Zeke POV

Holy shit.

Zeke leaned back into the couch cushions, trying very hard to look casual and not like his brain was repeatedly short-circuiting. Which it was. Because Nicole Robbins, ex-model, MILF of the century, mother of his mortal enemy, was sitting next to him in a plain cotton bra, and his hand was feeling up that bra, and his fingers were touching her nipple.

Through the fabric of her bra, sure. But still. Nipple.

She'd barely paused after the whole ordeal with Leila. Nicole just sent her daughter to her room then immediately led Zeke back to the couch as if nothing happened, sighing contentedly when his arm went on the back of the couch behind her. And now here they were. Just two friends, cuddling on the couch at 2 AM.

Friends who apparently had no problem if one of them played with the other's titties.

Zeke still couldn't quite believe his commands had worked. Heck, he couldn't quite believe that he had the power to give commands at all. But who was he to question how the universe worked? All he could do was appreciate his new gift.

He ran through the night in his head for probably the hundredth time. It all started with a command to make Nicole trust him more. Then, he told her the "bad mother" thing. The "Robert can't be trusted" thing. And then finally the big one, the full control over Leila thing, which he'd honestly half-thought was some kind of joke.

But then Leila had actually shown up. Actually gotten in trouble. Actually handed over her phone like some kind of zombie. To be fair, he'd had to command her to listen to her mother, but still.

And now Leila's phone was in his pocket, and Nicole's nipple was under his fingers, and the whole situation was so insane that Zeke kept waiting for someone to jump out and tell him he was on a hidden game show.

But no one had jumped out yet. So here he was. Living the dream. Playing with a hot mom's tits while her husband worked upstairs, her son was fast asleep, and her daughter cried in her room.

Oh shit. I'm actually living the dream.

Nicole was talking. Had been talking for a while, actually. Something about her salon, clients, scheduling, some drama with a new stylist. Zeke had tuned out approximately thirty minutes ago. He'd checked out thirty minutes ago, reduced to the occasional "mhm" and "that's crazy" while his mind wandered somewhere much more interesting. Like the iPhone pressing against his thigh. Like what kind of pictures an eighteen-year-old cheerleader might have saved in her camera roll. Like how long he could keep his hand inside her mother's top before he got bored of just teasing.

Zeke gave Nicole's nipple a slow, deliberate pinch, or at least as much of a pinch as he could get through her bra. She didn't even pause in her story. The command he'd slipped in earlier was working overtime tonight. He could probably slide his fingers straight down her panties and she'd just keep complaining about conditioner shipments.

Tempting. Very tempting.

But he was trying to pace himself. He had the whole weekend. Probably much longer than that. No need to rush the corruption when it tasted that sweet.

Still... she just wouldn't shut up.

", and that's when I told her, if you can't handle Saturday mornings, maybe this isn't the right fit, you know?" She looked up at him with those soft, trusting eyes, completely oblivious to the way his thumb was still lazily circling her nipple. "Do you think I was too harsh?"

He blinked, dragging himself back to the conversation, trying to get her to leave him alone. "Um, yeah, you were totally right. She sounds crazy."

Nicole beamed like he'd just handed her the Nobel Prize. "Exactly! That's what I thought, too. It's so nice to talk to someone who actually gets it."

He literally had no idea what she'd been talking about for the last thirty minutes, but sure. He was a genius.

He smiled down at her and attempted to give her nipple another firm little twist. She didn't react at all. Just kept leaning into him, warm and soft and completely at ease.

As the minutes passed, he began to feel how late it was getting. The adrenaline from earlier had burned off, his fingers were starting to cramp, and the constant stream of salon drama was grating on his nerves. He needed her to stop talking. He needed some quiet so he could just enjoy the way her tit filled his hand and think about all the filthy things he was going to do to this family.

Or at least that's what he wanted to focus on. It was pretty damn hard while she yapped away like there was no tomorrow.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Jesus, Nicole," he said, sharper than he meant. "Do you ever stop talking?"

Her mouth snapped shut mid-sentence. Her whole body went still under his palm. That warm, open expression on her face flickered and died, replaced by something raw and hurt.

"What?" she blurted out in obvious confusion.

He took a breath, trying to rein it in, but the tiredness and the power and the sheer fucking insanity of the night made his filter disappear.

"You heard me," he said, voice low. "Your stories are boring, Nicole. I don't care about your salon drama. I don't care what your clients said. I don't care about the conditioner shipment or whatever the hell you've been rambling about for the last half hour."

She stared at him, lips parted, eyes wide with shock. For a second he felt a pang of guilt as he realized he'd gone too far.

But there was still time to fix things. He reached for that strange extra limb in his mind and pushed it toward her.

"Oh, um, don't be upset," he said, trying to figure out what to say to calm her down. "You don't mind when I'm honest with you, right? In fact, you prefer it. You want me to be completely honest, even when it stings."

Nicole blinked slowly. The hurt in her eyes softened, then quickly shifted into something else , acceptance, almost gratitude. Like he'd done her a favor. She scooted ever so slightly closer to him, causing her tits to barely jiggle, as she looked up to meet his eyes.

And just like that his guilt was gone, and in its place was good ol' lust.

"You're right, Zeke," she said quietly, voice a little shaky. "I... I do want you to be honest with me. I just... didn't realize I was being boring. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he muttered, feeling a tiny flicker of guilt he quickly shoved down.

"No, it's not." She shook her head, frustrated with herself. "I always do this. I ramble. Robert's always complaining about it and I never listen, and now I'm doing it to you and, " She gave a hollow little laugh. "God. It must be the wine. Or the hour. I'm being so emotional for nothing."

She sighed, then looked up at him again, her expression softening back into that trusting warmth he'd grown addicted to.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "You should be able to tell me when I'm annoying you. That's what friends do, right?"

He nodded. "Apology accepted."

They sat in silence for a moment. Then he stretched, letting his hand finally slip out of her top. The warmth of her skin clung to his fingers.

"We should both get some rest," he said. "It's late."

Nicole exhaled like she'd been holding her breath the whole night. "Yeah... yeah, you're right."

She stood up slowly, carefully adjusting her robe and tying the belt like she didn't want to seem rude. His hand slipped free, but the memory of her soft, heavy breast stayed burned into his palm. She looked tired, a little worn down, but there was also something almost relieved in her eyes , like his honesty had been a gift instead of a slap.

Weird. Hot. Perfect.

"I'll walk you to the guest room," she offered. "Make sure you have everything you need."

He stood too, legs stiff, his dick still half-hard from the last hour of lazy groping. The thought of her walking him to bed , his bed, in her house , sent a fresh rush of heat through him.

"Uh, sure," he said, grinning. "Thanks, I guess."

She led the way out of the living room and toward the stairs.

Zeke followed a step behind.

For a few seconds, he watched the hem of her robe drift around her calves. Then his brain replaced the robe with the kitchen.

Nicole bent beneath the sink again.

Black lace stretched tight. Pale skin under the yellow light. Her hips lifted while she searched for a bottle Zeke was increasingly sure had never existed. He remembered the tiny adjustment she had made when the fabric shifted, then the slow settling motion afterward. He remembered the red timer in the corner of his phone and the way she had asked, completely sincerely, whether the angle was better.

His eyes stayed on the robe in front of him, but he was no longer seeing it.

He was framing the shot again.

Nicole reached the top of the stairs, turned down the hall, and stopped at the guest-room door.

Zeke did not.

He bumped into her shoulder and lurched backward, both hands flying up like he had almost been caught stealing something.

"Shit. Sorry. I was, uh... I wasn't..." He glanced at the wall like it might help him. "I didn't realize you stopped."

Nicole turned and gave him a soft, amused smile. It was the kind of smile someone gave a puppy that had tripped over its own feet and then looked offended by the floor.

"You really are exhausted."

"Yeah. I'm, uh... really tired. Like, I wasn't even... yeah."

He nodded too much.

Nicole opened the door.

Zeke stumbled inside, saw the bed, and dropped onto it without removing his shoes. One second he was standing. The next he was flat on his back, one arm across his stomach, staring at the ceiling.

The mattress dipped beneath him.

Nice.

Quiet.

Done.

He assumed Nicole would say goodnight and leave.

She did not.

"Zeke?"

He turned his head.

Nicole stood beside the bed with one hand resting on the post. The top of her robe had loosened again, showing the plain cotton bra beneath it and the soft weight it held. Her hair had fallen out of whatever careful shape it had started the evening in. Honey-brown waves rested around her shoulders, with shorter strands curling along her cheeks and jaw.

"I wanted to thank you again," she said.

Zeke stared at her for a second too long. Nicole waited, and only then did he realize that sentence apparently had a second half.

"For listening to me. For being honest. For helping me with Leila without making me feel like a complete failure."

"Err... yeah. I mean, sure. Yeah."

Nicole smiled as if he had said something kind.

"I know I overwhelmed you tonight. I know I talked too much. But I cannot remember the last time I felt like someone was actually listening instead of waiting for me to stop."

Zeke was, in fact, waiting for her to stop. He shifted on the bed and rubbed the heel of one shoe against the other. "Right. Yeah. I mean... no, yeah. Totally."

Her smile warmed.

That should not have worked.

Nicole moved closer and lowered herself beside the bed, kneeling on the carpet with one forearm resting lightly against the mattress. Her face was suddenly level with his and much closer than his brain was prepared to handle.

Up close, she looked less polished than she had at dinner and somehow much hotter for it.

Her mascara had softened at the corners of her large brown eyes. A faint pink flush remained across her cheeks. Her nose was narrow and straight, her cheekbones sharp enough to catch the bedside light, and her mouth was a dark natural pink that kept pulling his attention away from whatever she was saying. Her lower lip tucked inward whenever she hesitated, then slipped free when she started again.

One strand of hair drifted toward her mouth.

She tucked it behind her ear.

Zeke watched her fingers.

Then her lips.

Then her eyes.

His hand slid lower across his stomach without any real decision behind it and settled over the front of his pants. His thumb moved once, absently, before he even noticed what he was doing.

Nicole kept talking in a quiet, excited voice, like they were sharing a secret.

"I really think tonight changed something for me. I kept telling myself I was protecting Leila, but maybe I was protecting myself. Maybe I wanted her to like me more than I wanted to be her mother."

Zeke nodded slowly.

He had lost the thread almost immediately.

Nicole's face was inches from his. Her hair smelled faintly sweet. Her robe pooled around her knees. Every time she leaned closer, the neckline loosened another fraction.

Zeke's eyes dropped.

The bra was plain. Boring, probably. The kind of thing nobody was supposed to care about.

Zeke cared a lot.

It looked too small for her. Not actually too small, probably, but it had that effect. The cups were full enough that the fabric pulled smooth across them, with the center disappearing between all that weight. The robe framed the whole thing like curtains around the world's greatest stage, and every time Nicole breathed, the top of the bra rose a little and settled again.

Zeke watched it happen.

Then watched it happen again.

Nicole leaned in to make some point, and her chest shifted closer to the mattress. The movement was tiny. Barely anything. Zeke followed it like a starving man watching somebody carry pizza through a locked door.

His hand wandered into his lap.

Not smooth. Not sexy. He just shoved the heel of his palm against himself through his pants and left it there, like some gross little pressure switch his body had found while the rest of his brain drooled.

"I do not want to keep making the easy choice," Nicole continued. "I want to do what is right for her, even if she hates me for it. Do you think I can?"

Zeke was staring at the narrow strip of skin above her bra.

Silence stretched until Nicole's brows lifted.

He gave himself one slow, absent rub before realizing she had stopped talking and was waiting for him.

"Uh... h-huh?"

Her expression softened.

"I'm sorry. I'm doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Talking too much." She gave him a patient little smile. "I asked if you thought I could do better with Leila."

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Definitely. I mean, probably. Not probably like maybe, I just mean... yeah. You can do better."

Nicole's eyes brightened.

That had apparently been inspirational.

"Thank you."

"Yeah. Uh... yeah."

She stayed beside the bed for another moment, looking at him with so much gratitude that Zeke started to feel like he should have charged by the hour.

Then she glanced toward the door.

"Look at me being selfish again. It is late, and you need sleep." She rose, smoothing the robe over her knees. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

Zeke's brain restarted.

"Uh, yeah. Could I get Leila's phone and, um..." He stopped, swallowed, then stared at the nightstand instead of her. "Maybe some paper towels too. Or tissues. Either one. Both would be... good, I guess."

Nicole glanced at the phone tucked into her robe pocket, then back at him.

Her expression softened with sudden understanding.

"Oh, of course."

She pulled out Leila's phone and held it between them.

"You want to clean it before you go through it."

Zeke stared at her.

"Yeah. I mean... I thought I could, uh... wipe it off first. Or whatever."

"That is so thoughtful of you."

"Oh. Uh... yeah?"

"After everything tonight, you are still thinking about keeping things clean."

"Yeah. I just... phones are gross, I guess."

She placed the phone carefully into his hand.

"You do not have to do that yourself. I can wipe it down for you."

"No, no. I mean, no, it is okay."

The answer came out too fast.

Nicole paused.

Zeke looked at the phone, then at the floor, then somewhere over her shoulder.

"I mean, no, it is okay. The paper towels are, uh... important. You should probably still... uh, get them."

"For the phone?"

"Yeah. For the phone. That is what I meant."

Nicole smiled, fully convinced.

"I will be right back."

She returned with a roll of paper towels, a box of tissues, two folded washcloths, a glass of water, and a small trash bin.

Zeke stared at the collection.

"I was not sure what you meant," she explained. "So I brought options."

"Oh. Yeah. That is... a lot. But good. Good, yeah."

She arranged everything on the nightstand with careful little movements, still trying to be useful.

When she finished, she looked down at him with the same warm, grateful expression.

"Goodnight, sweetie."

Zeke realized he had been staring again.

"Uh... yeah. Goodnight. Thanks for the... stuff."

Nicole smiled.

"Of course."

She closed the door behind her.

Zeke waited until her footsteps faded down the hall.

Then he locked the door.

Checked it.

Checked it again.

Only then did he look down at Leila's phone.

"Okay. Uh... okay."

He sat against the headboard and opened the camera roll.

A salad.

Another salad.

A blurry dog.

Three pictures of shoes that looked exactly the same.

Zeke swiped faster.

Group shots. Food. Brad asleep with his mouth open. A close-up of somebody's eye. More shoes.

"Come on, there has to be something."

He opened Favorites.

Four sunsets and a picture of Chrissie holding an iced coffee.

The hidden album was locked.

Recently Deleted was locked too.

He tried Leila's birthday.

Nothing.

Brad's birthday.

Nothing.

Nicole's birthday.

Still nothing.

"Who even puts another password on pictures? Like, what is the point?"

He searched by person. The phone found sixty-three photos of Nicole, most of them family pictures taken from too far away. One showed her near a pool in a swimsuit, but she was half hidden behind a patio chair.

Zeke zoomed until her body turned into pixels.

Pathetic.

He switched back to Leila.

There were mirror selfies, but jackets, sweaters, other people, and terrible angles ruined every promising one. It felt statistically impossible. She had spent an entire night wearing jeans engineered around her ass and apparently had not documented it once.

The phone vibrated.

A message banner slid across the screen.

Chrissie: u alive did ur mom catch u or did u do the sneaky ninja thing lol

Zeke tapped it automatically.

The conversation opened.

Beneath the message, one tiny word appeared.

Read.

His thumb froze.

"Oh, shit. Shit."

He had opened it.

Chrissie knew Leila had seen it. He could not put the message back. He could not pretend she was asleep. His stupid thumb had walked into the conversation and locked the door behind itself.

The empty text field waited.

Zeke typed:

Leila: no

He stared at it.

Too blunt?

Leila seemed blunt.

Probably.

He sent it.

The answer came almost immediately.

Chrissie: lucky omg my mom would literally kill me dead

Zeke exhaled.

She believed him. Or she had not noticed yet. Either way, he was still alive.

He should stop.

He absolutely should stop.

Instead, his free hand drifted back to his lap while he typed with the other.

Leila: hey can you do me a favor

Sent.

The typing bubble appeared.

Chrissie: ummm depends is it annoying

Zeke sat up straighter.

This was harder without his power. In person, he could say one stupid sentence and reality bent around it. Over text, he was just Zeke, a loser pretending to be an eighteen-year-old cheerleader while lying in her guest room with tissues supplied by her mother.

He typed:

Leila: put your cheer outfit on rn

He stared at the sentence.

That sounded insane.

His thumb hit send before he could fix it.

Delivered.

Read.

Silence.

"Why did I send that? Why the fuck did I send that?"

The typing bubble appeared, vanished, then returned.

Chrissie: why tho im literally in pajamas

Zeke rubbed his palm slowly over his lap, thinking.

Fashion.

Girls talked about clothes. Leila and Chrissie had entire conversations about skirts and shoes and colors that appeared identical.

Leila: i wanna compare how yours fits bc mine looked weird today

Sent.

That was almost smart.

Suspiciously smart for him.

Chrissie did not answer.

One minute passed.

Then two.

Zeke checked the signal even though the bars were clearly visible.

Three minutes.

Maybe she was calling Leila.

Maybe she had figured out Leila was crying in another room without her phone.

Maybe she was texting Brad.

Maybe Brad was already coming down the hall.

Zeke looked at the door.

The phone dinged.

Chrissie: ugh fine hold on freak

His shoulders dropped.

She was doing it.

Thirty seconds passed.

Then a minute.

A new photo appeared.

Chrissie stood in front of her bedroom mirror wearing the full cheer uniform.

Zeke forgot every thought he had ever had.

Her blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders, still messy from the party. One side was tucked behind her ear. The other fell across the front of the uniform and curved over her chest.

That was where his eyes stopped.

Chrissie's whole thing had always been her tits.

Everybody knew it.

Even people who pretended not to notice knew it.

They were the first thing in every picture, every hallway, every stupid cheer video Brad posted. Big enough that the tight uniform top had to stretch across them instead of just lying flat like it did on the other girls.

The picture made that extremely clear.

The fabric pulled hard across her chest, forming faint little tension lines that pointed inward from the sides. The neckline sat high enough to be technically normal and tight enough that normal did not matter. Her breasts pushed the front of the uniform outward while the bottom edge hugged beneath them and stopped above a narrow strip of bare stomach.

Zeke zoomed in.

Then immediately zoomed back out because the picture got blurry.

Then in again, slightly less.

Chrissie pinched one side of the skirt between two fingers like the picture was supposed to be about fit. Her weight rested on one hip. One knee turned inward. Her phone hid half her face, but not the amused little smile beneath it.

Chrissie: seeee it looks normal ur just being dramatic

The skirt looked fine.

Zeke did not care about the skirt.

His free hand had settled over his lap again. He rubbed once, absently, while staring at the way the top stretched over her.

The photo was hot.

Really hot.

Still not enough.

Not now that he knew she was actually standing there in the uniform because he had asked.

His heart began to pound.

A second request formed in his head.

Simple.

Obvious.

Completely insane.

He typed it.

Leila: can you send one without the top

Zeke stared at the message.

His thumb hovered above the arrow.

This was where a normal person would delete it.

This was where a smart creep would come up with some believable excuse first.

Zeke was neither of those things.

His pulse kicked harder.

Then he sent it.

Delivered.

Read.

The little word sat beneath the message like evidence at a crime scene.

Zeke stopped breathing.

No typing bubble.

No response.

His free hand stayed pressed over his lap, suddenly still.

Ten seconds.

Thirty.

A minute.

Maybe she knew.

Maybe Chrissie was staring at the message and finally realizing Leila would never ask that.

Maybe she was taking a screenshot.

Maybe she was already sending it to Brad with a bunch of question marks.

Zeke looked at the locked door.

Then back at the phone.

The typing bubble appeared.

Stopped.

Appeared again.

Chrissie: without my uniform top??**

Zeke swallowed.

That was not a no.

He typed carefully with one thumb.

Leila: yeah i wanna see if the bra changes how it sits

It was a terrible explanation.

He knew it was terrible while writing it.

He sent it anyway.

Read.

Silence.

Then:

Chrissie: that makes no sense **

Zeke's stomach dropped.

She was not supposed to notice that.

He scrambled for something Leila-ish.

Leila: girl just do it ur making this so dramatic**

The message delivered.

Read.

Nothing.

One minute passed.

Then two.

Zeke rubbed his palm slowly over his lap while staring at the screen. His heartbeat felt stupidly loud in the quiet room.

Maybe she was changing.

Maybe she had put the phone down.

Maybe she had called Leila from another device.

Maybe he was about to hear Leila scream from down the hall.

Then the phone dinged.

A new picture loaded.

For one second, Zeke only saw blonde hair and bare shoulders.

Then the rest of it registered.

Chrissie stood much closer to the mirror now. The cheer top was gone. Her blonde hair spilled loosely across one shoulder and down her chest, partly covering one bra strap before curving away again.

The bra was pale and simple, the kind of thing that probably looked ordinary in a drawer.

It did not look ordinary on her.

The cups were doing actual work.

They held the heavy shape of her breasts high and close, the fabric stretched smooth across them with the center pressed deep between. Thin straps ran over her shoulders, pulling taut enough to leave faint lines against her skin.

Chrissie held the phone in one hand.

Her other arm crossed beneath her chest, not quite covering herself and not quite presenting herself either. The pressure lifted everything slightly, making the bra fit even tighter while she stared at the screen with a baffled expression.

Her mouth was open in a small, annoyed pout.

She looked less like she was posing and more like she had been interrupted halfway through getting ready for bed.

That made it hit harder.

This was not an old party picture.

Not something she had already chosen to post.

She had taken off the top because he asked.

Because she thought Leila wanted to compare bras or uniforms or whatever dumb explanation Zeke had barely managed to invent.

The frame cut off around her waist. Bare shoulders. Bare stomach. Blonde hair. Pale bra. More of Chrissie than Zeke had ever expected to see without hiding behind somebody else's social media.

A message appeared beneath it.

Chrissie: see?? its literally just my normal bra **

Then another.

Chrissie: idk how this helps the shirt at all**

Chrissie: dont save it omg**

Zeke stared at the photo.

His brain emptied.

Chrissie had always been known for her tits. Everyone knew it. Brad knew it. The whole school knew it. Zeke had seen them under sweaters, uniforms, dresses, and shirts designed to pretend they were not the first thing anybody noticed.

This was different.

There was barely anything between his eyes and them now.

A thin layer of fabric.

A couple straps.

That was it.

His thumb dragged across the screen.

He zoomed in.

Stopped.

Zoomed a little farther.

The image softened at the edges, but the details in the bra became clearer. The pull of the cups. The narrow center between them. The way her crossed arm pressed upward from below.

Zeke saved it immediately.

Of course he did.

She had literally told him not to.

The download icon vanished, and the photo became part of Leila's phone.

His photo now.

Basically.

His free hand moved against his lap again, slow and unconscious.

Then he noticed his own phone lying face down beside him.

The kitchen video.

He had almost forgotten it.

Almost.

Zeke looked at Chrissie's picture again.

Then at his phone.

Then back at Chrissie.

The thought arrived piece by piece.

Brad's blonde girlfriend on one screen.

Brad's hot mom on the other.

His fingers tightened around Leila's phone.

He reached for his own slowly.

The screen lit his face when he turned it over.

For a moment, he only stared at the ordinary home screen. Notifications. Battery icon. A stupid wallpaper he had never bothered to change.

Then he opened his gallery.

The kitchen recording sat at the top.

The thumbnail was dark and small, but he knew every part of it.

Nicole under the sink.

Black lace.

Her hips raised.

That tiny side-to-side adjustment.

The red timer catching all of it.

His thumb hovered over the video.

He looked toward the door.

Listened.

Nothing.

No footsteps in the hall.

No Nicole coming back with another cleaning product.

No Leila pounding on the door for her phone.

Zeke lowered the volume.

One click.

Then another.

Then one more, because Nicole's voice carrying through the wall would be the dumbest possible way to get caught.

His thumb returned to the thumbnail.

For some reason, he hesitated.

Not guilt.

Nothing that useful.

It was more like opening the video would bring the whole kitchen back into the room with him.

Leila's horrified face behind him.

Nicole's ass beneath the light.

His own sweaty hand trying to keep the camera steady.

He tapped it.

The video opened.

Nicole stayed frozen for half a second.

Then she moved.

The camera shifted with her.

The shot was not smooth. Zeke had been too excited for smooth. It dipped, corrected, followed her hips as she moved to one side and then the other.

Onscreen, Nicole widened her stance.

Her body gave that slow little resettling motion.

Then her recorded voice came quietly through the speaker.

"There. Better?"

Zeke's mouth went dry.

That was the line.

Not some sexy thing she had meant for him.

Just Nicole trying to stop blocking the light.

Trying to help.

Completely unaware of what she was actually improving.

Then his own voice answered from behind the camera.

"Much."

Zeke tapped the loop icon.

The clip started over.

Nicole shifted beneath the sink.

"There. Better?"

"Much."

A few seconds later, it started again.

Nicole shifted.

"There. Better?"

"Much."

Zeke looked at Chrissie's bra photo.

Then back at Nicole.

Chrissie had removed her cheer top and stood in front of a mirror in her bra because she thought her friend needed help with an outfit.

Nicole had shifted her nearly naked body for a camera she did not know was recording.

Neither of them had heard a command.

Neither of them knew what Zeke was doing.

They had just followed the stupid little paths he put in front of them.

He placed both phones side by side on the bed.

Chrissie on the left.

Nicole on the right.

Brad's blonde girlfriend on one screen.

Brad's hot mom on the other.

Chrissie looked annoyed and confused.

Nicole looked busy and oblivious.

The loop restarted.

Nicole shifted.

"There. Better?"

Zeke reached for the paper towels Nicole had brought him and pulled off a thick wad.

A slow grin spread across his face.

"Much better, Nicole. Much better," he whispered.