Santa’s Pretty Helper (Cam Show Crush)

3. Bella

Three

Bella

My stomach is so full when Madison and I get home that I think I might burst. I always do this to myself when I eat at Haute Maison. I feel compelled to finish every single morsel on my plate, not because the food’s expensive—we never have to pay for anything there, which I assume is my brother Eric’s doing—but because I don’t want to waste even one bite of food that Gabe prepared.

God, Gabe. This crush I have on him is like a sickness. It’s invaded my bones, my blood, my brain. My heart. I think about him every single day. I look at pictures of him online and touch myself, imagining it’s his big, scarred hands on me. I’ve felt this way about him for a long time. Since before it would’ve even been legal for him to touch me. He’s the only man I’ve ever noticed. The only man I’ve ever wanted.

He’s the reason why I’m the horniest twenty-year-old virgin on the planet. I don’t want anyone except him, even though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t see me as anything other than Eric’s little sister.

And yet…there was that moment, the night of my nineteenth birthday. When he touched my cheek and told me I was beautiful, and for a second I thought he might kiss me. He didn’t, of course, and he hasn’t touched me that way or said anything like that since.

Can you wear out a memory by replaying it too many times?

I hope not, because it’s one of my favorites, and I revisit it regularly. What if Gabe hadn’t pulled away? What if he’d leaned in those last few inches and claimed my mouth with his? Would the kiss have been soft and gentle?

Or maybe it would’ve been hungry and passionate. Maybe he would’ve backed me up against the counter, his body pressed against mine, his hand tangled in my hair. Demanding lips, grazing teeth, writhing bodies.

“Hello? Earth to Bella,” says Madison, and I glance over to realize that I’ve frozen in our front entryway with my coat half off, staring unseeing into our small living room. “Gee, I wonder where you went,” she teases, bumping her hip against mine as she moves into the kitchen. “Not thinking about Gabe and how good he looked tonight, no, definitely not.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks, but I laugh. Madison knows all about my ridiculous crush on my brother’s much older best friend and loves to tease me about it. Frankly, I don’t mind because it gives me an excuse to talk about Gabe.

She knows that the list of reasons I’m half in love with him go beyond the physical, although the physical is nothing short of magnificent. He has thick brown hair that almost looks bronze in certain lighting, long enough that it’s not short, but short enough that it’s not long. Just the right length for a girl to sink her fingers into. And his eyes…they’re the most intense shade of blue I’ve ever seen. Like an arctic blue, light and clear and bright.

The rest of his face is no less perfect. He’s clean-shaven with a square jaw and the most beautiful lips I’ve ever seen. The most talented sculptor in the world couldn’t have made a more breathtaking, masculine face.

And his body. God, his body. He towers over me at six-foot-three, and I can tell he’s fit. I’ve seen the way his sweater reveals his broad shoulders and the muscular planes of his chest. The way his Levis hug his ass. How his forearms are corded with muscle.

I bet he has visible abs. What I wouldn’t give to know firsthand.

But it’s not just the physical that draws me to him. It’s his passion for his job, his loyalty to my brother, his kindness to me since I was just a kid, his unwavering steadiness. Nothing ever rattles him. The sky could fall, and Gabe Mitchell would know exactly what to do.

I blink, realizing I’m still standing by the front door, and Madison cackles with laughter.

“You’re especially moony tonight, even for you,” she says from the kitchen, flipping on the kettle to make tea.

“I know,” I sigh, finally freeing myself from my coat and my boots. “It seems to get worse every time I see him. It’s like this full body ache.”

Madison plops a tea bag into her mug and then holds the box up, silently asking me if I want a cup of tea as well. I shake my head. I’ll be sick if I consume anything else right now.

“You know, you could just tell him how you feel,” she says with a little shrug, as if that’s the simplest thing in the world.

I shake my head, my stomach bottoming out at the thought. “No. If he felt the same about me, he would’ve done something about it by now. I can’t handle embarrassing myself like that. I’d never be able to talk to him again.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure he doesn’t feel the same way. You should’ve seen the way he was watching you eat tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

Madison leans on the counter, eyes glittering. “He had this hungry look on his face, like he wished it was something other than food going into your mouth.”

I blush furiously and Madison laughs again. “I don’t think so.”

“I know so. I was there. I might as well have been wallpaper for all the attention he paid to me at our table. And you said that he almost kissed you the night of your nineteenth birthday party.”

I sigh. “But he didn’t, and that was over a year ago, and nothing like that has happened since.”

“Maybe he’s holding back because of your brother, or the age difference, or both.” She pauses, a thoughtful look on her face. “Would it change things for you? If you knew without a doubt that he wanted you as much as you want him?”

I let out a weak laugh. I can’t imagine Gabe wanting me even a fraction as much as I want him. “I mean, sure. I guess. But we’re talking about fairy tales here.”

She shrugs. “I’m not so sure about that. I think he’s into you and holding back because he doesn’t want Eric to murder him.”

I giggle. “Yeah, Eric probably would.” Despite the ten years between us, Eric and I have always been close. I remember him playing Barbies with me as a kid, teaching me to ride a bike, helping me with homework. He’s always been protective, and I can easily imagine him giving any boyfriend of mine a hard time. I guess it’s good that I’ve never had one, then. “But still, I don’t think Gabe’s into me that way.”

Madison blinks slowly and sighs. “If you say so.”

“I’m gonna go study for a bit before bed. See you in the morning?”

She grins at me. “Yeah. Thanks for dinner. It was great.”

I smile back and head to my room. My bedroom’s off of the living room, while Madison’s is off of the kitchen. As soon as the door closes behind me, my mind’s back on my nineteenth birthday party. I press my back against my door and close my eyes, imagining it’s Gabe pinning me in place.

I imagine his hands on my hips, lifting me onto the counter and stepping between my legs. In my fantasy, his hands slide up my legs, under my dress. He’d kiss me until I couldn’t breathe, until I was drunk on his mouth, and then trail kisses up and down my neck, his hands inching higher.

I huff out a breath, replaying seeing him earlier tonight. He always looks so sexy in his chef’s uniform, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hair perfectly tousled, the white material hugging his wide shoulders.

Was he really watching me eat like he was thinking of something other than food? A shiver races down my spine at the thought, and I’m suddenly too worked up to even think about studying.

I lock my bedroom door, kick off my pants, grab my laptop and then settle into my bed. I open up my browser and quickly navigate to one of the many sites I have bookmarked. See, while I’m a completely inexperienced virgin, I’m also a bit of a porn aficionado. Connoisseur? I’m not sure what the right word is, but I like porn. A lot. And I go to different sites to scratch different itches. Sometimes I want a video with a specific scenario—sweet and tender, or lots of oral, or getting tied up. Sometimes I want an off-the-charts hot audio, where a man with a sexy as hell voice describes all the dirty things he wants to do to me while calling me his good girl. Sometimes I read my porn, like a lady.

And sometimes I want a dirty cam show. There’s something about knowing that it’s live, about interacting with them, that excites me. It’s safe and harmless, but also filthy and sexy and real.

And almost always, I’m imagining it’s me and Gabe or just Gabe in whatever I’m watching. Nothing gets me off faster than imagining it’s Gabe’s mouth on my pussy, that it’s Gabe’s big fist working his cock, that it’s Gabe coming all over my face.

If I was lucky enough to be his, I’d be such a good girl for him. I’d do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. I know, from all the porn I’ve watched, all the smut I’ve read, that I have a submissive streak a mile wide. The idea of giving myself over to a man I trust lights me up.

The idea of giving myself over to Gabe incinerates me.

I arrange my laptop on a pillow in front of me and then reach into my bedside table, pulling out my favorite little toy. It’s bright pink and shaped like a rose, and feels like absolute heaven on my clit. I slip the toy under the covers and then start typing. I know exactly what I’m in the mood for tonight. I navigate to one of my favorite sites, the one with high quality amateur videos. I love how raw and real these ones are. No one covered in baby oil, no one with enormous fake tits, no faceless man with a big dick. These are real couples with real bodies having real sex.

The idea of having sex on camera sends a little thrill through me. Am I an exhibitionist as well as a submissive? Maybe. Probably.

I scroll through the site until I see a thumbnail that catches my eye. The image is dark and moody with a petite woman on her knees in front of a man, his face hidden in shadows. I love clips with lighting like this because it’s easy to imagine it’s me and Gabe.

I hit play, adjusting the volume so that it’s low enough that Madison can’t hear. The woman in the clip is gorgeous, with long dark hair and porcelain skin. Her lips are full and pouty, her eyes wide and eager. The man is tall and built, tattoos snaking down his arms. I don’t think Gabe has any tattoos, but it doesn’t matter. In my mind, this man is Gabe. His body is strong and lean, and he’s tall. It’s close enough that my imagination can fill in the rest. I shiver when I think about Gabe’s blue eyes on me as I sink to my knees in front of him.

I slip my hand under the sheets and grab my rose. I turn it on and then slide it beneath my panties, gasping slightly as it comes into contact with my sensitive clit. On the screen, the woman strokes her man’s cock, then takes it into her mouth, sucking him deep and slow.

God, what I wouldn’t give to do that to Gabe. To taste him, feel the weight of him on my tongue, hear the sounds he’d make for me.

The man in the video weaves his hand into the woman’s hair. “Your mouth feels so good, darling,” he purrs, and I imagine it’s Gabe saying those words to me. That it’s Gabe’s hands in my hair. I’m obsessed with his hands. I mean, I’m obsessed with all things Gabe, but his hands are a work of art. Strong and masculine, rough and scarred from years spent in kitchens.

The man in the video hauls the woman to her feet, backs her against a wall and starts fucking her. She moans loudly, and I do to as I up the intensity of my toy. My back arches and my nipples tingle as I imagine it’s Gabe fucking me like that, whispering dirty words in my ear as he pounds into me. I struggle to fully imagine what it would feel like to have a cock inside me, but god, I want to know. I want to know so badly.

And let’s be honest. Not just any cock. Gabe’s cock.

The man buries his face in the woman’s neck as he fucks her, and I imagine Gabe’s lips on my neck, his teeth grazing my ear as he moves in and out of me. I imagine the solid weight of his body surrounding me, pinning me to the wall. Claiming me and owning me.

God, yes. The thought of being owned by Gabe sends a jolt of lightning right to my clit, and I’m close. So, so close. I can feel the pressure building, the tension coiling in my belly. My vision blurs and even though I’m still watching the video, I’m not, really. My mind is full of images of me and Gabe. It’s his body, his hands, his mouth, his cock. It’s his voice, whispering in my ear, telling me I’m beautiful, telling me I’m perfect.

The orgasm hits me hard, my body convulsing, my breath catching in my throat. I ride the wave, the pleasure intense, the fantasy vivid. It’s Gabe, always Gabe.

I would literally sell my soul to give him everything—my body, my virginity, my heart.

I turn the toy off and flop back in the bed. The video’s still playing, but I’m not really watching anymore. I’m floating on a wave of post-orgasm bliss. I lie there for several moments, my body sated, my mind still racing. I know I can’t keep doing this. This fantasy world I’ve built for myself isn’t healthy or realistic. I should let go of this ridiculous crush and date someone who might actually be interested in me.

But I don’t know how to stop.

I don’t know how to want anyone except Gabe.