Chapter Fourteen - Ixion
She stares up at me. The camera me. Challenging.
She’s been through so many emotions since she got here it shouldn’t surprise me how far she swings. But it does. Because challenging glares imply power and if there’s one thing Evangeline Rolaine isn’t, it’s powerful.
“Are you watching me?” she asks the cameras.
“Yeah,” I say through a smile. “I’m watching.”
“Because I’m about to put on a show.” She looks away, her cheeks red with… what? Shame? Embarrassment?
I don’t think I care at the moment.
Her chest rises and falls dramatically. Like she just took a deep breath of courage. And then she turns her back to the camera I’m watching through, peeks over her shoulder, and lets the towel fall down her body.
Her shape is hourglass curvy. Her legs are long and her wet hair trickles water down her spine and right over her plump, tight ass.
She’s still peeking over her shoulder when she sighs, closing her eyes. Her arms are moving and I search each camera angle trying to see what she’s doing. Her position in the room is ironically perfect. Because I don’t have a view of her front.
I think she’s playing with her tits. She might even have fingers between her legs.
The urge to speak to her through the microphone is almost overwhelming. I want to tell her to turn so I can see. I want to tell her to do other things too.
Dirty things.
Stick your fingers in your pussy, then stick them in your mouth. Suck them like you would my cock.
These thoughts make me hard and my hand wanders down to my growing dick.
She begins to pant heavily. Her eyes still closed, her arms still moving. Conveying the impression that she’s masturbating.
This… is not what I expected out of the terrified prodigy recluse.
I lean back in my chair, unbutton my jeans, pull my cock out, and join a game that can’t lead to anything but self-destruction.
I like those games though. It’s been a long time since I’ve played a proper one.
She stills for a moment, opening her eyes to stare over her shoulder at the camera.
“Keep going,” I whisper, wishing she could hear me. Wanting her to hear me. “I’m just getting started.”
But she doesn’t. It’s like she heard me, because she shakes her head, stills her hands, and then steps forward towards her suitcases.
I can see her body now, but suddenly it’s not enough. I need more. Her nakedness can’t make up for the show that just ended. My balls are as hard as my cock. They need relief.
But Evangeline, again, like she knows this, is abruptly task-oriented as she pulls her suitcases into the room, closes the door, and drags them over to the closet.
I spend the next thirty minutes frustrated as hell, watching her take garments out, hang them up, all in the nude.
I mean, what the fuck? She hates people looking at her, but she’s OK with hanging up clothes naked?
She’s taunting me, I decide. Playing a little game with me.
“Bitch,” I whisper. “You’re playing with the wrong guy today.”
For a woman who’s locked herself inside for twelve years, afraid of the most innocent of glances, she has taken to this new role of manipulative exhibitionist uncannily quick.
I hear her giggle a few times. Like she’s thinking about me sitting in this room, watching her, all frustrated at her lack of cooperation.
What the fuck? Is she like… crazy? I mean, obviously she’s crazy. She thinks eye contact is something to panic about. But is she… sick? Perverted?
I tuck my dick away and breathe through the frustration. Watch her finish hanging up her clothes, then find the outfit I chose for her.
She lays it out on the bed and looks up at the camera. “You won, I guess.”
Did I? I scoff out a laugh in my little basement room.
“Because I’m still here, right?”
Yeah.
“And I just hung up my clothes like I’m staying. So congratulations, stranger. You win. I’m gonna see this through, I guess.”
My unexpected smile is so wide, if anyone saw me, they’d call me the lunatic. All these years she’s hidden herself away. And all it took to make her face her fear was a little kink?
Maybe she’s not psycho? Maybe she’s just sexually repressed? Maybe all she needs is a good fuck?
For a second I consider going upstairs and fucking her right now. Showing myself. Jordan can shove his rules up his ass. Fuck his rules. Fuck her doctor’s orders too.
But that last one makes me stop.
She’s under the care of a doctor right now. I would be a monumental douche if I took advantage of her… condition.
She gets dressed, her game seemingly over now, because she does it quickly and efficiently. She dries her hair, puts on a little bit of makeup, and then makes her way downstairs to find her coat in the powder room, right where she left it.
She returns into view bundled up, gloved hands holding her phone, which she thrusts at the nearest camera in the hallway, and says, “Could you get me another one of these?”
I lean in to get a better look and see the telltale spiderwebs of a cracked screen.
“I promise not to call Lucinda if you do,” she says, almost too sweetly.
“Who’s Lucinda?” I ask out loud. “Her doctor?”
“I just like to have it, ya know?” she continues, sighing loudly. “There’s no landline in here.” It’s like she knows I’m wavering on this request, because she keeps going. “I’ll stay. I promise. I’ll do what you say.”
God, that makes me hard again.
“I promise.”
She stares up at the camera a little longer, then she sets the phone down on a table in the hallway, puts her sunglasses on, and walks away.
I follow her, changing camera views, as she makes her way to the ballroom where there’s a set of double doors leading out into the back garden.
I realize there’s no cameras out there. I didn’t put any in. Just… never occurred to me. And Jordan never specifically asked for them. So now she has two places she can hide from me.
Is she hiding from me?
Did she, a woman who came into the house powerless yesterday, just take control?
No. That’s not how this goes down, Miss Rolaine.
I’m the one in control here.