by Ophelia Bell
“Fair enough. In which case, I’m more than ready to get the hell out of here. The only room not being watched is the rear stairwell, where I’m making this call from. This stairwell is probably how they gained access, which means it’s probably someone on your security staff. Once we identify them, we’ll do a purge and hire new people.”
He flips the view so we see the stark concrete and painted steel rails of my rear stairwell.
“You’ll want to check former staff too,” I say. “Your predecessor, Curtis Hagler, left rather abruptly. Not sure if this is related, but Curt would have had access. We’ll talk about it more when you get here. Take care. Make sure Chef feeds you—we left quite a bit of food behind.”
“Trust me, I was on that the second you guys left. Thanks for not letting me go hungry! I will see you three tomorrow, first thing. Let me talk to Ben a sec before you hang up.”
Ben reaches for the phone and taps the screen to kill the video and the speaker, then stands and walks toward the afterdeck with the phone to his ear.
“The cameras in your apartment… that wouldn’t have anything to do with your, um, thing… would they?” Elle asks.
“My thing?” I ask, one eyebrow lifted.
Her cheeks darken, but she doesn’t respond, because the yacht’s chef sets a long board with a trio of gourmet flatbread pizzas down in the center of the table in front of us. My stomach growls when the aroma of fresh cheese and basil hits my nostrils.
Her gaze follows him as he disappears back through the door toward the kitchen. Then she leans closer. “You like to watch, evidently even when I’m just working.”
The secretive smile she gives me suggests she’s pleased by this development, and it occurs to me that if I want to keep her from digging deeper into my secrets, I need to keep her hooked on something I can actually control. But I still need to set the record straight.
“I told you, I wasn’t watching you, just a mirror of your laptop screen. If you’d been playing solitaire, that’s all I would’ve seen. All I cared about was seeing your progress with the auditing software, Elle. I promise. It’s…” I let out an amused snort. “Therapeutic, I guess? To watch you work. It isn’t about a kink. You’re pretty brilliant, you know.”
“But the video was more than therapeutic, wasn’t it?”
I give a slight head shake as I reach for a slice of pizza, picking up her plate to serve her first, then filling my own. “It was unexpected. A rather pleasant distraction, despite the circumstances. Which is why I want to repeat the experience in a more controlled setting. Make sure you were on board with the idea.”
“Do you always approach your fetishes so formally?” she asks.
I frown at my plate, stomach too tangled with a confusion of feelings to remember being hungry. She’s far too astute for her own good, and I’m not quite sure how to respond, but I’ve already shared this particular secret with her, so I need to offer some explanation.
“Elle… this isn’t something I’m proud of wanting. It’s a complicated desire, and if I let down my guard, it can get out of hand. I have to set rules to make sure that doesn’t happen, one of which is that you will always know when I’m watching you. Hell, I won’t even fantasize about you unless I know you’d like being the object of those fantasies.”
“How do the rules not apply to watching me work?” she asks, peeling a layer of cheese off her pizza and nibbling at it.
“I already apologized for that. I let down my guard, let myself give into an urge thinking it was different. I’m sorry for that.”
“It’s okay, now that I know. I kind of like the idea. So, do you have any requests? For later, I mean.”
My mind immediately goes to the striptease from earlier, but I shake my head. “Whatever feels natural.”
Heavy footsteps tread back and Ben approaches, scowling with his phone still to his ear. He’s shaking his head. “Leave it alone, hermano. I don’t need your goddamn help.” Then he jabs at his screen and tosses the phone to the table before sitting down with a huff. He’s the volatile twin, which my sore face can attest to, but his temper is every bit as intriguing to me as Elle’s.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Just Baz being Baz. He’s not used to being alone. Pussy’s afraid of the dark.” He smirks and darts a look at me before reaching to load his plate up with food. I narrow my eyes, sensing a bit of projection through the bravado, because his excuse doesn’t jive with the bit of conversation I overheard.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I slide my chair back to check it. There’s a text from Baz: Call me on the DL. Need to talk about Ben.
Okay, that’s odd. I slip the phone back into my pocket and finish eating, then excuse myself, too curious to wait any longer. “I need to go make a call.”
I head out to the afterdeck and lean against the rail, facing Ben and Elle. I’m far enough that they can’t overhear before I dial. Baz picks up on the first ring.
“Thanks for calling.”
“No problem. What’s up?”
He sighs. “It’s probably nothing, but Ben and I haven’t spent this much time apart in… well, ever. I’m worried the change is going to have an adverse effect. He doesn’t want Elle to know, and you’re the only other person I can ask to keep an eye on him tonight.”
I straighten up and stare more pointedly at Ben. He’s grinning at Elle as if he just made a clever joke. She tosses a piece of crust at him, then laughs, the sound carrying through the open slider out to the deck where I stand.
After being an outside observer to the trio’s friendship, it feels strange to find things slowly shifting. A deeper connection feels like it’s starting to grow—one which might allow me to be an active participant, rather than just someone watching from the sidelines. Not that I don’t love watching, but like I told Elle earlier, there are rules, and I don’t like to watch without the watchee being aware, giving consent. And there’s only so long I can lurk around the edges of their bubble before they start to notice what a fucking creep I am.
“Keep an eye on him how? And more importantly, why?”
“Don’t let on that you know, but Ben suffers from PTSD. He has night terrors when he’s stressed, and this shit today is pretty stressful. They’ve been bad since Toni was taken, and haven’t gotten better now that she’s home—if anything, they’re getting worse, probably because he’s worried about Elle. And this shit isn’t likely to help.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“Nah, you wouldn’t. It’s why we picked rooms at your place that are as far from yours as possible. We didn’t want to worry about him waking the whole place up when he loses his shit in the middle of the night.”
“Is he getting help?” I ask, moving to one of the comfortable cushioned benches lining the rail on one side. A gas-powered fireplace kicks on across from me, the heat cutting through the evening chill, though I barely notice it until the warmth cascades over me.
“That’s a can of worms I don’t think he’s ready to open. Just keep an eye on him, okay? If he freaks out, just be there. Let him know he’s not alone.”
“You know, I’m pretty sure Elle would understand. She’s probably better equipped to help him than I am. To comfort him, if that’s what he needs.”
“It’s a pride thing,” Baz says wearily. “Especially in our family, you just don’t let on that you have a weakness, or it’s the end of the fucking world. But I think you can help him in a way Elle and I can’t. Just be there for him, okay?”
I’m not sure what he means exactly, but I agree to keep my eyes and ears open tonight, then hang up and stand.
Elle and Ben go silent when I return to the table and meet Ben’s gaze. There’s a cautious, expectant look in his eyes, as if he might know who was on the other end of the call just now. I suppress the urge to reach out and offer him comfort; we’re not at a place yet where it’d be accepted, much less welcome. Giving such comfort to others is hard enough, but I’ve come to
care for all three of them, and I didn’t realize until the last few days that I even had it in me to want to offer more than a roof and state-of-the-art security.
Though that last part failed them, so I’d probably suck at the other part too.
8
Elle
The weary contentment in my limbs is no antidote for the buzz of anticipation when I get back to my cabin after dinner. The first thing I do is tap the screen on my phone to make the video call to Drake. He picks up, a slight smile on his handsome face. Deep purple splotches color the hollows beneath his eyes, more prominent on the small screen than they were at dinner.
“How’s your nose?” I ask.
He reaches up and squeezes the bridge. “Not broken, just sore. At least I have an excuse to avoid meetings for a little while.”
I settle on the end of my bed. “Ben shouldn’t have punched you. If it makes you feel better, he means well.”
“I got that message loud and clear, but I don’t deny I probably earned this.”
“Oh? What did you do? I completely missed it.”
He clears his throat, his gaze darkening and slipping down, though I know he can’t see much lower than my neck. “You were in barely any clothes. Pretty sure those panties you were wearing have their own gravitational pull.”
My insides heat and I lift an eyebrow. “My panties, or my ass?”
“Both.” His voice is rough, and he clears his throat. “This isn’t meant to be a conversation. Remember what we talked about?”
I’m a little disappointed that he’s cutting our exchange short, but I nod. “What do you want me to do?”
“Set the phone somewhere with a good view of your room. Then just… do whatever you feel like doing.”
“And you’ll just watch? That’s all?”
“Yes. I’ll just watch.” I give him a dubious look, and he laughs. “I don’t plan to do what you’re thinking. I’d risk missing something.”
“Okay, if you say so. How’s this?” I set the phone on my bedside table, propped against the lamp. Then remember my charging stand. I dig into my bag and pull it out, hunt behind the table for a plug, and set the phone on the stand instead. “That’s better. Now my battery will last as long as it needs to.”
“Good thinking. Good angle too. Now just pretend I’m not here.”
“What if I want to keep talking?” I ask.
“It’s up to you. I’m muting myself, though, so you won’t hear me.”
“Okay. Wow, you really take this seriously, don’t you?” When he doesn’t respond except with a smile, I see the little “muted” microphone icon and roll my eyes. “Fine. You’re a fly on the wall, I get it.”
It’s a strange feeling, to know I’m being observed while I just do normal stuff. I start by dumping my duffel bag out on the bed and reorganizing my things; I refold my clothes, stowing them in the drawers of a large dresser across from the bed beneath a huge mirror. I hang my sundresses up in the closet, stashing my sandals and sneakers in there too. Then I carry my toiletry bag to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
I’m wetting my toothbrush when I realize the camera probably can’t see in. I debate bringing it in here, but that would probably ruin the effect. He’ll just have to live with the mystery of not being able to watch me bathe.
But I think about it the entire time I brush my teeth, to the point that curiosity takes over. Toothbrush clamped between my teeth, I step back out of the bathroom, walk toward my phone, then turn and face the bathroom door again, crouching down to see what the view looks like from Drake’s vantage.
Behind me, I hear, “The view’s fine. I don’t need to see everything.”
What I do see is more than I thought. The toilet and sink aren’t visible, but half the glassed-in shower stall is. I don’t say anything as I walk back toward the bathroom, finish brushing my teeth, then rinse and spit.
I reach into the shower and turn the knob to hot. The side with the glass door isn’t within his line of sight, so I strip naked, then climb in, heart thudding . Water spray coats the glass, but I have no idea what might be visible from outside, only that he can likely see a silhouette of me naked at the very least.
I brace myself and close my eyes as I step beneath the spray, my entire body hotter from the awareness of being observed than from the heat of the water hitting my chest. I just stand there, breathing quickly as I step forward and turn my face up into the spray, knowing Drake very well might see more than just an outline.
I peek out the glass through slitted eyes as I turn, pulse quickening when I realize I have a crystal-clear view all the way to my phone through the wet glass.
Pretend he isn’t there. That’s what he wants. But my senses are on overdrive now, every sensation lighting me up as though he were in here with me. Is that a possibility now that we’ve started down this path? I’m indulging in his odd fantasy out of a sense of boredom, but I’m also more than curious about who Drake Stavros really is, and I have been ever since I discovered my father only enlisted his help because Drake owed him a favor.
But it isn’t as if I haven’t noticed how attractive he is, even if he comes off as completely inaccessible. Except now maybe I’ve learned the key to getting close. Is close possible? Or does he only experience pleasure and intimacy through the barrier of a screen?
I lose myself in wondering as I wash my hair and soap my body, still half-aware of being watched, but intent on following through on my personal hygiene. I’m business-like about it, though I probably go at a slightly slower pace than I might normally, drawing forth some of the dance training mom inflicted on me to guide my movements beneath the water and give him a little more of a show.
When I dip my washcloth between my legs, my flesh is engorged and sensitive, and even slicker than the water can account for. I gasp at the inadvertent pleasure of my own touch. It shocks me back to the present, and my thoughts distill down to one singular desire: to have Drake’s hands on me instead of my own.
I’m off-balance when I finally turn off the water and fumble for the towel as I step out. I take a moment seated on the closed toilet lid, just catching my breath. Every erogenous zone on my body aches right now. He can’t see me as long as I’m in this spot. I could take care of myself, and he’d be none the wiser, but something stops me.
My desire propels me out the door, towel wrapped tight around my breasts.
When I reach the screen, I’m confused, because I’m seeing the side of his… elbow?
“Were you even looking?” I ask. He moves and picks up his phone, unmuting the call as his face comes into view.
“Every beautiful second. I was casting to the TV in here, see?” He turns the camera on his phone, and I’m greeted with a larger than life image of what he sees, which is a very wet, half-naked view of me in nothing but a towel. My cheeks are pink and my eyes glassy.
“Oh. Okay then.”
“Did you need something?” he asks.
“Yeah, actually. I decided this should go both ways. I showed you mine. Now it’s your turn.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Why not? Shouldn’t I be allowed to make some rules too?”
“Sure, but being watched isn’t something I’m willing to agree to.”
“How is that fair?”
His lips press tight and his nostrils flare. “It’s a hard limit, Elle. No.”
I blink at him, his use of the phrase “hard limit” reminding me that this is just a kinky game to him. Maybe I should set some limits too. But how am I going to learn what mine are if I don’t test myself?
“Okay, fine. No watching you. Can we compromise?”
“I’m listening,” he says in a wary tone.
I’m not sure what to ask for, then I remember all the cameras, and a thought occurs to me. “What if I danced for you while I watched? So you still get a show and I get to see more of you.”
“Tempting, but no.”
I huff out a breath and stare at t
he ceiling.
“Tell me what you’re really after, Elle. Watching me isn’t it.”
“This is your stupid game, Drake. It makes no sense that I’m the only one on camera when the camera goes both ways. I want to see more than your face. Or your stupid elbow.”
“You want me to strip for you. Is that it? I will, but not on camera. You have to come to my room if that’s what you want.”
“Oh…okay. Then I guess I’ll put something on and be right over.”
The blood rushing through my ears is so loud I barely hear him say, “Keep the towel, Elle. It’s a good look.”
I hang up, fueled by what must be pure insanity, but our game has mutated and I’m too involved in it now to stop. The best part is that I’m pretty sure Drake is too, since he’s agreed to indulge my request.
I re-secure my towel around my breasts and pad to the door, then slip out. There’s a narrow corridor that leads between our doors, and it’s only a short distance to his, but I pause and peek down the T-shaped hallway toward Ben’s room, hoping he’s asleep. It’s late, and he looked wrecked after talking to Baz, despite his antics at dinner. He could use some sleep, but more importantly I don’t want to give him to any more reasons to attack Drake.
I reach Drake’s door and rap softly. He opens it looking rougher around the edges than when I left him after supper. He’s still in the long-sleeved pullover and shorts he was wearing then, but they’re rumpled, his hair is askew, and his cheeks need a shave. His gaze is intense as he takes me in, but he doesn’t budge from the doorway.
“You cross this threshold, there’s no going back. I hope you realize that,” he says.
“I know. But I want to get to know you, and that’s not going to happen if we keep following your rules.”
His jaw spasms, and I’m sure I see a pained look cross his face. “You don’t really want that, Elle. I’m not that interesting.”
“Don’t tell me what I want. Let me in. It’s cold out here.”
He opens the door wider and steps aside for me to pass, but before I make it all the way in, he grips my arm and turns me to face him. He’s warmer than I expected, and with the chilly air flowing from the corridor, I can’t help but lean in, seeking some of that warmth.
