Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)(68)

“Hands,” he orders.

I raise them for the third time, practically tearing out my hair. I tremble and let out a small whimper.

I can’t wait anymore.

“Lo,” I cry out.

“Hold on, love,” he encourages kindly, but his eyes say something different. Hold the fuck on. He’s testing me. I know it. And I want to pass and succeed and show him that I can fight my compulsions.

I keep my eyes on his and try not to look anywhere else. It barely helps since he stares at me like he wants to be deep inside of me. God, what I’d give for that…

After another long moment he says, “Drop your hands.”

That’s all it takes.

My hands fall and slide down, feeling the wetness for the first time. I gasp and moan all at once and nearly collapse backwards onto my pillow. I need you, I want to scream. Please.

“Eyes on me, Lil.”

I prop my body on a weak elbow and try to keep my focus on him without tilting my head back, without my eyelids fluttering closed. I am so…close to being completely and utterly gone. I alternate between rubbing and sliding my fingers inside. The pressure mounts, spiking my nerves on every surface of my skin. Even though he wants me to look at him, his eyes begin to drift from mine. They lower from my breasts to my abdomen to my wrist where the screen ends.

At the same time my hips buck, he jerks forward a little. Our breathing synchronizes with our heady movements. And all of a sudden, it feels as though he’s really here. Inside of me.

He reaches up and tilts the screen down. For a mere second, he lets me see what he’s doing—his hand grips the base of his cock and runs up and down along the shaft. The camera moves back up to his face, and I’m lit on fire. I need to come. I need to release now.

His arm quickens, and my moans grow louder. I hear him groan in a deep husky breath. My body tightens, clenches and squeezes while my toes curl. The whole world rotates. I claw at the sheets with my free hand and ride the high out.

A few moments later, I flop against the bed, my elbow giving way to exhaustion and my staggered, heavy breathing. My stomach, breasts, thighs and ass are slick with sweat. God…that was incredible.

I want to feel it again.

Impulsively, my hand trails down my body and touches my tender mound. A moan escapes my lips, and I rub harder.

“Lily.” Lo’s voice fills my head. I close my eyes and slip my fingers inside.

Yes.

“Lily. Stop.”

My eyes snap open, but I keep my hand between my thighs. Gently, I prop myself up to look at the screen. In the little box to the left, I see myself sprawled on my bed in this position, but Lo only has a view of my belly button up, my legs drifting past the computer. But I suppose it’s obvious what I was doing.

I avoid his gaze. “Give me a second,” I tell him in a soft, guilty whisper. I lie down and disappear fully from his sight, the screen tilted towards my headboard, not the mattress. My fingers move once more. I need to feel it again.

“Fuck,” Lo curses. “Lily! I said stop.” I hear him. I do, but listening is so fucking hard. And a selfish, horrible part of me wants to kick the computer closed to drown out his demands. The pressure intensifies as I stand on another precipice, preparing to jump. Oh God…

“Lily, sit up so I can see you,” he orders.

I can’t. I rub faster and harder and longer. I need more. I’ve always needed more. I cry, my bony shoulders digging into the mattress, my body writhing. I want his hands to pick me up, to throw me into his chest, his muscles to meld into me. My eyes clench closed, and I imagine it all. That he’s hard against me—that he’s inside, waiting for me to come, whispering in my ear that everything is going to be okay if I just release while I’m filled with him.

Yes! I scream, my spine arching, my body prickling with a fire so hot that I can barely breathe. I hit it. Again. And then…I begin to come down. My open mouth closes, and my heartbeat slows, moving past the irregular, erratic pace and towards something I hate.

“Goddammit, Lily,” Lo snaps. “Sit the fuck up, now.”

My eyes widen in horror at what I’ve done, burning with guilty tears. Everything feels different this time. I pull my hand away and mechanically hoist my sluggish body to a sitting position. I hunch forward and hold a nearby throw blanket to my chest. “I didn’t mean…” I bite my fingernail and wipe an escaped tear. Shame crashes into me like a hundred pound wave. I can’t even look at the screen to meet Lo’s disappointed gaze.

I understand now. Why he wanted me to listen to him from the beginning. So we could avoid this. What’s even worse is beneath the festering shame and guilt, there’s a small part of me that wants to do it again. Maybe after we end the Skype conversation…no!

“Did that feel good?” he asks in a tense voice.

Which part? And why do I have to ruin everything? I stare pathetically at my hands. “Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper.

“You haven’t even looked at me yet,” he murmurs.

I inhale a strained breath and finally embrace the courage to meet his gaze. No judgment crosses his features. Instead, his amber eyes swim with empathy that I do not deserve. And I see the worry, as though I broke his heart, as though the extremity and horror of my compulsions just fully registered in his head.

“I’m sorry,” I choke. I rub my tears before they fall. “You don’t have to…” be with me. I am a monster.