3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Emil

C: Well, well. Isn’t this a nice way to wake up?

I swipe my phone open and groan, lust tightening my balls as I slowly stroke my morning wood. I turn my gaze out the window, still a little sleepy but much more awake now that I know C is watching. Shifting, I get my sleep pants down under my ass so they have a better view.

C: That’s a pretty sight, Specs. Gonna get your nipples wet? I know how much you love that.

Fuck . Is it weird that my neighbor knows so much about my preferences? My last boyfriend knew less than this stranger outside my window.

Setting my phone beside me, I suck two fingers into my mouth and rub over my nipple. Electricity pings across my synapses as the bud pebbles. When I give it a twist, my hips reflexively punch off the bed.

C: Mm, there you go. Will you come for me, Specs? I wanna see it.

“Holy hell,” I mutter, biting my lip as I jerk myself faster. My glasses slip to the side as I stare at C’s text. At the encouragement, which isn’t new. But asking me to come for them sure is.

C: Nipples. Don’t forget.

A whimper falls from my lips, my body already tensing. I give my nipple a good tug, imagining it’s the wet suction of a mouth instead, and the thought has me cresting over the hill in a flash. My eyes slip shut as I come across my fist, everything in me drawn tight in a burst of mini-explosions and crackling flames.

It’s always more intense when C is watching.

Another ping comes from my phone, but it takes me a moment to catch my breath and open my eyes.

C: Gorgeous.

Shit .

Remarkably, I feel my cheeks flush hot at that. It’s ridiculous, really, how a single word can affect me. I shouldn’t let it. And yet I can’t help but hoard the compliment and the warmth it brings. Maybe it doesn’t matter who C is in the end. They make me feel good. That’s enough.

I roll off the bed and clean myself up before returning to my phone.

Me: Thanks for watching.

C: Anytime.

They send a wink, and I smile. What a weird friendship we have.

C: Class today?

Me: Work.

I switch out my clothes as C types their response.

C: Guess what? I got a new job.

Me: That’s great! Only took a few days.

C: Yep. I think I’m going to like it. No more late nights, either. Bonus.

Sitting on my bed, I glance at C’s window, admittedly a little curious about their life. I don’t know where C used to work. It’s one of the things we never discussed. Although, technically speaking, they don’t know where I work, either. I haven’t told them about the studio. Only about my psych degree and, in vague details, the research I’m involved in.

I wonder what it is they spend their days doing. I wonder what makes them happy.

Me: Well I hope this job works out better for you.

C: Thanks, Specs. Me, too.

Getting up, I wave a goodbye and head toward my bathroom to shower. I don’t have a scene at the studio today, but we have a team meeting, which everyone is expected to attend. Since I know a brunch buffet awaits, I skip breakfast, but I do stop to feed Arthur his daily meal of pellets before I go.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, grabbing the specialized pellets I get for him from a local pet store. Arthur is a small hermit crab, so I crush them a bit before putting the pieces inside his shallow food bowl. He perks up, shell popping out of the sand as his beady little eyes take stock of the situation. I chuckle. “You’re a weirdo, you know that?”

Arthur scuttles closer, his tiny orange legs carrying him across the terrarium.

I sigh. “Of course I would find you cute—the least cuddly pet on the planet. You’re basically an armored spider.”

He doesn’t seem to have an opinion on that. Arthur simply waits until my hand is out of his tank, and then he scurries over to investigate the food. He sifts through the broken-up pellets for a moment before pausing. I swear he looks at me as if to say this again?

“You’ll get something fresh tonight,” I assure him. “Watermelon?”

Arthur gives me his back, and I roll my eyes.

“Diva.”

Checking the time on my phone, I head for the door. The studio is about a twenty-minute drive from where I live. The building itself is entirely nondescript. If you didn’t know what it was, you might assume it was a warehouse. I let myself in through the coded door, confused, at first, as to why it smells like a spice cupboard exploded in here. But then I catch sight of the festive fall display someone decorated the entryway in.

A few of my coworkers are mingling in the hall as I pass. I shoot them a little wave before heading into Studio 1, where our meeting will be held. Several of the performers are inside already, and Teddy holds up his hand in greeting. I head his way, eyeing the table of bagels and other breakfast foods as my stomach rumbles.

“Hey,” the bigger man greets. Teddy is in his mid-thirties, a stockier guy with muscle. His brown hair, beard, and abundance of chest hair lends credence to his teddy bear persona. But from what I’ve heard—mainly from Teddy’s husband Kipp, who doesn’t seem to possess a filter—the man is a lot kinkier than his gentle smile and easygoing presence would suggest.

Not that I’m one to judge. I let my neighbor watch me masturbate.

“Hey, Teddy.”

“How’s it going?” he asks. “Settling in at the new place all right?”

I manage not to blush as my thoughts shift to C.

“Yeah,” I tell him, clearing my throat. “It’s finally starting to feel like home.”

Doesn’t hurt that the walls aren’t bare anymore, and I’ve stopped stubbing my toe on the damn kitchen island.

A flash of blonde appears in my peripheral vision, followed immediately by a voice I know all too well. “How’s my favorite crab daddy?”

“Alex,” I groan, my insides squishing as my coworker hugs me tight.

“Having crabs is nothing to be ashamed of, Emil,” the tiny troublemaker says, stepping back and looking around. “Where’s Kipp?”

“Work,” Teddy says, a soft smile on his face that seems reserved for his husband. Kipp doesn’t work here at the studio, but he’s been hanging around a lot lately, sometimes even watching Teddy while he films.

Husband goals.

Alex pouts. “Darn it. I miss my Kipper.”

“Your?” Teddy asks, lips twitching in amusement.

“He was mine first, Teddy Bear,” Alex claims.

“Actually,” Niko cuts in, his long, curly hair tied up in a bun, “Kipp was mine first.”

Alex waves him off. “Semantics. There’s plenty of Kipp to go around.”

“He would so love this conversation,” Teddy mumbles.

“Everyone?” Nathaniel calls, standing inside the door in his typical argyle and khakis. “Seats, please. We’re going to get started.”

“You know,” Alex says, winding his arm around my own and leading me over to the chairs, “I met this really cute guy the other day. He’s new at Rowan’s garage.”

Rowan, one of Alex’s boyfriends, is a mechanic. Their other boyfriend, Finn, does software development. When I first met the two, I thought it’d be the other way around. Rowan is the shy, quiet type, whereas Finn… Well, he’s covered in tattoos, piercings, and has flaming red hair.

“Okay?” I ask slowly, wondering why Alex is telling me about the new guy at the garage. We take seats beside one another, ending up in a row behind Teddy, Niko, and Dixon. Dixon, for his part, is grumbling about his latte and some guy named Rip.

“Want me to set the two of you up?” Alex asks.

It takes me a moment to process his question. “Wait, what? No, I… What?”

Alex snorts. “You haven’t dated much since you started working here, boo, and I thought, well, maybe you’d want to? Or not.”

“I, uh…”

I’m not sure how to explain to Alex that dating, for me, feels like navigating a minefield. Granted, I’m sure everyone has their own unique challenges when it comes to finding a potential life partner.

But for me… There’s a level of trust I need that I haven’t been able to find on the handful of dates I’ve gone on in the past couple years. In fact, since starting at Elite 8 Studios, I haven’t slept with anyone outside of the job. Not once. It’s been easier that way.

Safer.

A first date isn’t particularly scary, but I don’t know that I want to bother with it right now. There’s a lot on my plate between work, classes, and the research study. And love , well… It can wait.

I don’t have time to give Alex an answer before the studio door swings open and Jerome walks in. Our boss is the production manager here at Elite 8 Studios. He doesn’t own the company, but everyone knows he’s the one in charge. And as his leather jacket and no-nonsense expression might suggest, he’s a bit of a hardass.

Once you get to know him, though, you realize exactly how much he cares about the people inside these walls. His ferocity extends to protecting his employees, even if, at times, his yelling is a little rough on the ears.

“All right, everyone,” Jerome booms, coming to a stop inside the door and motioning for the man next to him to step forward. “Time to meet your new costar. This is Christian Ducat, herein known as Vixen.”

I choke on absolutely nothing.

Because holy shit . It’s the guy I ran into by my place. The tall, dark-haired maybe-model with the smokey eyes. And today, he’s wearing a skirt . A short, black, pleated skirt over high-top shoes. His shirt is white and cropped, showing off his slim stomach. And there’s a dainty silver chain around his waist, held in place by the piercing at his navel.

“Oh my God,” Alex whispers beside me, sounding frantic. “ A femboy. Emil, it’s a femboy!”

“You know we had open auditions last week,” Jerome goes on. “Vixen here is one of two performers we’ve hired. The other won’t be joining us for another few weeks. But, in the meantime, make sure to welcome your new cast member. Be polite. Show him around. Don’t be asses.”

There’s a general chuckle that goes around at that, and Vixen’s lips lift into a smile. His eyes sweep the room, taking everything in, but when they land on me, he freezes. Those eyes go round, and my pulse kicks up in response. I chance a glance behind me, wondering what has him looking so astonished, but I don’t see anything. When I face forward again, that smile returns to Vixen’s face, full-blown this time. And then, he winks.

What.

“Two quick notes,” Jerome says, his voice cutting through the din.

“ Top, top, top ,” Alex chants under his breath, his fingers crossed in front of him. “For the love of all that is dirty, say he’s—”

“Vixen is an exclusive top,” Jerome confirms.

Alex grabs my arm, squeezing tight. “I knew it!” he hisses. “A blouse .” At my confused expression, he explains, “A feminine top, boo.”

“Second thing,” Jerome calls. “We’re trying out something new. Starting in a couple weeks, we’ll test pilot a series of live stream videos for a new elite tier of subscribers.”

A murmur goes around at that, and Alex releases his death-grip on my arm.

“Vixen has agreed to be one of the participants,” our boss says. “We’ll do some promos in the coming weeks to prepare for the launch, so expect to see added scenes on your schedules for filming. That’s it for now. Enjoy brunch. Introduce yourselves. Be good boys.”

Teddy snorts, and Jerome turns to Vixen, saying something quietly. Alex launches out of his seat as conversation starts up again, the cast and crew talking about the changes coming our way.

But I’m stuck on that wink.

He wasn’t looking at me, right? Surely not.

Alex is one of the first to reach our new costar, a good head shorter as he stops in front of him. He’s all smiles, and Vixen grins in return, laughing lightly at whatever Alex is saying.

I meander over to the buffet table, not wanting to crowd the new guy right off the bat. And, if I’m being entirely honest with myself, a little intimidated. But there are plenty of introductions to go around. Mine can wait.

I busy myself with making a plate of food, grabbing a poppy seed bagel and some fruit. But as I’m setting down the knife for the cream cheese, I hear a gentle, “Hey.”

My inhale is small, and I turn, coming face to face with none other than Vixen himself. He gives me a tiny smile that has my heart trying to leap into my throat, so I clear it, clumsily holding out my hand.

“Um, hi. I’m Emil.”

Vixen’s hand is warm against my own. Soft, apart from the calluses on his fingertips. “Emil,” he says, rolling over my name slowly. He releases my palm. “I’m Christian.”

“Right. Um, hi.”

Shit. I said that already .

Vixen— Christian —simply smiles. “It’s really good to meet you, Specs.”

My brain skitters to a halt.

The world tilts just a little.

Everything goes deathly quiet.

And then Christian adds, “Officially, I mean.”

Christian.

C.

Specs.

I pull in a breath, my heart kicking a big thump inside my chest as sound returns around us in a rush, the chatter of my coworkers like the buzzing of bees. I don’t believe in coincidences that big. There’s only one logical conclusion to be made here, but it’s one I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around because the reality of it is so far from what I expected, it doesn’t seem possible.

This gorgeous man looking at me with the dark eyes and the soft smile…

He’s my voyeur .

Holy. Freaking. Hell.