Chapter 9: Everything Within My Control

Impulsive as I was, after the drunken fiasco last time, I knew that forcing myself on her would only backfire. I might end up thrashed by her husband and thrown in jail. With my head clear, I kept a lid on the restless itch under my skin. Marlee still kept her hand wrapped around my erection, not letting go, and a fire seemed to lick through my veins. "How did you get hurt this badly?" Her voice trembled, more from surprise than fear. Her nerves turned into concern about my injury. "When I hit the ground, I scraped myself on a sharp rock," I said, and asked, "Ms. Casson, I should be all right, shouldn't I?" "Good thing it didn't hit muscle or bone. I'll clean it with alcohol, then dress and bandage it. You'll be fine." While Marlee treated the cut, she kept her other hand around me. Her movements stayed unhurried and careful. But working one-handed made things awkward, and the hand gripping me moved with her without meaning to, a few unconscious strokes that left me gritting my teeth. I also noticed the flush creeping up her neck until it nearly kissed her ears. Even when she forced herself to focus, her gaze kept flicking down to what was in her hand.  I was certain she could feel exactly how hard I was. Little by little, her thigh edged closer, until the smooth skin brushed my knee. That baby-soft warmth made me itch to run my hand over her leg. After a few minutes, sweat beaded on her forehead; her thighs pressed together of their own accord. She bit her red lip and looked as if she were struggling with something she could not name. My heart leapt. She had to be aroused, too. I sat on the sofa. Marlee leaned over, right next to me, so close I could catch the faint, clean scent of her hair, and kept working with meticulous care. The hand holding me seemed to pick up speed. My heart raced. I reached out, guilt prickling. As long as I didn't force it, it'd be fine. I took a breath and set my hand lightly on Marlee's thigh. I was ready to snatch it back the instant she stiffened or said a word. To my surprise, even with my hand on her leg, Marlee didn't seem to notice. I couldn't tell if she was ignoring it on purpose or simply riveted by what she held. She wasn't wearing stockings. Her bare thigh was pale and satin-smooth, the kind of delicate softness that made my fingertips tingle. I did not dare stroke or squeeze, afraid of startling her. Two minutes passed. Still no reaction. My courage swelled. Carefully, inch by inch, I crept higher, exploring the warm inner thigh. I moved at a snail's pace. I was so tense I could hear my own heartbeat. Marlee seemed completely absorbed in treating my injury-and in my hard-on. Where she'd only sneaked peeks before, she now stared, and there was a spark of hunger in her eyes. Was she hoping something might happen between us? Riding that thought, I let my hand keep wandering. The instant my fingers brushed the crease at the top of her thigh, her long, sleek legs pressed tight together, shivered. Whether she had realized what I was doing or not, she suddenly let go, straightened, and stood. I yanked my hand back at once and looked up at her, pulse skittering. Marlee's pretty face was crimson. "I've put on the ointment and wrapped it up. You'll be fine in a little over a week." Only then did I notice the strips of bandage on my thigh, and the cool, soothing feel of the salve beneath. "Thank you, really," I said, scrambling up. The moment I stood, my erection was spectacularly obvious. "Get some rest. I'm heading out." Marlee's eyes skimmed my crotch, then she turned and slipped away. When she disappeared behind the door, I felt a hollow drop in my chest. I was this close, only to blow it at the last second. Her half-accidental, half-tempting touches had roused a need with nowhere to go. Frustration pooled in me, heavy and sour. With my pants still off, I went back to my room, logged into my computer, and broke into Marlee's phone and laptop to check what she might be doing. No activity on either one. I thought for a moment, then sent Marlee a Trojan Android app I had built a few days earlier out of boredom. It looked like a picture message, a looping GIF of a handshake and a smiley. As soon as she opened it, I would be able to access her phone's camera, run it with the screen off so she wouldn't notice, and watch or record. I could also listen in. Less than two minutes later, a prompt told me the Trojan had installed successfully. I nearly whooped. From then on, I could see not just her private files, but everything she did. Everything was within my control. When I switched on her camera with the screen off, I froze. Her phone sat on the bedside table, plugged in. Out of habit, she had it propped on a stand in landscape, which gave me a lucky view of most of the room. On the broad mattress, Marlee lay sprawled, stark naked, her pale, tempting body catching the light. She was touching herself. She must've gotten worked up at my place, and it was still burning through her. From what I had observed, her husband stayed out late at least three or four nights a week. That's probably why she felt safe doing this at home.