knots of pleasure swell inside me, knitting into the sore echoes of my last orgasm until it’s all too much, too big to bear without relief, and I wriggle until I can ride her thigh too.