Page 29 of The Devil Wears Nada

I have closed billion-dollar deals with a steadier hand.

She comes on at midnight, and the room is different right away. Takes me a second to know why. It's quiet. No all-caps me, no Theo sweet-talking her, no Elias brooding silent at the top of the board. Just her and the little chime that says one Knight in the room.

Me.

"Well," she says, low and sexy. "Look who wanted me all to himself."

There she goes, taking control when I meant to be the one running it. That was the entire point of paying to get her alone. No queue for her attention, no sharing. This is my turn.

That plan is now shot to hell.

Goddammit, how does she do that? And why do I let her?

She takes her slip strap down, the way she always begins, looking into the camera like she can really see me, and says, "Tell me what you'd do if you were here." My mouth opens and every plan I had walks straight out of the room and into my aching, rock-hard cock.

So I tell her.

"If I were there," I say, "I'd start on my knees. I'd get you spread open with my thumbs, but I would not touch you where you want it. Not for a long time. You've spent weeks making three grown men wait. About time somebody paid you back."

She makes a low sound, and I keep going, because now that I've started, I couldn't stop if the damn building was falling down around me.

"I'd put my mouth everywhere but where you need it. The inside of your thighs. The crease of your hip. I'd bite down just hard enough to make you jump, and when you tried to grind up against my face, I'd pin your hips flat and make you take it slow, on my clock, not yours." Her breath catches. "I'd get you so wound up that smart mouth of your finally quits, and you're the one saying please. Only then would I put my tongue exactly where you want it. And I would not stop. Not when your thighs start shaking. Not when you pull my hair hard enough to hurt. Not until you come all over my face and hear me tell you what a good girl you are for it."

She whimpers, actually whimpers, and I nearly explode right there like a teenager.

"Then I'd do it again and I don't stop at one, sweetheart.” My voice has dropped into something low and mean. "I'd push two fingers into that greedy little pussy and curl them while I worked your clit with my tongue, and I'd drag a second explosion out of you before the first's even done, until there's no Diablo left in the room. Just a wet, ruined girl falling to pieces and loving it."

"Jesus," she breathes, and I watch her hand slide down her stomach and disappear. Her fingers start to move, slow and slick, right at the bottom edge of my screen. "Keep talking."

I tell her how I'd flip her onto her hands and knees and take my time from behind with one hand fisted in her hair, the other cracked flat across her ass just to watch her arch into it. I’d narrate the whole way through exactly how good she's being for me. I tell her I'd sink my cock into her slow and hold it there, buried deep, until she's the one shoving back and begging me to fuck her. I'd make her wait for that too, because that’s half the fun. I tell her that when I finally did fuck her, I'd do it hard enough to move the headboard and wake up the neighbors. I tell her I'd reach around and work her clit the whole time and feel her clench around me and I would not let her stop coming, not for a second. I tell her that when I finished, I'd pull out and spray all over her gorgeous ass, and make her feel every bit of what she does to me.

I leave nothing out, and I can hear what it's doing to her. I can actually hear how wet she is over a cheap laptop mic, the slick sound of her own fingers working faster, and it nearly takes me out at the knees.

I've got my own cock in my fist, no surprise there, and I'm past being gentle about it. I'm working it in the exact rhythm I can hear her using, thumb dragging over the head every time she circles her clit, my whole hand slick, and I tell her that too. I tell her I'm hard as a goddamn rock. That I've been leaking since I logged on. That the only reason I haven't finished already is I want to keep hearing the sounds she makes when she's close, and I'll hold on through every one of them if it kills me.

"You want the truth?" I say, my voice coarse and greedy. "I paid a genuinely stupid amount of money for one hour of you that I didn't have to split with anybody, and it was worth every dollar. I'd pay it again tomorrow, and⁠—"

I stop when I hear myself.

I don't do this. I don't say it out loud, but I don't sit up alone at night wanting anybody. I'm the one who gets wanted, always. It's been that way all my life. And here I am, leveled by a faceless woman on a laptop, telling her the truth in a voice I don't recognize as mine.

"You've gone quiet, HouseMoney," she says. It sounds almost like she's talking to a specific man and not a fake internet name. "That's not like you."

"No," I manage. "It's not."

"It's the most honest you've ever been with me," she adds.

I go cold and hot at the same time because it sounds like she knows she isn't talking to HouseMoney at all. It’s like she's looking clean through her little webcam and straight at me, Beck Cross, and is not at all surprised by what she finds there.

Then she laughs, light and easy, and tells me to finish what I started. My suspicion dies as fast as it came on because the alternative is something I am not drunk enough to deal with.

"I'm close," I tell her, and she says, "Say my name when you do," so I do.

I grind out, “Diablo,” because it's the only word I've got left, my fist tight around my cock, and that's what pushes her over her own edge.

I feel it more than I see it, and thank God for that. Her breath goes ragged at the wet, obscene rhythm of her own hand speeding up, fingers stroking back and forth, then zeroing in tight on her clit. Everything the screen gives me kicks me in the teeth, with her stomach caving in, her thighs locking around her wrist, that red mouth falling open on a beautiful cry. This isn't a show anymore. I've paid to watch enough performances to know the real thing, and this is the real thing, wrung out of her in a virtual room with nobody in it but me.

I'm right there with her. My whole body tightens, my hips lifting into my own fist, the pressure winding tighter and tighter at the base of my spine until it snaps. I come hard enough that my vision whites out, a groan torn out of me, my heart slamming like it wants out through my ribs. For a few blank seconds, there's nothing in my head, which for me is a religious experience.