HackOffMyBigCock you need to work on your insults

JessReilly19 I’m rusty. Too busy being sweet and adorable.

HackOffMyBigCock you’re not that sweet

JessReilly19 Mike

HackOffMyBigCock what

JessReilly19 stay the fuck out of my business. Seriously. It’s creepy and way out of line.

HackOffMyBigCock would you have rather not known about his birthday?

3:04:03 p.m. TUESDAY

JessReilly19 I don’t even know a Jeremy.

HackOffMyBigCock you’re welcome

JessReilly19 bye

HackOffMyBigCock we’re still good right?

JessReilly19 I don’t have much of a choice. My friend list is pretty short.

HackOffMyBigCock I’ll take that as a yes

---JessReilly19 HAS LEFT THE CHAT---

CHAPTER 39

House Arrest Countdown: 3 Weeks

MARCUS’S FIRST ATTEMPT at a non-cyber prostitute was a disaster. The woman had smelled of cop the minute she walked in the door, the attitude wrong, the questions staged. He’d feigned confusion and sent her on her way, his anger mounting. That’s what he got for calling a fucking yellow pages ad, like he was the dregs of society. He should be feasting on high-class pussy, drowning every night in champagne and breasts, their hands crawling over his body, their subservience only increased by his fists.

So… the first attempt a cop, the second woman this piece of trash. He eyes her on the bed, her legs spread, scars running up the left side of her thigh, her right eye faint yellow from a healing bruise, the afternoon sun streaming through the window, amplifying her imperfections.

He strokes his cock, nudges her legs wider, and stares at her. Wills his cock to respond. No response from it. He isn’t surprised. His cock isn’t stupid. How can he expect a response brought from this woman? He’s never stooped to this level before, with the exception of his prison time. And now… for her to be his return to sex? No. He’d made a mistake in even trying. Especially when the only thing on his cock’s mind is the brunette with the cocky eyes that flash with darkness.

He stops, tucks his cock back into his pants. Counts out three bills and tosses them on the bed.

“Get out.”

Reilly. Not Riley. That had been the Internet girl’s last name. He walks into his office, shuts the door, and starts up his computer. He feels a calm wash over him as he finds her personal website and his screen fills with her image.

CHAPTER 40

FOR JEREMY, TODAY has sucked. Thunderstorms all day, the kind where the sky throws up and dumps every bitchy emotion it has all over your body. The kind where puddles form everywhere, deeper than they appear to be, every fifth one he steps in causing his foot to sink ankle-deep in dirty water. His socks have molded to his feet, the wet squish in every step reminding him of how cold it is, this storm bringing with it a blast of frigid air. He didn’t grab his jacket this morning; he’s stuck using the light windbreaker that stays in his work truck. So he is cold, miserable, and wet when he drops off his final delivery, smiles at the housewife, takes back his pen, and jumps back into the truck.

It’s been three and a half years since the first time Jeremy heard her voice. Four months since he first kissed her lips. Six days since he confessed his love. One day since he last saw her smile. He’s lost track of the month when she took his heart in her rebellious hands.

All he wants to do is be at her place. Walk in that door and feel her arms around him. He puts the truck into drive and heads for the distribution center. He’ll swing by the house first, change out of this uniform and shower. See what she wants to eat, then make it to her place by seven.

Seven gives them two hours. Two hours till that druggie locks her in. He hates the situation, but has learned to keep his mouth shut. A person doesn’t really argue with her. Not when her eyes blaze quickly, and she has all the cards and he is left guessing at her hand. A situation he’d never accept from any woman other than her. There is so much he doesn’t know, so much that she holds close to the vest. She says she needs to be locked in at night, so he doesn’t argue. She says she wants Simon to do it, doesn’t want to put their relationship in that situation, so he doesn’t argue. He takes what she gives, and keeps his mouth shut about how he feels about it. But he doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like so much unknown. Doesn’t like the feeling of a girlfriend who keeps secrets. Doesn’t like the fact that he’s scared of the secrets. Doesn’t like that twitchy-eyed prick Simon has anything to do with her. Especially after his eyes all but raped her in the hallway.

He doesn’t like any of it, but he takes it. Takes it and asks for more. Puts his heart closer to her with every interaction. Why? Why when so much of him is scared of her secrets? Scared that they will be too big to overcome. Scared that they will force him to step away, sanity not allowing any other option. No, he doesn’t want to know anything that will end this moment in time when their lives are connected. He’ll take it as long as he can. Take as much of this beautiful stranger as he can get. The secrets he’ll overlook. Her job… that will one day be a bigger problem. His patience with it is waning, especially after he saw her on camera. Felt the reaction he had to her digital image. Realized how much of a connection can be made through a digital porthole. Understood what other men are experiencing with her. He hadn’t realized how much could be communicated through a phone call and corresponding video. Hadn’t realized the risk that his fragile relationship undergoes every time a new client pops up on her screen. What if she makes a connection? What if she falls for one of the strangers that seek her out?