Stephanie Tyler - Vipers Run

I blinked, because . . . yes.

“You really didn’t fucking believe me,” he murmured. “I couldn’t call—”

“Maybe not at first. But then it became more of a—you wouldn’t call, right?” When he didn’t argue, I asked, “After you recovered, you had time to call. But you didn’t. You considered breaking your promise, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

I wasn’t surprised he didn’t deny it. I didn’t know much, but I did know that the man in front of me was a straight shooter. And that he smelled so good I wanted to lean in and lick his neck. “Why?”

“Too many reasons to go into.”

“Just because you were alive didn’t mean that you’d end up coming for me,” I whispered.

“I said I would.”

“I don’t count on promises.”

“You need to start with mine,” he said firmly.

“You need to start doing a lot of things,” Tenn said pointedly to Cage, who I swore growled. “That shit doesn’t scare me.”

“You know it should,” Cage told Tenn pointedly. “Calla, we’re out of here.”

“I don’t know if I’m leaving with you.”

“You don’t know if you’re leaving with me,” he repeated, like disagreeing with him was such a rare occurrence that he didn’t recognize it. Or acknowledge it.

“I think she’s still in the anger part of the grieving process,” Tenn offered.

“I’m not dead,” Cage said through clenched teeth.

“She thought you were,” Tenn shot back.

“So yeah, that’s why I’m not sure if I’m going with you,” I said.

“While she’s deciding, you can make some shit up to me,” Tenn said, and by the look on Cage’s face, I could tell he knew what the favor was, and he didn’t look happy about it, to say the least.

“Don’t start, man.”

“You started it.”

“Could’ve called to check,” Cage said quietly, moving slightly away from me. He still held my arm while going chest to chest with Tenn, who growled, “I did. Would’ve expected to hear from you at some point. So you want to take her out of here without her consent, you’re going up against me.”

“I’m not leaving without her.”

His words echoed—a threat and a promise. My mouth went dry. He was so damned male. Completely untamed. He looked like he’d been born on a bike, his motion fluid as he swung a jean-clad leg over and revved up.

“Then it looks like you’ll have some time to do that favor you owe me while you try to convince both me and Calla that she should leave here with you,” Tenn said steadily.

Cage stiffened next to me, the frustration coming off him in waves. “Now is not the time, Tennessee.”

But Tenn looked both unimpressed at Cage’s using his full name and also pissed as hell. “I thought you were dead, fuckwad—even after Tals knew you were alive, you made him lie to me. So go play nice for the camera. Lucky that’s all you’ve got to do.”

Cage let go of me and walked away cursing. I stared after him for a long moment before turning back to Tenn.

Tenn, who shoved a camera into my hand. “Put it on the tripod. Get everything except his face. From here up.” He put a hand on the middle of his nose. “Make sure the sound’s on too.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You wanted a job? You got it.”

I stared at Tenn, openmouthed, for a long while. It was only the slam of a door behind me that got me talking. “You’re not serious about this.”

“Dead serious.” The awful gallows humor wasn’t lost on me, but Tenn wasn’t smiling. “You stay in there with him.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Why not? You said you needed money. You’ll get a cut of the profits.”

How much could that be, really? And when I asked, he threw out a number, telling me, “That’s only the first week.”

I headed to the room, ignoring his laughter behind me.

I had no idea what to do once I got in there. Maybe I wanted to let Cage off the hook, especially because he was muttering and pacing.

He stopped dead when he saw me with the camera. “That fucker.” He slammed the door open and yelled, “Remember that fucking hellhole in Jakarta, asshole? That’s worth a million of these.”

I heard Tenn call back, “You let me think you were dead.”

Cage slammed the side of a fist against the doorjamb, put his forehead there, and for a long moment I had no idea what was going on. Not until Tenn called, “You’re live in five.”

“I can’t fucking believe this.”

“You told me to come here,” I pointed out unhelpfully, trying not to laugh.

“No, Bernie told you,” he corrected, then mumbled, “Because I told him. Fuck.” He turned to stare at me. I ignored the butterflies in my stomach and held up the camera like a challenge.

I don’t know what I expected—maybe for him to walk out? And I wouldn’t have blamed him.

But I was also an idiot to challenge a man like Cage. The look on his face turned from frustration to kid-in-a-candy-store in a second’s span, and I swallowed hard when he shut the door, closing us into the small space.

I turned away from him, put the camera on the tripod and tried to line up a shot for the only chair in the room. Tenn had given me a sixty-second lesson and I tried to concentrate on that, rather than what would be happening. Because I knew what happened in this room . . . I’d just never believed I’d be watching Cage do it. Or filming it for a live audience.

He was standing in front of the chair, staring at me through the lens. I pulled back and stuttered out, “We’re going live in a minute. If you’re, ah, embarrassed . . .”

Wrong thing to say, apparently, because he shrugged off the leather cut (I assumed because it was too visible) and took down his jeans in an effortless move before he sat, his cock out for the world—and me—to see.

His pierced cock.

Shit.

I couldn’t even swallow. How did this man do things to me in a way no man ever had? Maybe it was just this room. And Tenn’s living room. And the phone line . . .

“Might want to press the on button,” he said with a smirk as he palmed himself and stroked a couple of times, purely for my benefit. “First time behind the camera on this?”

“No,” I lied, and his expression tightened.

“Gonna be your best,” he said.

Oh God, this was really going to happen. I peered through the camera to make sure the shot was set up correctly. Someone rapped on the door, which meant it was, and that the feed was going live . . .

Now.

I forced myself not to look anywhere but through the lens as Cage palmed his cock again. His legs spread, jeans shoved down, the piercing shining. He twisted it with one hand and I heard him hiss. He ran a hand along his belly and then slid it back down, watching me the entire time.

God, he looked fit and tanned . . . and the way he sat, with his scarred shoulder and neck away from the camera, you couldn’t see anything but shadows. All you could see was his cock, big and full, and he was straining for his own touch.

I clenched my fist because I wanted to touch it. I wanted to play with the piercing on top. I wondered if there were more. He bit his bottom lip as he stroked it lightly several times, and what he was doing wasn’t an act. That was what made this so damned appealing.

His abs looked like they were cut into his golden skin. His eyes were so green that they jumped out at me through the darkened room.

Had he done this before? Did he want me to get down on my knees for him? Because that’s what I wanted, and my face flushed.

He glanced down between my legs and nodded slightly.

He wants you to touch yourself. Here. In front of him.

Instead, I put my hand under my shirt and pinched a nipple. I bit my lip and watched him bark out a soft laugh while he stroked more leisurely now. I’d learn later that the point was to give the people what they paid for.

The fact that others would watch him get off only served to make me hotter. The fact that he could expose himself to a camera—knowing it would be mainly men watching him stroke himself—was so incredibly tantalizing that I made a mental note to ask Tenn for a copy.

As I continued to watch the scene unfold in front of me—less than ten feet away—I noted how the camera really loved him, how it demanded more of the perfection it currently translated. It didn’t matter that he was scarred. He had an indefinable quality that would make men follow his lead and women simply follow. He was brooding, promised to be moody as fuck, and if I didn’t already somehow believe I’d fallen in love with his voice on the phone, I knew it had happened here. Completely. Inextricably. Unrelentingly.

But knowing and admitting it were two very different things, and I pushed it all to the back of my mind.

He was half naked to my fully clothed, touching himself, being filmed . . . baring everything. And every stroke of his cock throbbed straight to my clit. He’d made himself unbearably vulnerable to me and still he was somehow completely in control.

His hand palmed his rigid length, his flushed face a mirror to mine and his eyes glossy with pleasure. His lip curled hungrily. I fought every rational urge to strip and sit on his lap, lower myself onto his cock until I was full with him.

This man came back from the dead for me. He wasn’t playing games, wasn’t going to come for me and leave. He was never leaving. This time, having a man tell me this was comforting.

“You like this?”

“More,” I whispered, and I saw the hint of a smile on his face.

“You like watching.”

I swallowed hard, knowing I couldn’t answer, because even though his question wasn’t for me but rather the masses watching him, I was dying to. A smile broke his face wide open for a brief, glorious second. He smiled because he knew, and then he said, “Don’t stop—focus on me, okay, babe? I’m going to come thinking about you. I need you to know that.”