Gritting my teeth, I reach out instinctively and flip on the cameras that connect to the basement. It’s become such a habit now to watch her that I don’t even realize I’m doing it until after I’m already engrossed.
She’s lying in bed with a book. My pulse quickens and my c**k twitches to life instantly. She’s wearing a thin silver slip that barely reaches her knees, but she’s stroking her right leg absentmindedly which means the silky fabric has ridden up high enough that I can see that creamy thigh of hers.
It makes me wonder what I’m going to do when she’s no longer in my home and on my property. How am I going to deal with never seeing her again, never touching her again?
Polly’s words float back to me unbidden. You need something of your own. Something that feeds your soul.
What if
