Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

KAYCE

I wake to a knock at my door and rub the sleep from my eyes before throwing back the covers and trying to rouse myself enough to climb from bed. As my feet hit the icy tile floor, whoever is behind the door obnoxiously knocks again. I cross the small dorm room, intent on finding out who needs to see me this early in the morning.

When I pull open the door, there is no one on the other side. I glance in both directions before looking down and finding a bouquet. The flowers look like tiny pink hearts with a teardrop falling from them. They are sadly beautiful . Lifting the vase from the floor, I carry it into my room before reading the card.

I'm sorry, cinnamon.

A barely audible gasp passes over my lips as I stare at the words sprawled across the paper in my hand, reading them over and over .

This isn't the first time I've received gifts from clients through the agency. However, this is the first time that it's been flowers and not lingerie—or some weird as fuck, obscure sex toys they wanted to watch me use. Some of those have been downright comical and an absolutely hard fucking no. If I can't wrap around it with both hands, it sure as hell isn't going anywhere near inside of me.

I'm all for girth, but I'm not fucking myself with a Pringles' can.

I lashed out at the only person willing to listen last night, and I feel horrible about it. The way he talks to me and genuinely seems to care, I know that's not the way he sees me. The other men I talk to, definitely. But not Grave.

Fuck, I wish I could call him to talk .

The agency has strict rules about fraternizing outside of its controlled online environment. Videos and chat are monitored and censored to ensure that details, like phone numbers and emails, aren't exchanged between the cam girls and their clients. At first, I always thought that it was for our safety. When some clients cleverly worked their way around the censorship, I quickly realized it was to prevent us from using the service as a vetting system of sorts for prostitution.

Taking a seat at my desk, I flip open the lid of my laptop to check my email and am quickly surprised at the number of emails I have from the agency. All of my open appointments for the next three weeks have been booked. I'm dumbfounded, yet I realize that I won't have to worry about whether I can make my final tuition payment for this semester.

Hell, I'll have enough to make a deposit toward next semester!

Pulling up my school email account, my brows furrow. Just shy of midnight, I received an email from Professor Stewart. My fingers hover over the mouse pad for a second before I click to open it.

Dear Kayce James,

Upon your request, I took a second look at your midterm examination for Psychology 402. I apologize; I must have entered another student's grade instead of yours. Your correct grade—an astounding 98% and the highest of the class—has been updated in your student account.

Sincerely,

Professor Stewart

What the fuck?

While I am not the least bit upset at this pleasant turn of events, I'm at a loss. I definitely argued with him about the failing grade he gave me. In response, he was pretty clear. The only look he was going to take at it most definitely involved one or both of us removing our pants; who that would be would determine how much my grade increased.

THREE DAYS LATER…

Normally, I sit around and watch the clock until my nightly session—awaiting my impending doom. The last couple of nights, though, it hasn't been like that. Each night, I've been pacing the room as I count the minutes, hoping that Grave is the man waiting for me when I click the button to join the chat room. The last two nights, it wasn't, but hopefully tonight will be different.

I keep telling myself it's so I can apologize to him, but I also know I'm lying to myself.

I like him .

It goes against every rule I set for myself when I started camming, but I can't help it. I like him. Not like that matters much; he probably lives on the other side of the country and we'll never actually see each other in person.

Crossing my fingers on my left hand and clicking the mouse pad with my right, I sign into the private room, and I am unable to control the grin that spreads across my face.

"How's my cinnamon tonight?" His tone and that damned pet name have an undeniable effect on me. My breath hitches for a split-second as goosebumps prickle over my skin in excitement.

"Better." I coyly smile. "Much better."