-𝕱𝖑𝖚𝖋𝖋𝖞-

You rarely, if ever, had sex without lighting, angles, and contracts. You had to think about testing windows, release schedules, which performer looks good with you on camera. Which one was all hype and no chemistry. Which one looked expensive but moved like they were waiting for applause. You still liked your job. You liked the control, the money, the fact that you had built a name out of everyone else’s desire. But desire itself was harder to come by.

These days, when you scrolled through adult sites, it was mostly scouting.

That was what you told yourself, anyway, curled up in bed in your hoodie with your laptop open, boredly clicking through streamer trending pages like you were reviewing résumés. Pretty girl. Pretty boy. Nice body. Bad camera presence. Too fake. Too loud. Trying too hard. You had seen every version of beautiful by then, and most of it did nothing for you.

Three hours of scouting had done absolutely nothing for you.

Nothing. Not a flutter. It was as dry as the Sahara down there. You had clicked through girl after girl with perfect asses, perfect lighting, perfect lip gloss, all thighs and breathy little smiles, and your only thought had been, great angles, weak branding. You watched a brunette arch her back so prettily it probably made half the site black out, and you just blinked at the screen like you were reviewing tax documents.

Then the men.

A blond with abs so defined he looked carved out of a protein advert. Nothing. A tattooed guy with a nice mouth and no camera presence. Nothing. Some cocky pretty boy calling everyone baby like he had learned seduction from a bad podcast. Absolutely fucking nothing. You had seen bodies. You had touched bodies. You had been paid very, very well to make bodies look better than they were. Sexy alone didn’t do anything for you anymore.

You were about to close the tab when you saw him.

Dex.

Just Dex.

No fancy stage name, no stupid pun, no little devil emoji. He didn’t use an overproduced thumbnail of him biting his lip like he was trying to seduce a ring light. He crossed your screen in a small live window with a ridiculously high viewer count for his production level, and him sitting there in a plain, dim room like he had accidentally wandered into every guy and gal’s dirtiest fantasy.

You hovered over the stream.

He had a big body, broad shoulders, thick arms. He had the kind of build that made your brain go. Ugh. Hot. 

Annoyingly hot. 

But that didn’t mean anything. Three-quarters of the industry was hot until they opened their mouth or moved like they were waiting for a round of applause.

So, fine.

He was pretty.

Was he good?

You clicked on him.

And then Dex looked up at the camera.

He wasn’t smirking or posing. He wasn’t selling you that lazy, hollow confidence men loved to mistake for sex appeal. Dex looked almost offended by his own arousal, tense and tightly wound, one hand wrapped low around himself… and, Christ, he was blessed enough there to make even you pause. 

His jaw worked. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were so dark and focused they made the heat between your legs finally, finally wake up after hours of nothing.

Oh.

You sat up a little straighter.

Well, that was new.

You had fucked beautiful men professionally. You had kissed women so pretty they made entire comment sections lose their minds. You had been under, over, between, worshipped, handled, filmed, edited, marketed, sold. Looking perfect was boring. Experience was overrated. Confidence was usually just choreography.

But Dex looked untouched in a way that did not feel innocent.

The worst part was that Dex was not even doing anything particularly new.

You had seen men touch themselves on camera before. You had seen it polished, staged, rehearsed, marketed within an inch of its life. Men who knew exactly when to bite their lip, when to groan, when to lean back and show off for the lens. Men who had perfected the fantasy so thoroughly there was nothing human left in it.

Dex wasn’t like that.

Dex looked like he hated that he wanted to be watched.

He sat too stiffly, one hand braced on the arm of his chair, the other stroking himself, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. His room was dim except for the glow of his screen, obsessively neat lines and no personality, like he had tried to make the space as controlled as possible because nothing about him was. 

He kept glancing at the chat, reading whatever filth people were throwing at him, and every time his eyes flicked over something that got to him, his mouth parted just slightly before he forced it shut again.

God.

You leaned closer to the laptop.

He was trying to be quiet, that much was obvious. He was trying  to keep his breathing even, trying to make it look like this was routine, like he was just another camboy doing what people paid him to do. But his body kept betraying him. His throat moved when he swallowed. His thighs shifted open another inch. His hand tightened around himself, careful at first, almost punishingly restrained, like he was afraid of giving too much away.

And you realized, with a curl of heat low in your stomach, that he was still holding back.

Even alone, even with thousands of people watching, Dex was holding something back.

You should’ve been bored. You should’ve clicked away, made a note of his follower count, and sent his profile to your manager like any other piece of potential talent. Instead, you sat there in bed with your pulse picking up, watching the way his hips gave one helpless little twitch into his fist when someone in the chat must have praised him.

Oh.

Your lips parted.

Dex’s eyes went unfocused for half a second, his grip faltering before tightening again, and the sound he made was rough and clearly not meant to slip out. The chat exploded. You could see it reflected in the faint flicker of his eyes, hundreds of people losing their minds because the untouchable pretty camboy had made a noise.

Dex went red.

And then, instead of playing into it, instead of giving the camera some smug little smile, he looked angry. Embarrassed, even. He was turned on enough that he couldn’t hide it and furious that everyone had noticed.

Your stomach dropped in the best way.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you murmured to no one, smiling at the screen.

Dex’s hand moved faster, but not like he was trying to put on a show. It was simultaneously worse and more honest than that. His rhythm stuttered, then steadied, his shoulders tense, his free hand gripping the chair like he needed something to anchor himself to. He kept looking away from the camera and then back again, like he couldn’t decide whether being watched made it better or made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

You had been desired by millions. You had built a career out of being watched. You knew the difference between arousal that was performed and arousal that escaped.

This was escaping him.

And maybe that was why you gave yourself permission to let it happen to yourself, too. Dex was losing control in inches, and you were doing the same in secret, thighs tightening, hips rolling once over nothing, twice, slow enough that you could still pretend it was nothing. You could still pretend you were just watching. You could still pretend you hadn’t started chasing pressure because some camboy with a furious blush had made you feel wanted through a screen.

You could not look away.

Dex was hot, yes, but hot was cheap in your world. His body was good, his face was better, his mouth was pretty in a way that made your imagination wander. But it was the restraint that ruined you. 

You shifted again, slower this time, not even thinking about it. The pillow beside you had slipped between your knees at some point, warm from your body, and you tugged it closer with the same absentminded irritation you used to adjust a blanket. Except then Dex’s hand tightened on the screen, his mouth parted like he hated himself for needing it, and your thighs pressed together around the pillow before you could stop them.

You were not scouting anymore.

Scouting didn’t end up like this. Scouts did not sit in bed with their laptop glowing blue over their bare legs, breathing a little too shallow, hips moving in these tiny, thoughtless drags against a pillow. You only noticed when the friction pulled a soft moan out of you, embarrassing in how surprised it made you. 

On screen, Dex lowered his head, breath coming harsher now. His hand was moving with less control, his hips following in small, involuntary jerks. He was close. Anyone could see it. He looked almost pained, brows drawn together, mouth open, every bit of him wound tight and shaking with the effort not to be too loud.

Then he looked at the chat again.

Whatever he read there made him freeze.

For a second, he just stared.

Then his eyes lifted to the camera, dark and wrecked, and he said, voice rough, “Don’t call me that.”

You stopped breathing.

The chat must have done exactly what he told them not to, because his teeth clenched, his hand tightened, and the next sound out of him was so fucking pretty it made you desperately hump a pillow. 

Oh, he was a problem.

He was a massive fucking problem.

You watched him finish with his head tipped back, trying and failing to keep quiet, one hand still white-knuckled on the chair, his face flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. It was not polished or professional. It was so much better than that. It was messy and furious and needy, and when he finally slumped back, breathing hard, he looked almost offended by his own body.

Like he had lost a fight.

For a long moment, you didn’t move.

Dex slumped back on screen, breathing hard, looking offended by his own pleasure, and you stared at him with your thighs still locked around the pillow. Only then did you realize what you had been doing. Only then did you look down at yourself, at the twist of sheets, at the pillow dragged shamelessly between your legs, and laugh under your breath because, Jesus Christ, three hours of professional scouting had left you dry as dust, and Dex had made your pillow slick and sticky without even knowing your name.

You stared at the screen long after he ended the stream.

Then you picked up your phone and called your manager, Joanna.

She answered half-asleep and annoyed. “This better be an emergency.”

“I found someone.”

“For a video?”

You looked at Dex’s frozen profile photo, his serious mouth, his too-intense eyes, the ridiculous viewer count sitting under his name like proof that you weren’t the only one who had noticed.

But you were going to be the first one who mattered.

“For me,” you agreed, voice still a little too warm. “Camboy. Goes by Dex. Pretty big numbers, no studio work, and only solo stuff as far as I can see. Find him and work it out.”

Joanna went quiet, then, suspiciously she said, “Are you scouting, or are you horny?”

You smiled. “Both.”

Honestly, Joanna was shocked it wasn’t just the former. 

He must be special. 

—

Joanna managed to get you coffee with him three days later.

Which started very normal.

There was no immediate sexual tension so thick it made the barista uncomfortable. Not even dramatic eye contact over steaming mugs. No gag-worthy you’re even prettier in person that made you roll your eyes and secretly preen. It was just Dex sitting across from you in a corner table, shoulders too broad for the little café table, hands wrapped around a black coffee he barely touched, talking to you about the weather like he had not been the reason you dry-humped a pillow two nights ago.

It had rained that morning. You said you liked the smell of wet pavement when you didn’t have anywhere to be. He said he hated rain because it made people careless on the road. You laughed and told him that was such a depressing answer. His mouth twitched into an almost-smile, like he was embarrassed he had been funny by accident.

Then you told him you used to be a barista.

That surprised him.

“Really?” he asked, and it was the first time his voice lifted with something other than polite caution.

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “I can still steam milk better than half the people in here.”

His eyes flicked toward the counter, assessing the machine like he was genuinely considering whether that was true. 

“What about you?” you asked, saving him from the heavy load of the conversation. “Before the camboy thing.”

His thumb moved once against the cup.

“Military.”

Ah.

That made the posture, the exit-scanning make sense. The calm that didn’t  feel relaxed so much as trained into him. 

“Fair,” you said, letting your eyes drag over him just enough to be obvious. 

His ears went pink.

Fuck. Hot.

What you didn’t know was that Dex had almost not shown up.

And because he did not want to. Because he wanted too badly. Because your manager’s email had sat in his inbox like a live grenade, your name in the subject line, your actual name, your professional name, the name he had typed into search bars more times than he would ever admit out loud. 

He loved your solo work most, which wasn’t surprising, considering his preferences for doing things alone. 

You had no idea how many times you had been on his screen while he was live, in a second tab, your voice low in his tiny earphone while his chat thought they were the ones getting him worked up. And sometimes, sure, they helped.

But mostly, it was you.

Your solo clips were safer. He loved seeing your pretty face going soft with pleasure, with no one else in frame, no one else touching you, no one else making him feel that ugly twist in his stomach. It was stupid. Irrational. Embarrassing. You were not his. You didn’t know his name until two days ago. You had no idea he existed beyond maybe a faceless number in your views, but Dex still liked those clips best because, for a few pathetic minutes, he could pretend you were only being watched by him.

The scenes with other performers were harder.

He watched those too, but it made him mean, jealous in a way he had no right to be, staring at strangers with his jaw tight and his hand wrapped around himself like he could punish the feeling out of his body. He hated them for touching you. Hated himself for watching. Hated most that he still finished.

He knew he was not special for wanting you. Half the internet wanted you. He could see two joggers in the background, whispering in your direction. They’ve probably seen your videos, too.  

Dex was no different from them, having spent months as one anonymous viewer in an ocean of them, wanting too much from too far away.

And now you were sitting across from him in sunglasses and a soft sweater, smiling like this was normal.

He asked about your job without being weird about it. Not the gross questions people thought they were allowed to ask because you were famous for sex. He asked what made a good scene, how you knew when someone had camera presence, whether the industry was as overproduced as it looked from the outside. Dex was proud of getting the questions out, considering he had spent an hour that morning practicing in the mirror in the effort to make himself feel like a normal human being. 

You told him the truth. Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Sometimes the best thing on camera was a move nobody planned, and sometimes the hottest person in the room became boring the second they started acting like they knew they were hot.

Eventually, though, you had to talk business.

“So,” you said, stirring your drink with your straw. “Usually, before a full collab, I’d do a test screening.”

“I…” Dex’s eyes came back to yours. “I can’t do that.”

You blinked, leaned back. “That’s pretty standard, Dex.”

“I know.”

“You know?” You raised your eyebrows.

“I read the packet your manager sent.”

“Mm,” you hummed, sipping your coffee.

His ears went pink again, but he didn’t look away this time. “I’m not saying no to you. I’m saying no to doing it like that first.”

Oh?

“Okay,” you said, leaning forward a bit. “Then how would you do it?”

He took a second. You watched his thumb move once along the seam of his coffee cup, the only nervous tell he had really given you. He was shy, you realized. Not helpless or naive, but shy in a controlled, locked-door kind of way. 

“Let’s do a “test screening” on my stream,” he said, and he looked like he was gonna wince with how needy he sounded. 

You stared at him for a beat, then laughed softly. “You want your first collab with me to be on a streaming site?”

“Yes.”

“You know my team is going to call that risky.”

Dex nodded. “Yes.”

“And you still want that?”

His gaze held yours, steady now despite the blush still sitting high on his cheekbones. “If I’m going to collab with someone like you, I want you on my screen first. Not the other way around.”

Oh.

You smiled into your coffee. So there was a marketing bone in his body. Smart. 

You understood it instantly, because it was a good branding move.

His whole appeal was the intimacy of his setup, the feeling that viewers were seeing something private slip out of him in real time. A studio debut would make him look like everyone else. But you appearing on his stream? You, the famous pornstar, stepping into his room, like the fantasy had chosen him personally?

That would go insane online.

“Ah,” You nodded slowly. “You want it less produced.”

“Yes.”

“Your audience gets to feel like they saw it happen before the industry got its hands on you.”

His mouth twitched up. “You’re good at this.”

“I’m known for a reason.”

“I know,” he said, a little too quickly. You smiled at that, and he looked down into his coffee like it had the answers to the universe. 

Fuck, he was cute.

There was something sweet about how badly he was trying to be professional while clearly not believing you were actually sitting across from him. It made you want to tease him just to see what would happen.

“You watched my work?” you asked lightly.

His fingers tightened around the cup. “Yes.”

“Research?”

“No.”

Your eyebrows lifted. Dex’s face went red.

Oh, that was fun.

You didn’t push him too hard, at least not yet. You just smiled into your drink and let him sit with it. Let him know you had noticed. Let him know you were kind enough not to eat him alive in public, even though you could.

“Okay,” you said eventually. “If I were to say yes, my rules still apply. I need boundaries and a safe word, of course. My manager sees the platform terms and the moderation plan. If I say stop, we stop. If I say cut, you cut. If your chat gets ugly, they’re gone.”

Dex nodded immediately. “I want you comfortable.”

It was so direct that it knocked some of the teasing right out of you.

You studied him for a second. “You’re very serious.”

“I’m trying to be.” His throat moved.

You smiled, smaller this time. “Relax, Dex. I’m not going to bite you here.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth, then back up.

“Okay,” he said, not sounding relaxed at all.

You laughed, warm and genuine. The rest of the meeting went like that. Business, then teasing. Testing requirements, then him asking if you still knew how to make latte art. Revenue split, then you asked if all ex-military boys read contracts like they were defusing bombs. He was shy, yes, but he kept up with you. He got drier as he got more comfortable, answering your little jabs with quiet, deadpan comments that made you laugh harder than you meant to.

By the time you stood to leave, you had already decided that whatever his final offer was, you were going to accept it. Dex rose when you did, because of course he did, and you watched him catch himself almost reaching for your chair. 

“Send the room specs to my manager,” you said. “Camera setup, schedule, moderation. All of it.”

He nodded.

“And Dex?”

He looked at you.

You smiled. “Don’t overthink it.”

By the time you got into the car, your manager had texted.

How did it go?

You looked back through the café window.

Dex was still sitting there, coffee untouched, staring down at the table like he was trying to process the fact that you had been real.

You typed back: Good chemistry :) 

Which translated to: get the contract through at all costs.

—

The contract came through a week later.

Joanna read it first, then legal, then you, curled up on your sofa with a glass of iced coffee.

It was careful and specific. From platform split, moderation rules, content usage, safeword protocol, post-stream review period. Dex had done his homework like he was preparing for a military operation instead of a livestream.

Joanna called you after. “He’s weird.”

You smiled at the PDF on your screen. “I know.”

The schedule was locked in for Friday night, two months from the initial meeting.

It was prime livestream time, where most people were off work for the week and needed to blow some steam off. 

The announcement that he was going to have a special guest went up at noon and started trending by dinner. By the next morning, the comments were already feral, speculating on who the guest could be. The other half were calling the guest “lucky,” like luck had anything to do with it.

By Friday afternoon, your bag was packed like any other shoot: robe, makeup, a backup outfit, your own wipes, your own water bottle, your own little collection of professional comforts that made unfamiliar rooms feel less unfamiliar. You had done this hundreds of times before, with different sets and different performers. 

But this time, your stomach kept doing this stupid little flip every time you looked at the address.

—

Dex’s apartment was exactly as clean as you expected.

The first thing you saw was shoes lined neatly by the door, counters wiped down, unopened waters on the coffee table, folded towels stacked beside them, a bowl of mints like he had prepared for a business meeting and a sleepover at the same time. The contract sat printed beside a pen, already signed on his end, with little tabs marking the important sections.

Dex stood in the doorway in a black shirt and dark jeans, barefoot, hair still a little damp from a recent shower. His eyes flicked over you once before he looked away, polite enough to be cute and interested enough to fail at hiding it.

“Hi,” you said.

“Hi.”

You stepped inside, smiling as you looked around. 

“You cleaned like my manager was coming to inspect the place.”

Dex shrugged. “Would she?”

“She usually does,” you chuckled, “but you negotiated me coming here alone, so…”

“Then I cleaned the right amount.”

That made you laugh, and he relaxed by about half an inch. He offered you water, pointed out where the bathroom was, showed you the towels and extra robe, and then handed you the final printed contract like this was all very normal.

When he led you to his livestream room, you felt a bit parasocial, which was weird, because you rarely felt that anymore. There’s the table you saw on stream! There's the bed in the background! There’s the chair he jerked—

“The water is in the corner,” Dex said, pointing yet again to another oasis of neatly arranged water bottles. 

You nodded and smiled, looking at the countdown stream on his computer. You read the comments, feeling pleased with yourself.

devilcam199999: WHO IS IT?

6polly16: dex with a guest is crazy

starknaked3000: is it a model???

the.raft.wifi: hes probably already nervous lmao

You leaned closer to the screen, amused. “They’re going to be unbearable.”

“They usually are.”

You smiled and he pretended not to notice.

The setup was good. While his room didn't have studio gloss, he had flattering lighting, clean frame, camera angled to catch the bed if he widened the shot, desk close enough that he could cut the stream instantly. He walked you through the kill switch, delay, blocked terms, moderator list, and what to do if either of you wanted to stop. 

“You really did your homework,” you said.

His eyes flicked to you, and that tiny almost-smile came back. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not surprised. I’m impressed.”

It was enough to make his face warm while he turned back to the monitor like the settings suddenly needed his full attention.

You liked him. That was becoming inconvenient.

He had a first-timer’s shyness and a professional’s discipline, and the combination was doing stupid chemicals to react like fireworks in your brain.

Before he clicked anything live, he paused.

“Can I ask something?”

You leaned against the desk. “Yeah.”

Dex looked almost embarrassed, but not scared. Just very aware of himself. “Can I kiss you first?”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“To get it out of the way,” he added quickly, then immediately looked like he regretted phrasing it like that.

You laughed. “That is possibly the least professional way anyone has ever asked to kiss me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t want the first one to be for them.”

Oh.

How sweet, asking for one small thing to belong to the two of you before the camera got any of it.

You stepped closer. “Okay.”

He looked pleasantly surprised. 

Dex kissed you carefully, almost chastely, one hand hovering near your waist but not touching until you gave him the smallest nod. His mouth was warm and far more polite than anything about the night ahead of you had any right to be. It lasted maybe three seconds. Four, at most. A sweet little closed-mouth kiss that shouldn't have made your stomach dip the way it did.

When he pulled back, you smiled. “That was very respectable.”

His ears went pink. “Was that bad?”

“No,” you said, still smiling. “That was adorable.”

Dex looked like he would rather walk into traffic be called adorable by you, which only made it worse.

You reached up, fixed the collar of his shirt even though you were going to take it off him anyway, and stepped back before you could get too fond of him too quickly.

“Okay,” you said. “Now we work.”

That helped him, and you could see almost instantly, how it whipped the room back into shape. 

He nodded and turned to the monitor while you stepped into the bathroom and stripped to change to your skimpy two piece-piece, grabbing your robe from your bag and slipped it over your shoulders. When you got back out, he was checking the countdown settings. The chat was moving so fast now it looked like static. Dex had not even gone live yet, and they were already losing their minds over the idea of a guest.

You stepped into the preview beside him.

There you were, on his camera. 

You missed this. The amateur stuff. It's been like, three years since you’ve done it like this. 

“Oh,” you said, watching the monitor. “This is going to be good.”

Dex looked at your reflection instead of the chat. “Yeah.”

You smiled. “Ready?”

He took one breath. Then he clicked the stream into place.

“Ready enough,” he said.

The five-minute countdown began.

—

Three…

Dex sat in his usual chair, fully clothed, hands folded loosely in his lap like this was a normal stream and not the first time his chat had ever been promised a guest.

Two…

The chat was already moving too fast.

One…

The waiting screen vanished.

For half a second, it was just Dex. Same room, same camera, same controlled lighting. Same pretty, unreadable face that made people tip just to see if they could crack it. He looked at the chat, then at something off-screen, then back at the camera with his jaw a little tighter than usual.

“Hi,” he said.

The chat exploded just from that.

fluid69: HIIIIII DEX

blipped_and_bricked: he looks nervous oh my god

0nlyCams0fKamarTaj: WHERE IS THE GUEST

mod_mara: Be respectful. Rules are pinned.

Dex read none of it out loud. He never really did when it moved like this. He only glanced at it, then back off-screen, where you were standing in your robe, smiling with your arms folded like this was the funniest thing you had done all year.

They had known about a mystery guest for two days. They had theorized, spiraled, argued, made tier lists, accused him of secretly having a girlfriend, accused him of hiring another camboy, accused him of doing a faceless collab, accused him of lying for engagement. No one had guessed you, because why would they? You had not cammed in three years. You didn’t just wander into camboy streams like a surprise prize.

Dex swallowed.

“I have…” He stopped, jaw flexing like the word was harder than it needed to be. “I have a friend here.”

You almost laughed.

A friend.

You, pornstar-men-recognized, standing barefoot in his bedroom in a silk robe, and Dex had introduced you like you were coming over to borrow sugar.

The chat went rabid.

redline.616: A FRIEND????

hellskitchen_: DEX HAS FRIENDS???

6courtroom9: no because why was that hot

_afterdark: show friend show friend show friend

TIPBOT: @/redline.616 tipped 25 tokens — “for the friend fund”

Dex’s ears went pink.

You decided to save him and ruin him at the same time by moving, showing one bare leg sliding into frame from the side, like you had wandered in by accident. Your robe skimmed high on your thigh. You heard the chat hitch, the delay catching up in a sudden, violent flood of messages.

Dex turned his head toward you.

You gave him your hand. He took it immediately.

That, for some reason, was what made the room feel intimate. Even on camera, even with thousands of people watching, he was going to do this properly.

He pulled you closer, not rough or showy, just a steady tug until you stepped between his knees, face still off-camera. Then he looked up at you, waiting.

You smiled down at him, let the pause stretch just long enough for the chat to collectively lose its mind, then lowered yourself into his lap.

Oh, boy.

pretty-prince: WAIT

pretty-prince: WAIT WAIT WAIT

skull.hour: IS THAT—

starknaked.3000: NO FUCKING WAY

27watch: I KNEW I RECOGNISED THAT LEG

mistermidnight: DEX WHAT DID YOU DO

TIPBOT: @/mistermidnight tipped 100 tokens — “IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?????”

TIPBOT: @/skull.hour tipped 250 tokens — “DEX YOU ABSOLUTE MADMAN”

You settled sideways across his thighs, one arm sliding around his shoulders as if you had sat there a hundred times. Dex went very still under you, almost stunned like his body had accepted you before his brain could process the fact that you were real, warm, and in his lap on his own stream.

“Hi,” you said to the camera.

That was all it took.

616.redline: I KNOW THAT VOICE I KNOW THAT VOICE

kamar-taj404: SHE HASN’T CAMMED IN YEARS?????

catholicguilt: DEX BAGGED A LEGEND???

the.raft.wifi: I WATCHED HER LAST NIGHT

velvet_77jaw: everybody shut up she’s real

blip.checked69: DEX BLINK TWICE IF YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 500 tokens — “WELCOME QUEEN”

TIPBOT: @/catholicguilt tipped 69 tokens — “I am deceased”

TIPBOT: @/goodboycommittee tipped 300 tokens — “I literally had her video open yesterday. Dex you lucky bastard.”

Dex read that one.

You felt it in the way his fingers flexed once at your waist in a tiny possessive twitch. That little reminder that yes, half the internet had seen you, wanted you, touched themselves to you, said filthy things about you. But now you were in his lap, on his screen, while they all watched him realize exactly how many people had wanted what he had his hands on.

You turned your head slightly, lips close to his ear.

“Breathe,” you murmured, sweet enough that the mic barely caught it.

Dex breathed.

The chat saw that too.

slowburnsir: he is NOT surviving this

camdad_404: his hands his HANDS

mod_mara: Do not spam. Tips are not requests unless accepted.

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 150 tokens — “for Dex’s funeral”

You laughed softly, and Dex looked at you.

The second his eyes met yours, the room changed. The chat was still screaming. The tips were still chiming. The screen was still bright with names and numbers and disbelief. But Dex stopped looking like a camboy hosting a special stream and started looking like a man with you in his lap, trying very hard to remember that everyone else existed.

You smiled at him like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“Your chat is excited,” you said.

Dex’s gaze flicked to the screen, then back to you. His hands tightened again, just slightly.

You raised an eyebrow.

He looked flatly at the camera for half a second, then down at where you were settled across him.

“I noticed.”

The chat caught the tone even if they did not catch the whole meaning.

rorschach69: OH HE’S JEALOUS JEALOUS

confessional_3am: that was possessive as hell

guilttrip04: “i noticed” SIR????

billyphobia.16: wait this chemistry is insane

TIPBOT: @/lonelyplanet69 tipped 400 tokens — “for whatever that was”

You should have kept it professional, and to be fair, you mostly did.

You faced the camera again, one hand resting lightly against Dex’s chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. It was very fast. Sweet, actually, if you ignored the fact that the man beneath you looked one good compliment away from blacking out.

“Hi, chat,” you said, bright and calm, like you had not just detonated his entire platform. “I hear Dex promised you a guest.”

The chat screamed.

Dex, poor thing, looked at you like calling him by name in that voice had been an attack.

You smiled wider.

“So,” you continued, letting your fingers tap once against his shirt, “be nice to him tonight.”

You leaned a little closer to the camera, lowering your voice.

“He’s new at sharing you guys.”

After that, you stayed in his lap for a while, letting the audience settle as word spread that you were her. You saw the chat screaming itself into static while Dex tried very hard not to look like he was losing his mind on camera. He was touching you through the robe already, one palm over your hip, the other over the swell of your clothed breast, fingers pressing in like he could feel the heat through the fabric, like he was trying to be respectful and failing in the most beautiful way.

You smiled down at him. “Stand up.”

Dex’s eyes flicked to yours.

Then he obeyed.

Chat noticed. 

crosshair__: oh he moved FAST

aim.locked00: SHE SAID STAND AND HE STOOD????

TIPBOT: @/rolle.rbl.ade tipped 200 tokens — “for obedience”

Dex’s ears went pink, but he kept his eyes on you.

You stepped in close, hands finding the hem of his shirt. He lifted his arms before you even had to ask. Disciplined Dex standing there half-submissive in front of his own camera while you dragged his shirt up over his stomach, over his chest, over those ridiculous shoulders, and tossed it off-frame like it didn’t matter.

The chat went wild at the sight of him.

You barely looked at them. You were too busy looking at him.

His chest rose and fell too quickly. His stomach tightened when your fingertips skimmed down the center. His teeth clenched when your nails grazed the waistband of his jeans. He was so still it almost looked controlled, except nothing about the front of his jeans was controlled at all.

Dex was already hard, and not even half-hard from nerves and anticipation. Rock fucking hard, straining behind denim like his body had given up pretending.  Like sitting with you in his lap, smelling your perfume, seeing the chat call you a legend had ruined every professional thought in his head.

“Dex,” you said sweetly.

His eyes shut for half a second.

You laughed under your breath and popped the button of his jeans.

27noirsignal_: OH MY GOD

ricochet.004: He’s so embarrassing

redacted-h3ll : everybody act normal.

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 500 tokens — “for that reaction”

The zipper came down slowly.

Dex’s hands twitched at his sides.

“Don’t help,” you murmured under your breath, not loud enough for the mic to catch it.

He froze.

You pushed his jeans down just enough, then his briefs, watching his face while he was exposed to you and the camera all at once. He sprang free, heavy and so obviously neglected that you made a pleased sound before you could stop yourself.

The chat exploded.

You reached for him, but not properly. You gave him the lightest touch, fingertips fluttering over him, barely there, soft little strokes that were more a tease than relief. Dex’s breath hitched. His stomach jumped. His hands curled into fists like he was physically stopping himself from grabbing you.

You touched him again, featherlight.

His hips gave one tiny, helpless twitch into your hand.

“Oh,” you whispered, smiling. “You’re sensitive.”

glasshog_77: DID HE JUST

midnightorbit : she barely touched him I’m crying

goodboycommittee: this is not a stream this is an execution

TIPBOT: @/midnightorbit tipped 250 tokens — “for Dex’s dignity, rip”

You wrapped your fingers around him for one second, just enough to feel him pulse in your hand, just enough to make his mouth part.

Then you let go.

Dex let out a broken little breath, like he hated how much he wanted to chase your touch.

You smiled like a terrible person. “Your turn.”

For a second, he just stared at you. Then his eyes dropped to the tie of your robe.

Dex reached for it carefully, like the silk was a trap. His fingers brushed your stomach through the fabric before he pulled the knot loose. The robe opened in a slip of blue shadow and skin, but you didn’t make him peel it off you. You just let it fall.

The silk slid down your shoulders, down your arms, and pooled at your feet, showing blue lingerie.

It was pretty, almost innocent, if anyone watching was stupid enough to believe that.

Dex stopped breathing.

The chat did too, for about half a second. Then it lost its collective mind.

27watch: she knew exactly what she was doing

devilcam199999: DEX BLINK IF YOU’RE ALIVE

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 1000 tokens — “WELCOME BACK TO STREAMING”

Dex’s eyes dragged over you with a focus so intense it made your skin heat. It wasn’t polished or performative. Dex looked like he was trying to survive you.

You stepped closer, turned back so your ass was facing him, and took his wrist, guiding his hand to your waist.

“Touch me.”

His palm settled against your skin with reverence first, then hunger second. His fingers spread over your ribs, thumbs brushing the edge of the lace. He traced the strap of your bra with one finger, then bent his head and caught it gently between his teeth.

Your breath hitched.

His teeth tugged the blue strap down your shoulder inch by inch, his mouth hot against your skin, careful until your breath shook. Then less careful when he heard it. His lips followed the strap, kissing the place it had marked, and when his eyes flicked up to yours, there was something darker in them now.

“Turn around,” he said quietly, almost embarrassed by his own command.

You did, because fair was fair.

Dex’s hands went to your hips as you faced him again, your chest to his, your ass framed perfectly by the lens in that tiny blue scrap of lace. The chat started moving too fast to read. Tips chimed over each other, bright and frantic, while Dex stood in front you, naked and hard, one hand sliding to your back to steady you, the other moving down over your hip.

Then his hands cupped you, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your ass, spreading you slightly through the lingerie so the camera got the kind of view that made the chat forget how to spell.

catholicguilt: DEX???

soft_dom_accountant: HIS HANDS

the.raft.wifi: THE VIEW THE VIEW THE VIEW

goodboycommittee: chat shut up I’m dying

TIPBOT: @/mistermidnight tipped 500 tokens — “that angle is insane

And that was when Dex realized that the camera had the better view.

His hands paused. His fingers flexed once against your skin. His jaw tightened near your temple, and you watched his eyes flicker from you to the feed, from the feed back to what little of you he could see over your shoulder.

Oh.

Oh, he didn’t like that.

Chat clocked it before you did.

exitwound-17: HE’S JEALOUS OF US

badangle_300: DEX MAD WE CAN SEE HER ASS BETTER THAN HIM

holyshitcam.24: possessive king has logged on

user-51down: he set up the angle lol

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 400 tokens — “for the angle”

Dex’s mouth flattened.

You arched your back just enough to make the view even worse for him and even better for them.

His hand shot to your back, pulling you back against him.

There he was.

Not the shy camboy or the careful professional. Just Dex, tense, jealous, turned on so badly he looked almost angry about it, his arousal hard against you from behind while thousands of people watched him lose the battle in real time.

You looked back at the camera and smiled.

“Aw,” you said, voice soft and sweet. “I think he forgot sharing means sharing.”

Dex’s grip tightened.

The chat screamed.

He bent close, lips brushing your ear. 

“They get to watch,” he muttered.

His hands slid lower, possessive and warm, holding you open for one more second before he turned your face away from him.

“But I get to touch.”

Your back hit Dex’s chest, and you could feel the hard planes of his body behind you, the heat of his skin, the shaky rise and fall of his chest, the twitch against your lower back every time the chat said something particularly filthy. He was trying not to react, you could tell, wrapping an arm locked around your waist like he was keeping you in place for the camera and himself at the same time.

He was still jealous.

You could feel that too.

The chat had the front view now. You parted your thighs, your flushed chest, Dex’s big hand splayed possessively over your stomach. They could see the curve of your body better than he could, and it was clearly ruining him in several directions at once.

blindspot-13: this angle is criminal

sector_42seven: she’s so lucky smh

castle50files: DEX YOU GOOD???

TIPBOT: @/badangle_300 tipped 500 tokens — “I could never have his self-control”

Dex’s cheek brushed your temple when he leaned down.

“Tell me what to do,” he said.

It came out rough and almost too quiet. It wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t even a line. It was just a simple request.

Your stomach pulled tight.

Because Dex had his hands on you in front of thousands of people, but he still asked. He still waited. He still needed the words. Even with your hips held under his hands and your breath already starting to shake, he wanted instruction.

You turned your face slightly toward him. “You want me to teach you?”

You felt him twitch again against your back.

confessional.09: yikes

audiofile_6b: oh he LIKES being told

lessonpla.n: teacher voice unlocked

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 300 tokens — “give him step by step instruction”

Dex’s hand tightened over your waist.

“Yes,” he said.

Fuck.

You smiled at the camera, sweet as sugar, and reached back to touch his thigh, just enough to make him feel your fingers and suffer.

“Okay,” you said. “First, put your hand here.”

You guided his hand up your stomach to your chest. Dex followed instantly, palm large and warm as it slid over your ribs. His fingers hesitated at the edge of your bra, then cupped one breast through the blue lace, careful at first, too careful, like he was scared of making you feel like a prop even though the entire point of the stream was showing you off.

You covered his hand with yours and squeezed.

His breath caught.

“Like that,” you murmured. “Don’t be scared.”

Dex swallowed, then did it again, firmer this time. His thumb dragged through the sheer fabric, and circled once. Your hips shifted back against him before you could stop yourself.

His mouth brushed your ear. “There?”

“Mm. There.”

The chat went white-hot.

echo.17room: SHE SAID THERE

9lives_witness: he’s learning in real time

paperclip-666: I’m going to be sick they’re so hot

bigwindow.34: DEX’S HANDS ARE HUGE?????

TIPBOT: @/bad.r0m4nce tipped 600 tokens — “student of the year”

Dex’s other hand moved lower, slower, down your stomach, over the rise and fall of your breathing. You felt the moment his fingers reached the waistband of your lingerie because he stopped again, waiting.

You were going to lose your mind.

“Under,” you told him.

His fingers slipped beneath the thin blue strap at your hip, and your thighs parted by instinct.

Dex went still behind you, his breathing now unsteady. You could feel him trying to stay controlled, trying not to rut helplessly against your back while he touched you, trying not to make this about how badly he wanted to lose his mind  just from being told what to do.

“Lower,” you whispered.

He obeyed.

His fingers slid down, cautious, feeling the pool already gathered there, and the sound he made was almost inaudible. The mic caught just enough that the chat turned feral.

static.8pm: DID HE JUST MAKE A SOUND

mercykill_27: HE’S GONE

witnessbox.6: she’s literally teaching him and he’s dying

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 1000 tokens — “for Dex’s education”

Dex’s forehead dipped against the side of your head. “Show me.”

You slid your hand over his, guiding two of his fingers higher, positioning them exactly where you wanted him. “Here. Not too hard. Keep your fingers flat.”

He rubbed once.

Your knees nearly buckled..

Dex felt that too. His arm around your waist tightened immediately, catching you, holding you up before the audience could even see you falter. Miss international pornstar, can’t be embarrassed like that in front of an audience, right?

“Like that?” he asked, voice wrecked.

You nodded, then remembered he needed more than that. “Yes. Small circles, Dex.”

He did exactly what you said.

Small, slow circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, fingers slick beneath the lace, his other hand still cupping your breast for the camera like he couldn’t decide if he wanted them to watch or wanted to cover you from everyone. His thumb moved again, firmer now, and the combination made your head fall back against his shoulder.

Dex stopped for half a second.

“No,” you breathed, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t stop.”

He started again instantly.

The chat screamed.

panicbutton.23: DON’T STOPPPPP

sweetspot_808: he immediately listened lolol 

kneesweak.4am: he is so obedient I’m unwell

goodboycommittee: Dex looks like he’s going to pass out

TIPBOT: @/panicbutton.23 tipped 700 tokens — “DON’T STOP FUND”

Dex’s fingers kept moving, slow and slick, learning the rhythm by how your body answered. When he pressed too hard, your hand tightened around his wrist and he eased off. When he drifted too low, you corrected him with a gentle, “Up, baby,” and his whole body shuddered behind you.

Baby ruined him.

You felt it in the hard twitch of him against your back.

“Oh,” you laughed, but it came out broken. “You liked being called that?”

Dex’s mouth pressed to your shoulder.

His silence was answer enough.

The chat caught the shape of it even if they missed the words.

catholicguilt: SHE CLOCKED HIM

velvet-raw: he is not beating the needy allegations

goodboycommittee: DEX BABY FOCUS

TIPBOT: @/soft_dom_accountant tipped 250 tokens — “focus and concentration, babe”

You rolled your hips into his hand, showing him the pace you wanted. “A little faster now. Don’t chase it. Let me grind against your fingers.”

Dex made another sound then, rough against your skin, and did exactly that. He held his hand firmer, letting you move on him, letting you use his fingers while his palm pressed you open under the thin lace. His other hand squeezed again in time with the movement of your hips.

It was filthy.

Worse, it was intimate.

There were thousands of people watching. The chat was flashing too quickly to read. Tips were chiming. The room was bright with the glow of the screen and the sound of strangers losing their minds. But all you could feel was Dex behind you, his breath hot at your neck, his fingers doing exactly what you told him because he wanted to be good for you more than he wanted to look in control.

“Good,” you whispered.

Dex’s hips jerked once against your back, and you made a lewd sigh you haven’t made in a long time.

0nlyCams0fKamarTaj: GOOD?????

skull.hour: praisekinkunlocked 

slowburnsir: this is insane chemistry

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 1500 tokens — “god bless”

Dex read it, and felt his whole body lock.

His fingers faltered for one second, not stopping completely but losing the rhythm, and you knew exactly why.

You smiled, cruel and warm at once.

“Don’t look at them,” you murmured. “Look at me.”

His eyes dragged away from the chat to the monitor, to the reflection of your face tipped back against his shoulder, your mouth open, your body moving against his hand. He looked wrecked. Blushing, jealous, and so focused on your pleasure that the whole audience might as well have vanished.

“That’s it,” you said. “Right there.”

Dex’s fingers moved faster.

Your hand flew up to his wrist, not to stop him, just to hold on. His mouth found the side of your throat, and you felt him twitch again, harder this time. “Dex,” you gasped.

His voice was hoarse. “Tell me.”

You clenched around nothing.

“Keep going. Don’t change anything. Don’t you dare change anything.”

He didn’t.

For all his jealousy, all his almost-frantic arousal, Dex could follow an order beautifully. He kept the pressure perfect, the circles tight, his hand steady while you rocked into him, your breath breaking into little sounds you couldn’t dress up for the camera even if you wanted to.

And then you realized distantly, that you weren’t performing. 

You were just naturally losing it while Dex was touching you exactly the way you told him to.

soft_dom_accountant: she’s actually gone

the.raft.wifi: HIS FACE. LOOK AT HIS FACE.

goodboycommittee: oooo 

TIPBOT: @/slowburnsir tipped 800 tokens — “good instruction-following”

Your thighs started to tremble.

His arm locked tighter around your middle, holding you upright against him, his fingers never stopping. “Like this?”

“Exactly like that.”

“You’re close.”

It wasn’t a question.

You laughed, but it cracked into a moan. “Don’t sound so proud.”

“I am.”

Oh, fuck.

That should do it.

Heat snapped low in your stomach, pleasure cresting hard and fast because he sounded proud, because his hand was perfect. Your head tipped back against his shoulder, your hand clamped over his wrist, and you came on his fingers.

Dex held you through it.

He didn’t stop too soon and didn’t get greedy. He didn’t panic when your hips jerked or when your thighs shook. He slowed only when you told him to, easing you down until you were gasping against his chest, body loose and hot and humiliatingly satisfied.

For a moment, the chat was just chaos.

27noirsignal_:  HOLY SHIT

lonelyplanet69: Men take notes.

catholicguilt : the praise kink economy is thriving

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 2000 tokens — “WELCOME BACK INDEED”

Dex pulled his hand out from under your thong slowly.

You felt his fingers leave you and shivered.

Then you looked at the monitor, at his face, at the furious blush on his cheekbones. At his dark eyes locked on your reflection. At the way he held his wet fingers slightly away from your body like he didn’t know what to do with the evidence of what he had just done to you.

You smiled, and licked his finger to clean him up, making a show of it for his already feral audience. 

Dex’s eyes went black, because you teased him too much.

You should have known better, honestly. Dex had already been wound tight before you ever sat in his lap. So maybe it was your fault when he finally broke.

You were still catching your breath, knees unsteady, your blue thong damp and shifted crookedly beneath his hand. The chat was still feral.

redacted-h3ll : SHE CAME FIRST

glassjaw_838: I’M NEVER RECOVERING

midnightorbit: he looks like he’s about to snap

lonelyplanet69: someone check on him

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 2000 tokens — “GOOD BOY DEX”

Dex read that last one, and felt him freeze. 

Then you laughed, and made it worse by looking back over your shoulder. “See that? They think you’re a good boy.”

His hand closed around your hip, and it wasn’t gentle this time.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Dex bent you over before you could finish the thought.

One second your back was against his chest, his arm around your waist. The next, your cheek was pressed on the desk, your eyes turned toward the monitor, your hips angled up, Dex behind you with both hands on your ass like he had finally stopped caring about looking composed.

The little blue thong was in his way.

Dex stared at it for half a second like he wanted to kill it. 

Then he hooked his fingers under the thin strap and pulled it aside.

The stupid thing stayed stretched over one hip, pretty and useless, leaving you exposed for him and the screaming, frothing chat that had no idea they were watching the exact moment Dex stopped being manageable.

devilcam199999: OH MY GOD

goodboycommittee: DEX?????

exitwound-17: THIS IS NOT A DRILL

TIPBOT: @/goodboycommittee tipped 1000 tokens — “lmao she’s flustered”

He was skipping steps.

It was supposed to go on for much longer than this before this happened. The contract had been very clear about the intended sequence: strip each other, handwork, oral, teasing, breast play, then penetration if both performers confirmed continued consent. But it had also been clear that the sequence was not a binding script so much as a guideline, and that both performers could improvise as long as the safeword system remained active, respected, and immediate.

Your safeword was milkshake.

You hadn’t said milkshake.

You had not even come close.

What you said instead, when Dex pressed himself against you from behind, was, “Oh, fuck.”

Dex froze just long enough for one last thread of professionalism to drag itself through him. His hand slid up your spine, grounding. “This okay?”

Your fingers curled against the desk.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed l immediately. Then, because he was Dex and needed the final bullet point checked off before he lost his mind completely, you added, “Keep going.”

The sound he made was almost a laugh in relief.

You pushed your hips back a fraction, and that was when Dex lost it.

His hand locked around your hip, the other braced beside yours on the desk, his body folding over you just enough that his mouth brushed your ear. You could feel him shaking, not exactly with nerves, but with the force of wanting you so badly that restraint had become physically painful.

His voice came out wrecked, and much too honest for a man with thousands of people watching.

“Ready to watch your favourite pornstar take my virginity?”

For half a second, your brain went completely blank.

Wait.

What?

Then Dex pushed into you all at once.

Not elegantly with practiced timing, and not like a performer hitting a mark or giving the camera the perfect angle. He shoved into you like his body had been waiting so long it refused to negotiate anymore, and the shock of him punched the air straight out of your lungs.

Oh, Dex was big.

You knew that.  You had touched him. You had wrapped your fingers around him and thought, somewhat smugly, that you understood exactly what you were dealing with.

You did not.

Because seeing was one thing. Feeling him split you open from behind, hard and curved just right, was another thing entirely. He hit somewhere deep and bright, the kind of spot that made your knees buckle even with the desk under your hands. Your mouth fell open. No sound came out at first. Just a broken little inhale while your body tried to process his size, the stretch, and the fact that Dex had just announced to a live audience that you were taking his virginity.

The chat went nuclear.

exitwound-17: VIRGIN?

holyshitcam.24: Dex is a virgin?!

the.raft.wifi: EXCUSE ME

catholicguilt: THIS IS HIS FIRST TIME?????

audiofile_6b: OMG SHE JUST TOOK DEX’S VIRGINITY LIVE

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 3000 tokens — “ABSOLUTELY CINEMA”

You would have laughed. You really would have.

Except Dex moved. And every clever thought in your head went straight out the window.

His first thrust was clumsy. Too deep, too eager, too much. His rhythm stuttered because he clearly didn’t know whether to chase his own pleasure or watch yours, and somehow that made it hotter than anything scripted could have been. You had been fucked by men who knew exactly how to look good on camera. Men who knew their angles, their timing, their marketable groans. Men who could make sex look expensive and still make it feel like absolutely nothing.

Dex did not know how to make it look good.

Dex only cared about what made it feel good.

And fuck, did it.

He found that spot again by accident, then gripped harder when your whole body jolted under him. His hand tightened on your hip. “There?”

You were too fucked out to be dignified. “Yes. There. Again.”

He did it again, harder, and your arms nearly gave out.

echo.17room: inexperienced but effective

paperclip-666: chat I think she forgot us

TIPBOT: @/echo.17room tipped 1500 tokens — “for beginner’s luck”

You did forget them.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t performing in front of a camera. You weren’t making sure your face looked pretty when you moaned. You weren’t  arching for the best light or thinking about whether the angle sold the chemistry. You weren’t managing another performer’s ego, not timing your reactions, not pretending someone was better than they were because the scene needed it.

You were bent over a camboy’s desk while he fucked you raw and messy and half out of his mind, and the only thing your body cared about was the way he kept hitting that spot, the way he learned from every sound you made, the way he adjusted not for the camera but for you.

His inexperience made him greedy. His obsession made him attentive. His jealousy made him filthy.

Every time the chat screamed about your body, Dex pulled you back harder onto him. Every time someone tipped for the view, his hand slid possessively over your ass like he was reminding them they could watch all they wanted, but they could not feel how tight you were around him. Every time you moaned his name, his rhythm broke.

“Dex,” you gasped.

His hips stuttered.

He folded over you, chest against your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you up while he kept fucking into you in rough, uneven strokes. His mouth found your shoulder, teeth grazing skin, not quite biting, just desperate enough to make you clench around him.

He swore into your neck.

Dex, who had been so careful. Dex, who had asked to kiss you before the stream because he wanted one thing to belong to the two of you. Dex, who had printed contracts and arranged water bottles and checked the kill switch twice. That Dex was gone now, this Dex had no idea how to want halfway.

bad.r0m4nce: this man is having a religious epiphany 

static.8pm: she broke him

mercykill_27: no he broke HER

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 5000 tokens — “BEST STREAM ON THIS SITE”

You saw the messages blur across the monitor.

You didn’t care.

You could barely keep your eyes open.

Dex’s hand slid under you, fingers finding your sensitive spot between your legs again with frantic focus. He remembered what you had taught him, remembered the pressure, the small circles, except now he was fucking you while doing it and his hand was not nearly as steady as before.

You laughed, or tried to, but it came out as a moan. “Yes. Fuck, yes, just—don’t stop.”

He was determined while his hips kept snapping into you, making your body go loose and frantic at the same time. His breathing got harsher against your neck. His thrusts lost what little rhythm they had and became closer to instinct.

He was close.

His whole body changed, going tight behind you, arm locking around your waist, forehead pressed to your shoulder like he was trying to hold him back. It was an embarrassingly short time, and he knew it. He made one ruined moan into your skin and you clenched around him helplessly.

“Fuck,” Dex choked. “I’m—”

You should have said something professional. Something about pacing, control, stamina, the stream, the plan.

Instead, knowing you were religiously on the pill, you pushed back into him and whined, “Inside, please.”

The chat became unreadable.

the.raft.wifi: WHAT

sweetspot_808: SHE SAID WHAT

lonelyplanet69: DEX DO NOT DIE

TIPBOT: @/mistermidnight tipped 2000 tokens — “Lucky Girl”

Dex’s hips snapped forward once, deep and helpless.

You felt him empty himself in you.

His whole body shuddered, pulsing deep, his grip bruising-tight for one second before he caught himself and loosened like even mid-orgasm he was terrified of holding you too hard. He buried his face against your shoulder, shaking through it, breathing your name like he had no idea the mic could probably hear every broken piece of it.

And that should have been the end of it.

Except the feeling of him filling you, the heat of it, the broken little sound he made, the fact that Dex had lost his virginity inside you live on stream and was still rubbing your clit like the only thing he knew how to do was follow your last instruction….

It sent you over too.

Your orgasm tore through you so hard you actually cursed, hips jerking back against him, thighs shaking, hands slipping on the desk. Dex held you up through the whole thing, still making those ruined little sounds every time you clenched around him.

You were feral.

For a long time, there was no acting at all.

Chat was losing its mind.

kamar-taj404: THIS WAS HIS FIRST TIME. HIS FIRST TIME.

blip.checked69: she is NOT performing anymore

TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 10000 tokens — “HISTORY WAS MADE”

Dex stayed inside you for a moment, breathing hard against your shoulder, his arms around you like he had forgotten the stream existed too.

Then, very quietly, he asked, “Good?”

Your laugh came out wrecked.

“Good,” you echoed, voice hoarse. “Very fucking good.”

Dex smiled into your shoulder and stayed folded over you. One of his hands was braced on the desk beside yours, the other wrapped around your waist like he had forgotten he was allowed to let go.

You blinked at the monitor, still dazed, because the thing that kept replaying in your head was not the stream count, or the tips, or the fact that Dex had just fucked you live so messily that you had forgotten to perform.

It was the virgin thing.

It was genius, not telling beforehand to get a real reaction out of you. 

Technically, he hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no contract clause that said a performer had to disclose previous sexual experience. You were tested, asked for consent, boundaries, yes. Experience level? No. Virginity was a construct anyway.

You knew all that.

You believed all that.

And still…

He had given you something he had never given anyone else, and even if that should not have mattered, even if you were too professional and too sex-industry literate to get sentimental about the concept of virginity—

Fuck.

It mattered.

It mattered enough that you should have known from the way he strictly did solo stuff. The way he had asked to kiss you before the stream because he didn’t want the first one to belong to the audience. The way you had to talk him through touching you.

Your fingers flexed against the desk.

“Dex,” you said finally, voice wrecked.

He hummed against your skin, barely enough to be a real answer.

You smiled, mean even like this. Especially like this. “Do you want to show chat?”

He went very still.

He understood what you meant: wanna zoom the camera on proof that you just made a mess in me? 

It was standard, really, at this point. Shots like that were in high demand. 

The chat saw your smile and started moving so fast the text blurred into light.

slowburnsir: SHOW CHAT WHAT

camdad_404: pleasepleaseplease

pretty-prince: DEX YOU OWE US

TIPBOT: @/skull.hour tipped 3000 tokens — “for the reveal”

Dex lifted his head.

His face was beside yours in the monitor, flushed and wrecked, hair mussed, eyes dark. He looked at the chat, at all the names begging, all the tips chiming, all the strangers who had watched you take him and still wanted more.

Then his mouth flattened. “No.”

Before the chat could even properly react, Dex reached past you and cut the stream.

The screen went black, and the sudden silence was so sharp it made you giggle.

Dex turned you around immediately, hands careful now despite everything, flipping you to face him and lifting your ass up to sit you on the desk against him. You were still laughing when he kissed you, almost desperate, then gentler when you kissed him back. His mouth was clumsy, like he had just realized the entire internet had seen him lose his mind over you, and now all he wanted was a part of you that belonged to neither camera nor contract nor chat.

You gave it to him.

Several, actually.

You kissed him until his shoulders dropped, until his hands stopped gripping like he was afraid you would vanish, until the frantic edge of him became almost shy again. 

Then you blindly reached for one of the towels he had stacked nearby and tugged it underneath you, muscle memory.

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t tell me you were a virgin.”

Dex looked at you for a second, still breathing hard.

Then, with the driest, most infuriating little tone, he said, “Well, I’m not anymore.”

You laughed so hard you had to hide your face against his chest.

Dex’s arms came around you properly, one hand smoothing over your back, the other resting low at your hip like he was still half-convinced touching you was a privilege he had to earn. He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then your mouth again, slower, like now that nobody was watching, he could finally stop performing control and simply be greedy.

Eventually, you pulled back just enough to smile.

“Okay,” you said, still close enough that your lips brushed his when you spoke. “Now did that convince you to make a video with me?”

Dex’s eyes changed.

It was subtle, returning to himself with a terrifying piece of certainty.

“I want an exclusivity contract.”

You blinked at him.

For a second, you genuinely thought you had misheard him, because there was possessive and then there was whatever the fuck that was. 

He had just lost his virginity on livestream. He should have been dazed, maybe overwhelmed. Maybe asking whether the stream had gone well, whether the numbers were good, whether Joanna would be happy, whether the audience liked you with him.

Instead, Dex looked at you like he had found the one clause in the entire industry he cared about.

“Exclusivity contract,” he repeated.

Your mouth opened, then closed. “Dex.”

His hands tightened. “You never fuck another performer but me again,” he said, quiet and absolute. “Got it?”

Oh.

You had negotiated worse things than this with men who thought violent jealousy was part of the brand. You knew the difference between a possessive bit for the camera and a man who meant it so deeply it was probably a walking red flag.

See, a performer should not feel this possessive after one stream. A new collaborator shouldn’t look at you like every booked performer on your calendar was an affair. 

You had been in this industry long enough to know when desire became entitlement, when chemistry became control, when a man started mistaking access for ownership.

Except Dex had not acted entitled to you. 

Dex had wanted you so fucking badly, and still,he had still waited for every yes.

And, more than anything, he had made you love the job again.

Not in theory, not in the marketable, “I’m so lucky to do what I love” way you said in interviews when people wanted you to be grateful and sexy and easy to digest.

Dex had made you love it again.

He had made the camera feel electric again. He had made being watched feel intimate instead of routine. He had made you forget your angles. He had made you forget the chat. He had pleased you to the point that you stopped performing in front of an audience that had paid to see exactly that.

You should have been more alarmed by him.

Instead, you kissed him, and he made a low sound into your mouth when you bit gently at his bottom lip.

His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer like he had been waiting for you to argue so he could convince you with his mouth. You let him. You let him kiss you like the contract was already signed, like he could sear your loyalty into his skin if he touched you carefully enough, desperately enough, possessively enough.

“Not even women?” You asked, almost innocently. “Guys usually like it when I—”

“No.”

Your thighs pressed together before you could stop them.

“If I’m gonna fuck you for a living,” he continued, “I’m not sharing.”

Oh.

Well.

That was inconveniently hot.

You should have told him that was impossible.

You should have told him exclusivity cost money, career-shaping money. That your name was a brand, your schedule was booked months in advance, your team would have questions, your existing scenes had deposits, clauses, penalties, timelines. That adult performers did not simply get claimed by the first beautiful, obsessive camboy who managed to make them orgasm on camera for the first time in a very long time.

Instead, you pouted.

“But I have a threesome schedule with Frank Castle and Matt Murdock next month.”

You watched every part of him shut down with jealousy. His mouth flattened. His eyes sharpened. His hands flexed on your waist like he could feel Frank’s name on one side of you and Matt’s on the other and wanted to drag you physically out of the hypothetical.

“Cancel it.”

You bit your lip, delighted. “Dex.”

“Cancel it,” he repeated.

“It’s already booked.”

“I don’t care.”

“There are contracts.”

“I’ll pay the fee.”

You blinked.

He did not say it like a joke. Like if there was a cancellation penalty, fine. If there was a buyout, fine. If Joanna wanted numbers, fine. Dex would find the number, calculate the cost, send the wire, and erase the booking from existence.

And God help you, you were into it.

“You can’t just buy me out of my own schedule,” you said, but you were smiling.

Dex’s eyes dropped to your mouth.

“I can try.”

You laughed, and he kissed the sound right out of you.

It was less shy now. Still controlled, but there was confidence in it that had not been there an hour ago. 

His fingers slid up your back, into your hair, holding you where he wanted you while he kissed you harder. You let him for a second, then two, then long enough that the towel under you shifted and you had to laugh into his mouth again.

“You’re so cute.”

Dex frowned. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” You kissed him, smiling into it when he tried not to respond and failed. “That’s why it’s cute.”

His mouth chased yours when you pulled back.

You let him have another kiss. Then another. Then you cupped his face between both hands, still laughing softly, still stupidly charmed by the fact that Dex’s first post-virginity business decision was apparently to remove the entire rest of the industry from your schedule.

“Send the exclusivity contract to Joanna,” you murmured against his mouth.

Dex kissed you again.

You kissed him back, biting gently at his bottom lip just to feel the way he shuddered.

“And we’ll talk.”

His hands slid around your waist.

“Talk,” he repeated, like he didn’t believe either of you would be doing much talking.

You smiled.

“Mm-hmm. Professionally.”

Dex looked at you. Then at the black screen where his chat had been cut off mid-hysteria because he had decided the aftermath of your pleasure belonged to him and him alone.

“Right,” he tilted his head. “Professionally.”

—end.

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His phone vibrated against the desktop and his gaze snapped to it. It was notoriously difficult to receive incoming calls in this building. He’d designed it that way. He snatched up the phone and leaned back in the chair. By all accounts, the call should have gone to voicemail by now, but it hadn’t.

Where he expected to see a name on his screen, he found instead Answer Me. Titus’ eyebrow ticked up. That certainly wasn’t a contact he had entered into the phone.

He pressed the button to answer. “Danforth.”

“Mr. Danforth. I do hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” The voice was unmistakable. The Lawyer.

Titus’ grip tightened on the phone and he turned the photograph face down as if the man on the other end of the phone would be able to discern what he was up to. “Nothing that can’t wait. What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping to speak in person.” His tone was conversational, but there was no question it was a demand. “I’m currently in the lobby of your building.”

Titus moved the mouse to call up the security feed on his computer. Indeed, there stood The Lawer in his impeccable charcoal suit looking directly at the camera as if he’d known exactly where it was positioned. As if he’d known Titus would check.

“The lobby,” Titus repeated, a cold chill crawling up his spine. “How convenient.”

“I find proximity facilitates conversation. This won’t take long.”

Titus considered his options though there weren’t any, not really. He could no sooner refuse Le Bail’s representative as he could deny his interest in you. “I’ll have someone escort you up.”

“Thank you.”

Less than five minutes later, The Lawyer stood in Titus’ office examining the view of the city with apparent interest. His arms behind his back, his face revealing nothing. “This building is rather magnificent,” he finally said, turning away from the window. “Your choice, yes?”

Titus nodded once, eyes following the other man as he crossed the floor. “Please sit,” he said, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Your father prefers monuments to his wealth, buildings with the Danforth name and crest emblazoned upon them. It’s interesting that you prefer old stone walls and history. And your name nowhere to be found.” He tilted his head slightly as if studying the man before him.

Titus pursed his lips slightly, uneasy with the idea he was analyzed. “I doubt you came here to talk about my architectural preferences.”

The Lawyer sat finally, leaning back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “You’re direct. I appreciate that.” He placed his hands on his knee, fingers interlaced. “I am here because you have been chosen for a task.”

Titus went very still, heart racing. This could either be good or very, very bad. “A task?”

“Yes. As it falls outside the purview of your original contract, you are of course welcome to refuse with no consequence.”

That was unexpected. The Danforth family had served Le Bail for generations without question or hesitation. The idea that he would be able to refuse anything asked of him was novelty. “What sort of task?”

The Lawyer’s expression didn’t change, but there was a spark of amusement in his gaze. He spoked a single word in response. Your name.

Titus straightened in his chair and swallowed. “Continue,” he said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

And there was that small all-knowing smile this man always seemed to wear. “She will be meeting with several of the high families over the coming weeks. We would like you to escort her and provide an introduction as I am unfortunately needed elsewhere.”

“You want me to play bodyguard.” It seemed beneath him, even if it was for you.

A low chuckle answered him. “Not exactly. I assure you that she is more than capable of taking care of herself.” There was brief pause before he added, “Think of it more like being her companion. She gets bored easily. Mr. Le Bail prefers to keep her…entertained.”

And there it was again. The suggestion you were more than just another associate. Titus had continued to search for information on you and had found nothing. Not even a hint of something. You did not exist and didn’t that intrigue the fuck out of him.

And the wording was interesting. Companion. Not escort, not guide. Companion.

“Why me?” he finally asked.

“She requested you specifically.” The Lawyer spread his hands in a gesture that was meant to convey helplessness. Titus wasn’t buying it for a moment. “Mr. Le Bail sees no reason to deny her preferences.”

Titus’ mind raced with the possibilities. The fact that you had requested him specifically…It was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up, though he knew his father would not be pleased.

“When does this start?”

“Immediately.” The Lawyer stood, smoothing his suit. “The itinerary, such as it is, and other details will be sent to your personal email. Traveling from here will be more fortuitous than from the states. In fact, she is already in residence in town. Do inform your father that this arrangement is between yourself and Mr. Le Bail. He has no say in it. In fact, I daresay he would be rather displeased should Chester attempt to interfere.”

Titus nodded. “Send the details. I will be ready to depart as soon as she is.”

The other man stopped at the door and turned back. “One word of caution, Mr. Danforth. She values honesty above all else in those she associates with. You would do well to remember that.” And then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

After The Lawyer left, Titus flipped your photo over. You stared back at him from 1963. He traced the outline of your face with one finger.

“Why me?” he murmured.

The Lawyer entered your hotel suite without knocking. You stood by the window, looking out at the city. Centuries of acquaintance allowed him to recognize the subtle tension in your form that betrayed your interest in his errand.

“It’s done,” he said in lieu of greeting. “Titus Danforth has agreed to accompany you.”

You turned from the window, a slow smile curling your lips. “Oh, that is lovely news, Sol.”

He huffed out a breath of annoyance at the name you’d burdened him with. “When are you going to quit calling me that stupid name?”

“When you tell me your real one.” It was the same answer you’d given every time he asked. “It’s what you get for introducing yourself to me as The Solicitor.”

“I suppose I should be thankful we met then instead of now. You’d probably call me something even more idiotic like Law.”

You grinned. “I mean, I can.”

“Absolutely not.”

He poured himself two fingers of scotch from the decanter on the bar, glancing at you. You nodded so he poured one for you as well. “Are you certain he is the one you want?” he asked as he handed over your glass.

You gave him an amused smile and tilted your head as you sipped your drink. “You have that concerned wrinkle in your brow.”

His hand shot up to his forehead and he robbed the center of it while glaring at you. “Don’t avoid the question.”

You hummed and shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know for certain yet. We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

“I just don’t wish a repeat of last time. He’s rather fond of the Danforths. He won’t be pleased if he loses them, even if it’s for you.” His eyes studied you, searching for a hint of what you were actually thinking.

“Last time I pretended to be something I’m not. I won’t make that mistake again. We’ll just have to trust that Titus is a smarter man than Damien Richards.”

The Lawyer lifted a brow. “That’s a very low bar.”

When you simply hummed in agreement and turned back to the window, he changed the direction of the conversation. “He found the photo from 1963.”

“I allowed it.”

“Why?”

You faced him again, studying him for a moment. “Because Titus Danforth is underestimated by both his father and his sister. He is better man than Chester Danforth ever hoped to be. And a damn sight more loyal. I want to see what he does with the information.”

He finished his scotch and set the empty glass down. “And if he gets too close? If he figures out who and what you truly are?”

“It doesn’t matter what he knows, Sol. Only what he chooses.”

“The jet will be ready an hour before departure.”

“Perfect,” you said before draining your glass.

“Good hunting,” he said quietly as he turned to leave.

Your soft laugh followed him out the door, a sound unchanged by the passing centuries.

Titus gathered his things, though he packed light. The itinerary had been mostly filled with ‘TBD’ and ‘at your discretion’s. Anything he needed could surely be purchased if necessary. Once everything was ready, he finally made the call he’d been putting off since his meeting.

“What is it?” Chester Danforth answered with his usual warmth.

“Hello to you too, Father.” Titus’ tone was dry, flat. “I have news.”

“What sort of news?”

“I had a meeting with The Lawyer this morning.”

A beat passed, then two. His father undoubtedly gathering himself before speaking. Titus was more than familiar with the signs.

“Why would Mr. Le Bail’s representative contact you instead of myself?” He finally asked.

Titus couldn’t help a self-satisfied smile. “I was chosen for a task.”

“Le Bail chose you? This is fabulous news.” The old man’s pride and greed was evident. “We obviously still hold his favor. What is the task?”

“The woman from France. I am to accompany her as she meets with some of the other families.”

He’d barely gotten the words out before his father responded. “My son is not going to be a glorified bodyguard for some tramp.”

Irritation spiked through Titus at the insult. “She’s obviously important enough to warrant his special consideration.”

Chester scoffed. “He is certainly not above man’s basest desires. I am quite aware of the position she probably holds. You will refuse.”

Titus stretched his neck trying to relieve some of the tension. “I already accepted.”

“You will contact them and tell them you changed your mind,” he demanded.

A smile crossed Titus’ face. “The Lawyer said, and I quote, ‘this arrangement is between yourself and Mr. Le Bail. Your father has no say in it. He then said that Mr. Le Bail would be displeased should you attempt to interfere.” He let that sit for a minute, then added, “But by all means. Let me contact him.”

“No,” his father said quickly, the word sharp. “Do as you must. But you will keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open. You will tell me everything that woman does and everything you learn about the other families. Remember where your loyalties lay.”

“Of course, Father,” he lied easily, knowing his oath to Mr. Le Bail superseded his loyalty to his family. “I am uncertain how long I will be tied up. I’m on my way to the airport now.”

Titus disconnected the call without giving Chester a chance to respond.

Titus arrived at the airport to find a private jet waiting on the tarmac. A man stood at the foot of the stairs took his bags from him to stow in the hold. Titus gave him a nod and took the stairs two at a time.

He stopped inside the door to give his eyes a chance to adjust. When they did, they instantly locked on you. You sat in one of the seats, facing the door. You wore leggings and an oversized t-shirt that hung off one shoulder. The casual clothing should have thrown him perhaps, but he found himself only more enchanted by you. The fact you would relax in his presence meant more to him than it probably should.

He gave you a nod in greeting. “Hello.”

Your gaze ran over him from head to toe then you gestured to the seat across from you. He sat, leaning back in the chair, legs slightly spread. His jaw set and his eyes twitched slightly as he took you in.

The corner of your lips kicked up in a smirk. “You look like you have questions.”

“Several.”

The smirk shifted into an actual smile. “Ask away, Mr. Danforth.”

“Titus. And how would you like to be addressed?”

“My name usually works just fine. Mistress if you’re feeling saucy,” you answered.

His lips twitched as he bit back a smile. “The first stop?”

“Beijing and Wan Chen Xing.”

He couldn’t help the slight narrowing of his eyes at the name. You tilted your head. “You don’t like her.”

He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Not in the least. Is there any particular reason?”

“Does there have to be?”

That earned him a deep laugh that had you tipping your head back. “You’ll tell me all your secrets someday, Titus Danforth.”

He didn’t doubt it for a moment. “Why are you visiting the families? Why now?”

You hummed. “You are a curious man, aren’t you?” You didn’t give him a chance to respond before continuing. “There are…irregularities that Mr. Le Bail would like addressed. He’s sending me to do it. Normally he’s content to let you all live as you will but in this case, absence does not make the heart grow fonder. Rather it makes people complacent or stupid.”

He nodded in acknowledgement. “Fair assessment. And why not just have them come to you? Surely, The Lawyer could have summoned them. You could have taken care of it all in an afternoon.”

“There are two answers to that question. First, you learn much more about a person by seeing them in their own environment. They relax, reveal things they normally wouldn’t.”

“And the second answer?”

Your lips curled into a smile. “I like to travel, see the world. I’m taking advantage of the opportunity. Any more questions?”

Of course he had more questions. So many questions he knew you would never answer. “Just one. Why me?”

Your smile widened, flashing teeth shockingly white against your deep red lips. “You intrigue me. Your father is…as anticipated. Your sister clings to his expectations. But you, you want your own path. You do as ordered but with your interpretation of the rules.”

You studied him for a long moment, holding up a hand when he went to talk. “Above all, you are loyal. I’d like to see if that loyalty can extend to me.”

You were met in the lobby of Chen Xing’s building by a large man who didn’t speak. You followed him to the elevator which took you to the top floor where he directed you to a spacious office that overlooked the city. Your gaze ran over the woman standing behind the desk. Titus studied her himself, wondering what you were seeing.

As much as he didn’t care for the woman, he could admit she was beautiful. He wasn’t blind. She didn’t hold a candle to you, however. Titus wasn’t sure many women could. It went beyond your looks. It was your confidence, the way you held yourself. The way your mere presence commanded any room you entered. This one being no exception.

You glanced around the room, dismissal clear in your gaze. “You were informed I was coming?”

Chen Xing blinked, uncertain. “Uh, yes. Of course.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. “Interesting. And your son?”

The other woman’s hands curled into fists as she struggled to maintain her composure. Titus’ lips curled into a smirk. Oh, how he loved to see her off kilter. Normally always so sure she was the smartest person in any room.

“I wasn’t aware his presence was required. I can send for him.”

You shook your head and sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. Titus remained standing, moving to be directly behind you, hands held in front of him.

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” you said, indicating for Chen Xing to sit.

She frowned at Titus as she did so. “I don’t like him knowing my business.”

You pulled out your cigarette case. “Do you mind?”

She started to argue and Titus shook his head just once. “No. Of course not.” He could tell she’d had to force the words out.

He leaned forward and lit the cigarette for you. As he did, he realized it was the first time he’d seen you smoke since France.

“Are you hiding something?” you asked after taking a drag.

Chen Xing physically recoiled at the implication. “Of course not. The Danforths don’t need to know my personal business, however.”

“Bold of you to assume we don’t already,” Titus said, amusement coloring his words.

Your lips curled into a smile but you held up a hand to let him know you’d handle it. “Mr. Danforth will remember nothing of our conversation when we leave.”

Titus’ gaze darted briefly down to you. Could you actually do that? Alter his memory? It seemed impossible, but then he remembered his father’s failure to recognize you in the photo. You were certainly capable of doing something.

When Chen Xing hesitated, you added, “I swear it by Mr. Le Bail.”

Well, not accepting that would just be insulting. One of Titus’ brows kicked up slightly as he waited for the woman behind the desk to respond.

“Fine. What can I do for you?” She crossed her legs under the desk and clasped her hands together on the surface.

“Your family does the bare minimum required to fulfill your contract. Mr. Le Bail is…disappointed with your lack of enthusiasm. Ambition,” you explained with a tilt of your head, still smoking your cigarette. You flicked the ash onto the floor.

Chen Xing watched the ask fall through the air then flicked her eyes back to yours. “We do as required. We cannot be punished for that.”

You were silent for long enough that she shifted in her seat uneasily. “Quite. There is also the matter of your son.”

That got her attention, her spine straightening. “What about my son?”

“You aren’t training him properly to take over for you. Why not?” Your voice had taken on a cold note that made Titus uneasy even though it wasn’t directed at him.

“Cheng Fu is a good boy, a sweet boy. He is not interested in taking over.”

You leaned forward and put your cigarette out on the top of her desk, eyes never leaving hers as you did so. “Well. I’m sure Mr. Le Bail will understand when your sweet boy doesn’t fulfill your family’s end of the contract.”

You stood and looked at Titus. “Let’s go. I’m starving and the hospitality here is…lacking.”

I could—” Chen Xing started behind you, sounding panicked.

You held up a hand to cut her off. “Not necessary.”

Titus offered a final smirk to the other woman before following you out of the room. He watched your reflections as you stood side by side in the elevator. “I remember everything.”

“Of course you do. There would be no point in bringing you if I had to keep altering your memories,” you said, sounding slightly amused.

He turned to look at you then. “You told her I wouldn’t. You swore to Le Bail.”

You faced him and placed your hands flat on his chest, running them over the line of his coat to smooth it down. He sucked in a tight breath. “Mr. Danforth doesn’t remember the conversation because Chester Danforth is currently in Rhode Island.”

His eyes studied yours, looking for answers to questions he hadn’t asked. “The Lawyer said you valued honesty above all else.”

Your lips twitched. “Amongst myself and my companions, absolutely. With others?” You shrugged one shoulder then turned as the doors slid open. “Come along, Titus. I know just the place for dinner.”

He merely nodded and opened the door of the car for you, sliding in behind you. “When does the flight leave?”

You gave the driver and address and turned to watch the city pass by outside the window. “When I want it to. I thought we’d stay in Beijing for a few days. I haven’t been here in an age.”

When Titus didn’t respond, you shifted your attention to him. “Is that a problem?”

He smiled, slow and wide. “Not at all. I’m just pleased to know our time together will last longer than I’d anticipated.”

Your answering smile mirrored his own.

Your time in Beijing extended to more than a week. You didn’t sightsee as Titus had anticipated, instead you spent the time checking in with associates and introducing him to the best food he’d eaten in a very long time. And none of it was from fancy places or high-end restaurants. You took him to small ancient places nestled between new buildings. Street carts. Roadside vendors. Once you’d met The Lawyer at a private home where you were welcomed with wide smiles and bowing heads.

Not understanding the language the hosts spoke, Titus remained a silent sentinel at your side. You’d smiled at him part way through a story, eyes softening when he gave you a tight smile. You glanced at The Lawyer and tilted your head toward Titus as if asking a question. The two of you had a silent conversation then you’d taken Titus’ hand in your own and led him from the room with apologies to your hosts.

“What is it?” he asked once you were alone in the hall, voice rough. He swallowed hard when he realized you had not released your hold on his hand.

“I am going to grant you a gift, Titus. May I?”

“Of course,” he said with a slight nod of his head.

You cupped his face in your hands and leaned in, your lips brushed over his in the lightest touch before you moved to lay a gentle press of your lips against first one ear and then the other. His hands found your arms as he sucked in a sharp breath.

When you pulled back to look at him, his gaze ran over your face searching for some sign as to why you were doing this here and now. You smiled softly, gaze darting to his lips and back up. Later, he would realize that he was the one who closed the distance but you were the one who deepened the kiss. Your tongue flicked along the edge of his lips and he didn’t hesitate to open for you.

His arms moved to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. After another long moment of your tongues dancing together, you pulled back and smiled wide as your tongue traced your bottom lip. “That should fix things.”

It took Titus a moment to realize that you had not spoken any language he recognized yet he understood you perfectly. “What was that?”

“That was Cantonese, the preferred language of our hosts. You’ll be able to speak it as well.” You stepped back and held out a hand. “Shall we?”

He didn’t hesitate to reach out. Titus would find later that your gift had been a permanent adjustment to his being that would allow him to understand or speak any language.

The gift came in handy for your next stop, the Indian countryside to visit the Rajan brothers. They stood side by side on the steps outside when the car pulled up. Titus exited first and paused to button his jacket.

Madhu turned to his older brother. “What the fuck is he doing here?” he asked in Hindi.

“I go where she does,” Titus answered in the same language as he offered a hand to aid you in stepping from the car.

Viraj gave his brother a blank look and the younger man suddenly found the ground very interesting. “Apologies for my brother. Please, come. We have a meal prepared for you.”

“How lovely,” you said with a smile. “I’m famished.”

The dining room opened onto a covered terrace overlooking manicured gardens. A long table, heavy with food, was set with silver and fine china. The scent of spices hung heavy in the air.

“Please,” Viraj pulled out the seat at his right hand for you. Titus took the chair beside you, hyperaware of the way Madhu’s eyes followed your movements, lingered where they shouldn’t.

“This is a traditional feast we reserve only for honored guests,” Viraj explained as he dished curry onto your plate.

“It smells and looks wonderful. You’ve gone to considerable trouble,” you said before taking a bite and humming in obvious appreciation.

Madhu leaned forward. “Nothing is too much trouble for such a captivating guest.” His eyes once again took in any piece of you he could see.

Titus shifted in his chair, angling his body slightly toward you in a subtle display of possession. His eyes met Madhu’s across the table, his expression hardening. The younger man’s smile faltered as he settled back in his chair before clearing his throat and taking a drink of his wine.

You took another bite of your food, seemingly oblivious to the silent exchange, though Titus caught the slight twitch at the corner of your lips.

Small talk was exchanged during the meal, the topics ranging from the weather to the Rajans’ latest business endeavors. It wasn’t until dessert that you finally steered the conversation to its intended purpose.

“There is some concern as to the matter of the continuation of your family line,” you said casually.

Viraj’s hand stilled. “Continuation?”

You hummed in agreement. “While Mr. Le Bail is aware of your preferences, there are always surrogates.” Your gaze moved from him to his brother. “And Madhu has no such limitations.”

The brothers exchanged a quick glance. Titus didn’t bother trying to smother his amusement at the conversation.

Madhu cleared his throat. “We’ve been focused on expanding our business interests. We hadn’t realized this was a priority.”

“I’m afraid your contract is quite specific on the continuation of your bloodline. You wouldn’t wish Mr. Le Bail to start culling his favor until you complete your end, I’m sure.”

The Rajans exchanged another look. “We will address the matter immediately.”

“See that you do.” You stood announcing the end of the meeting and the meal.

The brothers accompanied you to the entrance. As the car pulled away, Titus watched their figures growing smaller in the distance.

“I apologize if I overstepped,” he said.

You glanced at him, your brows arched in question.

“With Madhu.”

Your laugh was soft. “You mean with his flirtations that barely started before you intervened. I’ve endured far worse than a few suggestive glances and an interested tone. But your intervention was both noted and appreciated.”

Titus felt a thrill of satisfaction at the words even as he recognized the danger in it. With each passing day, he was becoming more entangled in whatever web you were weaving.

And he found he didn’t mind at all.

Titus was less than pleased when after two weeks in India and the surrounding area you advised that the two of you would be travelling to speak to Bill Wilkinson next. Of all the high families, the Wilkinsons were the one Titus disliked the most. There were very few vices the head of the family didn’t indulge in.

Bill Wilkinson had cleared out his Country Club to host a ‘soiree’ for you, as he called it. As the car approached the building, Titus’ gaze ran over the grounds. There were far more people here than he was anticipating. He glanced at you to find your gaze narrowed as you noted the same.

The man you were here for held court in the center of the outdoor patio, voice too loud, gestures too broad. Titus discovered a fresh well of contempt he hadn’t known he possessed. He positioned himself mere inches from your side, close enough to guide you with his hand on your back. The gesture familiar now after the time you’d spent in each other’s company.

Titus leaned close to your ear. “The man’s already high as a fucking kite. It’s barely four in the afternoon.”

Your lips curved into that knowing smile he’d come to crave. “Yes. I rather think he spends more time high then sober.”

Wilkinson spotted you across the terrace and his face lit with a predatory expression. Titus immediately straightened, prepared to step between the two of you. The man walked away from his current conversation mid-sentence and made his way toward you.

“You made it! I knew you wouldn’t miss my little gathering.” Wilkinson’s voice boomed, drawing attention from nearby guests. His pupils were dilated and there was a faint trace of white powder visible in his nostrils. Fantastic.

Titus’ hand flexed against the small of your back. He didn’t like this man in your vicinity.

“If you recall, Mr. Wilkinson, it was us who requested the meeting in the first place,” you said, voice even, unbothered.

He waved a hand through the air as if that detail was unimportant. “Call me Bill.” He leaned forward into your space, gaze darting between you and Titus. “And you brought a bodyguard.”

“You are familiar with Mr. Danforth, are you not? He is accompanying me on my travels.”

The man’s smile faltered for just a moment before reasserting itself. “Come, let me get you a drink.”

As you followed the man through the crowd, Titus maintained his position beside you, his hand never leaving your back. “Whiskey for Danforth,” Wilkinson said when you arrived at the bar. He turned to you. “Something sweet, perhaps?”

“Bourbon, neat,” Titus ordered for you.

The other man looked between the two of you again like you were a puzzle whose solution evaded him. He handed over your drink. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

You lifted one brow and sipped your drink. “This hardly seems the appropriate place to have this conversation.”

“Of course, of course.” He nodded too enthusiastically. “Maybe we could discuss things somewhere more…private after the party?”

Titus’ jaw went tight, the muscle twitching beneath the skin. The man’s intentions were transparent, his leering gaze giving everything away.

“We shall see,” was all you said.

Wilkinson’s smile faded.

For the next few hours you circulated the gathering, Wilkinson never straying far from your side, save for twice. Each time he returned was a renewed burst of energy, sweat beading on his brow. His behavior became increasingly erratic.

“He’s a fucking embarrassment,” Titus said low enough only you could hear him. “How does he sit on the high council?”

“His grandfather was useful, loyal. Wilkinson himself, less so.”

Titus nodded, understanding immediately. He wondered briefly if it occurred to this man that you could strip him of everything if you so desired.

Wilkinson broke away from the man he was talking to and made his way back to you, movements uncoordinated and exaggerated. He bumped into a waiter but didn’t seem to notice, let alone care.

“You know,” he said, inserting himself into the empty space beside you, “we should have this conversation somewhere private. I have so many things I could show you,” he offered. Fucking prick.

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary, Mr. Wilkinson. I’ve seen all I need,” you said with a tight smile.

“Oh, come on,” he said, leering at you. “I promise it’ll be worth your while.” His hand reached out as if to steady himself, but it landed on your waist.

Rage surged through Titus at the contact. Before he could act, Wilkinson shifted his hand lower, deliberately grabbing your ass with a squeeze that couldn’t possibly be misinterpreted.

In one fluid motion, Titus grabbed Wilkinson’s wrist, twisting it backward at an unnatural angel. The sound of bones cracking was audible. Wilkinson’s cry of pain cut through the chatter of the party, silencing the gathered guests.

“You fucking—” Wilkinson didn’t have the opportunity to finish his sentence before Titus’ fist connected with his face, snapping his head back as blood sprayed from his nose.

Titus struck him again, this time on the jaw. The third punch landed squarely on his cheekbone with a sickening crunch. Wilkinson dropped to his knees and probably would have fallen completely if not for Titus’ hold on his broken wrist.

“Titus.”

His name on your lips was enough to have him freezing. He loosened his grip on the asshole, allowing him to finally crumple to the floor with a groan.

“I believe that’s our cue to leave,” you said softly, a hint of amusement in your tone.

Titus nodded once, straightening his jacket with a tug. You took his hand, interlacing your fingers and pulled him through the silent crowd behind you. No one moved to stop you as you crossed the terrace and descended the steps to where the driver waited with the car.

Once inside, Titus exhaled slowly, flexing his bruised hand. “What was your business with him anyway?”

“Not important,” you replied as you settled into the seat beside him. “He’ll destroy himself soon enough.”

Titus nodded, not entirely satisfied with your answer, but unwilling to press further. The car pulled away from the curb. You reached over, taking his bruised hand in your own. You turned it to examine the reddened skin.

Then, without warning, you lifted it to your lips, kissing each discolored knuckle in turn, eyes locked on his. Titus swallowed hard, as the sharp pain of a fresh injury dulled to an ache. You hadn’t kissed him since you bestowed your gift upon him in Beijing but he desperately wished you would. It was line he wouldn’t dare attempt to cross without your express consent.

You leaned over and pressed your lips against his in a chaste kiss. A brief contact that sent a jolt of electricity through his entire body. “Thank you,” you murmured against his mouth before pulling back.

Jack Abbot was her first boyfriend, who didn’t mind her clubbing. He wasn’t one to join her, though– the loud, crowded environment was overstimulating. Especially when he already spent most of his nights in the hectic ED. Sure, he was someone who found peace in the chaos. But he also knew what was age-appropriate for him to take part in. 

He’d join her for a few low-key bars, then head back home when she’d head to the dance clubs with her friends. With a ‘be safe. Call me when you need me to pick you up’, he’d spend the next few hours in his recliner, watching a movie that he wished he’d started with her instead. Then, a few hours later, he’d get a call to pick her up. She was never too drunk, but he’d bring her a water bottle and a granola bar just in case. 

But this Friday was a little different. Instead of going with her girlfriends, she and Jack planned to pregame with members of the day shift. The ones closer in her age bracket, that is. So they got ready to head to Luau Lou’s to meet up with Whitaker, Mel, Santos, and Langdon. Jack felt… a little out of place considering he was the oldest. But she had insisted-

“It’ll be fine! They love you. They’d certainly party with you over Robby any day.”

Jack sat on the bed watching his girl do her makeup in front of the vanity in their bedroom. She looked gorgeous already in her tight black dress. A silver belt slung unevenly over her hip, emphasizing her curves. He held his hands together in his lap as if restraining himself from touching all over her. He sighed.

“Yeah, because Robby can be a pain in the ass. I feel like I’m gonna look a bit… I don’t know, strange? Hanging out with a bunch of people younger than me.” 

She tapped her blush brush and pressed it to her cheek. Her body jolted as she realized she had put too much blush initially and now had to blend it out. 

“You don’t look strange hanging out with me.” 

He chuckled, “You like to think.” 

“Plus! You’re just going to the pregame. It’s Luau Lou’s. It’s not like you’re gonna be on the dance floor for Brat Summer.”

“For what?” 

She laughed. Sometimes she loved to make trendier references just to see his reaction. She waved him off. 

“Brat summer was when Charli XcX dropped that album. I play it in the car sometimes, but you don’t usually like it.”

“Hey! No. I like that one song… What is it? 360.” 

He stood up and walked over to her. Unable to resist now, he stood behind her and placed his palms on her hips. Moving them up and down, he rested his chin on her shoulder. She giggled as she uncapped her lip liner. 

“See. You’ll fit right in.” She leaned forward to line her lips. Her ass brushed up against the zipper of his cargo pants.

His hands moved down the globes of her ass, and he chuckled lowly. She used a darker lipstick than her usual, pretending not to notice his handsy behavior. 

“Mmm… It’s hard to argue with you when you’re dolling yourself up so pretty, baby.” 

She finished coloring her lips and stood back up straight. Looking in the mirror, they made a fucking good-looking couple. Jack towered in his well-fitted black shirt and cargoes. And of course, she looked like a model in her matching black dress and glam makeup. 

“We match. Soooooo you can’t stay home.” She flashed a grin. 

He leaned down and kissed the side of her head, “Okay. Then you can go dancing.” 

Walking into Luau Lou’s hand in hand felt strange for Jack. He couldn’t decide which was more stressful, meeting her overprotective girlfriends… or his very own coworkers. They had kept their relationship under wraps at work. Simply exchanging ‘goodbyes’ and ‘love yous’ as her shift ended and his began. No PDA. That was saved for their shared days off. They didn’t need any more meetings with HR. 

So as he saw Mel’s face light up and Frank spin around on his bar stool to see them, his heart beat a little too hard. But he kept his cool as he always did. One hand in his pocket, his other intertwined with his girlfriend’s. They didn’t get to see the way he softened around her. The way he’d smile and laugh at every stupid joke she made. The way he’d wake her up by lining kisses from her cheek down to her shoulder. To them, he was still the badass attending who picked up volunteer SWAT shifts for fun… just now with a smokeshow girlfriend.

“Well, aren’t you two all dolled up for us?” Santos called out.

Y/n chuckled, “Hi, guys! Mel! I like your hair down. You look so pretty.” 

Mel, sitting next to Langdon, beamed. “Thank you. I’m trying it out.” 

Jack walked ahead and pulled out the stool next to Langdon so Y/n could take a seat. Definitely not missed by Trinity and Whitaker. He sat down in the seat next to her, practically feeling the vibes shift as he did. 

Frank was the first to speak up again, 

“It’s great to see you, Dr. Abbot.”

He waved him off, “Off the clock, call me Jack. Otherwise, I’ll just feel more out of place than I already do.” 

“No! Nonsense.” Santos said, “You are the coolest attending in the ED.”

Y/n turned to him with raised brows, “See. What did I tell you?”

Jack rolled his eyes and was thankfully saved by the bartender. A young man in his 30s, tapped the bar. 

“IDs?” 

He huffed out a laugh and fished out his ID while his girlfriend grabbed hers from her purse. 

“Just turned 21.” Jack joked. The bartender chuckled, checking them and returning them in just a few moments. 

“What can I get you?” 

“Can I get a Manhattan and a…” He looked over to her, “What are you feeling?”

Mel and Trinity tapped the counter to get her attention. 

“We’ve already had three green tea shots-” Mel said with a big smile. 

She laughed, “Well, I’ve got some catching up to do. Vodka Coke?”

The bartender sent her a wink, “I’ll make it strong.”

Jack’s hand found itself at her lower back at that. To steady her on the bar stool, of course... Totally not because the attractive bartender had winked at her. She noticed and reached down, so his hand wrapped around her waist to intertwine with hers. 

“So you guys got the party started already.” She smiled

Whitaker shrugged, “It’s kind of rare that we all get a night where we’re all available. And not… dead after a shift.” 

That was very true. She nodded and looked over to the rest of the bar. There was the usual tacky beach decor strewn about- leis, tiki statues, and ocean wallpaper. In the back was a stage with colored LEDs lighting a girl doing karaoke to a Rihanna song. She had done many a karaoke night with Mel and Trinity before. There was also a series of three pool tables in the middle of the room. 

“Who’s singing tonight?” She asked with a smirk

“Depends who’s down.” Trinity said, “'Cause I’m not being the only person to do it again. Shit’s embarrassing.”

Mel looked to Jack, “What song would you do, Dr. Abbot- I mean- sorry-  Jack?”

His eyes widened, completely stupefied, “Me?”

“Yeah. I mean- you don’t have to. But it’s really fun. Trinity and I started doing it together. Then I got Langdon and Y/n in on it-”

Jack let out a gruff chuckle as he shook his head, “Unless you want all the birds to fall out of the trees dead… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’m kinda feeling more of a pool night,” Dennis said, and the rest of the group nodded in agreement.

Langdon looked to Jack, “You play?”

“Not in a long time, but sure, I’ll bite.” 

Y/n smiled and squeezed his hand assuredly. He was settling in more and more. 

The bartender slid over the two drinks, and Jack took the metal tray before his girlfriend could even attempt to pay. She had tried before, and he’d simply put his card down with an ‘ah ah ah ah-’

She took a sip of her Vodka Coke. Her eyes bugged out of her head, and she coughed into her elbow. 

“Well, he didn’t lie about making it strong.”

Jack offered her a sip of his whiskey, and she shook her head, pushing the glass away.

“You’re crazy if you think that’d help.”

He chuckled, “Tastes good though.”

Whitaker stood up and meandered over to an empty pool table before anyone else could take it. He accidentally knocked over a pool cue that was leaning against the side, and it clattered to the floor. He jumped back, startled, and everyone sat at the bar looked over at him. Trinity snorted.

He put his hands up in a shrug. “Teams of three?”

Y/n stood up, holding onto Jack’s hand and her drink. 

“Jack, you’re on my team.”

He nodded and looked to Langdon, “Wanna be on our team?” 

Ten minutes later, the game had broken, and it was her turn. Her drink sat on the edge of the pool table, halfway finished. And she was struggling to get a good hold of the cue because her purse kept sliding down from her shoulder to her elbow. Her brows furrowed in concentration. 

Jack walked up to her and put his hand on her lower back. He silently wrapped his fingers under the strap of her bag. She looked up at him, a little confused. 

“Lemme hold this.” 

She smiled and shrugged her bag off so he could hold it. Trinity laughed as Jack stepped back, hands over one another with the purse in his grip.

“Really compliments your eyes, Abbot.” 

Mel melted at the sight, “You guys make a really sweet couple.” 

She grinned at that as she kept her eye on the ball. “Thank you, Mel.” 

She shot the ball and it… didn’t hit a single stripe. It ricocheted off the wall and nearly got sent into a corner pocket before just stopping. She stood up and sighed. 

“I’m sorry, guys. I suck!” She groaned.

Whitaker walked up to take his turn.

“How did you guys meet, again? It wasn’t the ED, was it?” 

“Ohhhh noooo.” Jack chuckled and shook his head, handing her her purse back. He picked up his square glass from a nearby table and took a sip, “A mutual friend set us up, and actually on our first date we found out that she was transferring over to the ol’ pitt.”

Whitaker took his turn, getting a few solids in before it was Jack’s turn. Jack set his drink down and sauntered over, holding the pool cue. 

Langdon nodded, “I’m surprised you guys continued to see each other. That’s a lot of risk.” 

Jack leaned down, lining up his cue with the white ball. His hand was steady as he pushed the stick in and out between his fingers. A true surgeon’s precision. 

“I’ve never been one to play it safe.” He murmured before shooting the ball forward, sending two stripes in. 

Y/n felt hot at the sight. He stood back up with confidence and looked over at her, figuring the effect. She shook it off,  playing it cool. Now was not the time to be overly coupley… even if she wanted to jump his bones. 

She shrugged, “Old man just liked me too much.” 

“That too.” He raised his brows and nodded, making everyone laugh. 

Once it came time to head to the more rowdier clubs, Jack started saying his goodbyes. Trinity threw her hands up. 

“Whaaaat? It can’t be your bedtime! You’re usually up until 7 AM.”

Jack chuckled, “No one wants an old man like me at the club.”

“We do!” Mel said, then clarified, “Not that you’re an old man. Or that other people who aren’t us… wouldn’t want you there-”

“I appreciate the support. But I will be at home. Awaiting a call from this one.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, “To come pick her up.” 

She looked up at him, “You don’t wanna try just one?” 

He closed his eyes and huffed out a laugh. 

Langdon cut in, “We’re gonna peer pressure you.” 

That just made him laugh harder. He looked down at her.

“You really want me to go?”

Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. A great big smile spread across her face. 

“ARE YOU SAYING YOU’LL GO?” 

He took a deep breath. A flurry of worries filled his head. All his daily aches and exhaustion came to mind. Could he keep up? It wasn’t like he was 25 and could drink and party. The damage he did to himself by working the night shift was already irreversible. But with the puppy dog look on his girlfriend’s face? He had to try. 

“One. One club.” 

Everyone cheered him on, and she excitedly grabbed his face to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Oh, my god. I’m so excited. LET’S GO.”

She grabbed hold of his hand, and they all started the trek to the next place. 

Down the row of bars, her heels clicked on the sidewalk as Jack followed close behind, making sure she didn’t trip. He swapped hands so he’d be on the side closer to the road. She was practically skipping. Feeling light after the hefty drink. 

Mel and Trinity walked ahead. Each bar they passed blasted different music, and they’d sing along to each one they recognized. She was a little antsy, wanting to join the girls but not wanting to leave Jack to his own devices. 

She so rarely had to tell him what she wanted. He usually could tell. Whether it was from spending so much time around her or the fact that his medical career had him observing people every day, it didn’t matter. He knew his girl inside and out. 

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Go have fun.” 

“You too, okay?” She leaned up to kiss him before clacking over to Mel and Trinity to join them in screaming the remixed chorus to Pocketful of Sunshine. 

The three girls looked like they were going to different events. Y/n in her little black dress. Mel in a graphic tee and some nicer jeans than usual. And Santos in a cute going-out top and baggy cargos. 

Jack watched as she lit up the space around them as she laughed and sang. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked over to see Frank eyeing Mel. Meanwhile, Whitaker looked kinda just lost in his own world. He looked to Frank.

“So, you and King?” Jack asked low enough to be masked under the atmosphere. 

Frank snapped out of it, “Oh. Oh. I don’t know. With the divorce and uh- work environment, I don’t know.” 

Whitaker looked surprised at this, “What? You and Mel?”

“No. I said I don’t know.”

Jack chuckled and put his hands up in innocence. 

Getting into the dance club, Jack was immediately surprised by how loud the music was. It wasn’t a completely foreign life. There was a time back in the 90s when he’d attend basement concerts for grunge bands. Destroy his hearing as they were packed in sardines… But now he just felt old as the Stateside remix blasted, and he had no idea what song this was. 

Though clearly the girls recognized the song as they immediately found a spot on the outer banks of the packed dance floor. Y/n threw her hands up and whipped her hair back and forth. Her hips shook to the beat, and Trinity clapped and cheered at her. 

“OKAY. OKAYYYYYY.” 

Mel was gone enough to dance less stiffly than usual. Her long blonde hair getting in her face. She yelled out the Zara Larsson verse to the other girls with her eyes closed. 

Jack, Frank, and Dennis all watched. All of them were clearly anxious at the idea of dancing, and two of them very much awestruck by their own girls. Dennis nodded along to the beat, not knowing what to do with himself. 

Y/n’s dress started to hike up as she danced up and down, emphasizing her thighs. Jack wanted to walk over and tug it down, but it wasn’t showing anything obscene, and he didn’t wanna break the mood. 

That was until the song transitioned into I Want Your Video by Djo. The three girls’ eyes popped wide open with recognition. 

“WHAT?!” 

“THEY’RE PLAYING THIS SONG?!”

She immediately turned to find Jack staring at her. She smirked and strutted over to him. He huffed out a nervous laugh. 

“C’mon, mister.” She said, gripping the chest of his shirt and dragging him toward the dance floor. 

“Sweetheart. I don’t know.” He tried to say, but it was too late; she was already dancing with him. 

She slowed down to nod along to the beat and place her hands against his chest. From there, she slid her hands up and over his shoulders. His hands instinctively wrapped around her waist, pulling her as close as possible. They swayed and moved against each other. 

“I don't know if I’m doing this right.” He murmured

“It’s not about doing it right. It’s about what feels good.” She breathed in his ear and ground against him. 

He groaned out a laugh and continued to move to the beat. He figured he looked like a completely stiff idiot, but as long as it was making her happy. 

She pulled back to cheer when the song went ‘AY!’. Then, as the song started to close, she looked into Jack’s eyes as she dramatically sang along.

“I’M YOUR MOON. YOU’RE MY STAR. WE CAN’T BE… WHERE WE ARE.” 

He chuckled, amused, and leaned down to kiss her. No longer caring about his co-workers possibly seeing. The song transitioned into Sports Car by Tate McRae, and she let out a muffled squeal against his lips. She pulled back, starting to dance with him again.

“Do you know every song they’re playing?” 

“Mmmhmm! You just need to let me have the AUX more.” She said over the music. 

The chorus of the song took over, and her eyes got a little heavy-lidded before she slammed her lips against his. He wanted to pull back and probably not make out with her in front of everyone. But also… they were off the clock. This was their free time. And how they chose to spend it shouldn’t mean a damn to anyone else… And god, he was getting drunk just off her kiss, even though he had nearly sobered up by this point.

Heavy breathing and grabby hands, she could’ve jumped him right then and there. But she was gonna be on better behavior. She didn’t wanna make him completely uncomfortable. He pulled away, and she let out a whine. 

She patted his chest, “I want another drink.” 

“We can do that.” He kissed her forehead and fixed her hair out of her face. 

Around an hour and a half later, she was properly danced out and drunk from the Vodka Coke, a Vodka Cran, and two green tea shots with Trin and Mel. They all sat in a booth, sweaty and disheveled- well, Frank and Mel had… strangely disappeared. 

“Where’s Mel?” She asked

“Frank took her outside to get some fresh air.”

Trinity scoffed, “Did Frank name his dick fresh air?”

Jack cringed and shook his head. His girl leaned against him, the room spinning slightly. She looked up at him.

“I think I’m ready to head home soon.”

“Same here.” Trinity said, and she looked to Dennis, “Wanna head back?”

He nodded, “Yeah, I’d kinda rather… get high at home.”

“Mario Kart,” Trinity said knowingly.

“Mario Kart,” 

Jack scratched the back of her scalp. “Yeah, we can head out. Probably check on Mel and Frank then we can-”

Just then, Frank and Mel came back with big drunken smiles on their faces. Her long hair was absolutely a mess, a little more than if it were just from dancing. Y/n made a note to call her in the morning about details. 

“We were all talking about heading home,” Dennis said

“Perfect. I just ordered an Uber for me and Mel.” Frank explained.

“SEPARATE DROP OFFS.” Mel clarified.

“Yes. That.” 

Y/n giggled uncontrollably. She was too far gone to pretend not to know anything. She tucked her face into Jack’s buff shoulder. Her laughter made her shoulders shake. 

“Yeahhhh. I’m gonna take this one home.” Jack said

Walking to the car, she threaded her arm through his, and he was careful to keep a slow pace so she wouldn’t trip in her heels. 

“My feet hurt.” She groaned, looking down at her tan heels, “But they’re so pretty. It’s  worth it.” 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’d say we can switch, but I don’t think I could fit in yours.” He joked, then thought about it, “You could jump on my back.”

She bursted out laughing at the thought.

“Noooooooooo. I’m gonna break your back. Or your hip, old man.”

“Baby, I fireman carried an unconscious man out of the drug bust Saturday. I think I can handle you.” 

She stopped in her tracks. The back of her shoe was digging into the back of her heel, and she knew that if she took them off, there’d be a bloody blister. Every step was getting harder and harder to grit through. The arch of her foot felt like it could cramp up any moment… And he had a point. 

“You’re sure?”

“We’re parked not too far up ahead. C’mon.” He nodded his head.

She walked behind him, and he bent down, almost to his knees. With a nervous squeal, she climbed onto his back, and he stood straight up. He used his grip under her thigh to pull down her dress. 

“I’M NOT TOO HEAVY?!” She worried

He laughed, “Not at all. You’re easy.” 

They started making their way forward. Passersby were chuckling at his obvious affection for his drunk girlfriend. She kissed his shoulder and neck as a reward. 

“Jaaaaaack.” 

“Yes, sweetheart?” He grunted. 

God, that was hot. 

“Did you have fun?” She asked, giggling.

“Plenty.” 

She smiled into the back of his shirt, “I’m so glad.”

They reached the car, and he set her down onto the ground. She looked up at him as he opened the door.

“You. Mr. Jack Abbot. Are the hottest boyfriend a woman could ask for.”

He grinned, “Oh?”

“Mmmmhm!” She climbed into the passenger side of his Jeep. His hands found themselves around her waist, making sure she didn’t fall. 

“Thank you, honey. Put your seatbelt on for me.”

She nodded with a head heavy with alcohol as he shut the door and walked around. He got into the driver's seat to find her curled up, seatbelt on, and head against the window. Her arms were crossed over one another. He knew what that meant. 

He turned on the car and then turned up the heater. When it blasted, she sighed contentedly. 

“Thank youuuuuu.” 

“Of course, baby. I don’t have any water or anything. Let’s get some food in you first before getting home. You okay with that?”

She nodded, “Need something… to absorb all the fun drinks.”

“If you start feeling sick, let me know, and I’ll pull over.”

“Sir, yes sirrrr.” She slurred

After getting home, he helped her as she stumbled towards the bed. 

“What pajamas do you want?”

“Yours.”

He chuckled and sat her down on the edge of the bed. “Of course.” He grabbed an old army shirt from his drawer and walked back over. “Need help with the zipper?”

She nodded and stood up so he could unzip the dress. It slowly fell to the floor. Any other day, he’d be on his knees. He’d be kissing up and down her body, paying attention to her chest and neck, squeezing her ass. But he was in caretaker mode. His attention was full of affection rather than lust. Even as she giggled to herself and raised her arms, he simply put the shirt on her that fit her more like a nightgown. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Eat some of your food. I can get your makeup wipes.”

Her balance swayed, and she sat back down on the bed. She nodded obediently, not wanting to be a raucous drunk. 

But before he walked away, she reached and grabbed his wrist. 

“Jack… Thank you. I had so much fun.” 

He kissed the top of her head. “Anytime.”

Soon, they laid in bed, sitting up against the bed frame. Some random documentary played on TV. Makeup off and hair up, she slowly ate her french fries and sipped at her water. They both knew if she rushed this, it’d be all over the bed. 

After eating a good amount, her head started to pound with the headache that came from sobering up. She leaned and rested her cheek against his chest. 

“I love you.” She slurred.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He scratched her back gently.

“You’re sooooooo nice to me. Let’s go clubbing again.”