Nineteen

My father has never called in the middle of a stream before. In retrospect, I should have muted my phone or put it in another room, but I use it to control the music and I don't expect anyone to call me. Why would I? I'm twenty-two. Nobody calls anyone.

Even so, I had to answer despite the shit timing. Somehow, he knew what I was doing and said those same words again—the ones that broke me before.

Lander was the lifeline I needed tonight.

Right after I knock, Lander opens his door. His face is laced with concern, even while eyeing the silk robe I hastily threw over my sheer bodysuit. "What happened in there?"

"Nothing," I lie—and not particularly well. My response is too blasé and we both know it.

Pensive, he tilts his head, assessing me before saying, "I'm having a shit day too. There's this thing with my job…Wait, did I do the wrong thing with the vibrator? I thought you looked like you'd rather be anywhere else."

My lips part, but I can't speak. I can't believe he could see I was so upset.

"Tell me if I messed up," he presses. "I'm not always right."

"What happened with your day?" I ask instead. There's an exhaustion in his expression I've never seen before—like the traces of a fissure between his eyebrows.

He blinks. "Are you sure you want to know? I'm…" He trails off and stoops low before he whispers, "…still a fucking lawyer."

His response makes me smile softly. He's so unserious about everything. "I'm sure."

He smiles back, just as soft. "There's this client everyone knows is the fast-track to making partner. One of the lawyers on retainer is going on sabbatical, which opens a spot for an associate. I want that spot."

"You're young to be in contention for partner."

"Technically, I'm not in contention yet, but I will be. The things I do today are setting me up for five, ten years from now."

"Wow. A ten-year plan." In other words: lawyer for life.

"I always have one," is his response. "Although, this is more of a thirty-five-year plan. My father used to be a managing partner at my firm, and this client—Stafford—was one he brought in." Lander swallows. "It's not just about plans. It's a matter of fulfilling my legacy."

The word "legacy" makes my stomach twist. I force a placid expression. "Well, you sound like a perfect son."

"I'm a lot of things, but perfect isn't one of them. Nothing is perfect." He glances down. "Other than your tits."

I laugh out loud, not expecting a boob joke during a serious conversation. "Can't fight you there. These puppies paid for my condo."

He returns the smile for the span of a heartbeat before we eventually fade back to our stony, stoic selves. Even then, Lander's expression is gentle. "Hey, I don't know what happened off-camera, but I hope I didn't screw up by tipping you. It wasn't a scheme. Well, scratch that. It was going to be a scheme, but I thought you needed a way out."

"I did, but I feel awful," I admit. "My regulars are probably disappointed. Tonight was short, and if you could tell something was off, I bet they all could."

"Doubt it. None of them have spent as much time looking at your face as I have. Again, you have your perfect tits to thank for that." He reaches out and places his hand on my shoulder, the contact tentative and testing. I don't push him away. "You still put on a great show. I can't believe how good you are at controlling yourself when you come. It's this combination of sexy and comfortable. It's incredible."

"Incredible?"

He nods before gesturing over his shoulder. "Do you want to come in?"

I hesitate. Oh, I hesitate. I should go home. I'm screwing myself over by staying here…but I can't ignore how nobody has ever praised me for camming—not like this, at least.

I nod.

Within the same beat, Lander tugs me into his condo—and I let him, not because I'm a silk robe away from exposure, but because his fingers are magical. Both of his hands are on my shoulders now, and I'm right up against him, enough to feel the warmth of his breath when he exhales. Our bodies fall into each other, closer than a dance, and within seconds, he's able to unwind the tension in my neck with the press of his fingertips.

He smells divine and his body is big and impressive. I allow my own hands to rise and find a surface on his hips. His hipbones and his muscles are hard underneath his skin, reminding me that beneath all of him—beneath the exterior of a god—he's a man like any other.

But then again, he's not like any other man. This is a man who wants me for me—not some version of me he made up in his head, but the real me. A camgirl. A sex worker. "A woman who acts like a slut online."

"You did amazing," he whispers, voice bare. And yet there's so much weight in his words. That weight weaves itself deep into the recesses of my chest cavity. It fills me until I feel like I'm overflowing with lovely words—ones nobody has ever given me before.

I know I shouldn't be doing this, but my body hasn't felt this adored in so long. If only for a few minutes, I want to pretend this isn't going to blow up in my face. I deserve a reprieve for once. I deprive myself of so much, bearing the brunt of men's shame so they don't have to. I get all the repercussions. All the hurt. For once, I deserve to feel valued.

In a split-second decision, I rise on my toes and plant a kiss on Lander's lips.

When I pull back, his brow is tight, but the tightness melts away before he replaces it with surprise—and then obvious satisfaction. The man is so ridiculously self-confident, he doesn't question any of it. He just kisses me back, his tongue slow and seeking. I slide my lips against his, enjoying the smooth caress of his tongue against mine. He inhales deeply. His arms, clutching me against his sculpted body, shift to feel more of me. Eventually, his hands circle my waist.

I gasp against his mouth.

His grip is so firm, and yet there's a tension in his arms like he's holding back. I can feel it. It's a stiffness in the flats of his palms, a budding coil in the fingertips digging into my back. It's a minor, almost imperceptible shudder as he caresses my spine with his thumb. It's staggered, measured inhales and exhales that make his abdomen rise and fall.

Overwhelmed, I pull back again and look up at his face.

I read men. I read them exceptionally well. But before I made a career of it, I was a masterful observer of their bestial, male impulses. Having boobs like mine made learning this skill inevitable. Now, it's an asset when I need it most.

Lander's sculpted, clenched jaw tells me everything: He wants more. And yet the next five words out of his well-kissed mouth are, "Don't fuck with me, Valeria."

They're gritty. Warning. Raw—as if these words came from the Lander I fucked when I had fifteen minutes left to live.

"Let me thank you," I answer quietly.

His expression softens, caution fading into anticipation.

Carefully, I take his hand and rotate it so his fingers angle downwards and his palm faces me. I place it on my stomach, letting him feel the expansion, the full and empty that comes when I breathe, before I trail it lower, inch by inch, until we reach my mound. "Does it feel like I'm fucking with you?" I whisper, knowing what he's about to discover.

I'm wet—and not from the stream.

I move out of Lander's grip before he can process my words, but I know he's not going to stop me from sinking to my knees. A week ago, the man ate my pussy like he could find the meaning of life inside of it. Of course he'll reward himself with a little head.

Except there's nothing little about what's going down.

I drop my robe and peel my bodysuit off my breasts as I go, leaving me topless and on my knees. Lander towers over me, fully clothed while I'm in nothing but damp, see-through lingerie. The dynamic is twisted and unspeakably sexy, striking me with a need for more.

Brazen, I press my face into his crotch, rubbing up on him like a cat in heat. He's so deliciously hard—and god, my ego likes it.

I undo his pants and tug them down his legs. He lets me, watching me the entire time, trusting me to lead.

I'll make it worth his while.

His erection is borderline obscene behind the thin fabric of his black boxer briefs, the kind of obscenity that makes a mouth water. I don't drag this out any further. Sucking his cock is as much for me as it is for him—and I'm not depriving myself of anything right now. Looping my fingertips over the band, I peel the fabric down…

Snap. I abruptly release the brim, accidentally letting it hit his thighs. My lips separate, speechless, and I'm unable to look at anything except the huge erection in front of me.

The man is enormous.

The night of the alert, I felt his length inside of me, but I didn't see him erect. I saw the flaccid version, which was big, but I figured he was a show-er and not a grower. Apparently, I was wrong—so wrong. He's intimidatingly large, more inches than I've ever put in my mouth, and now I don't feel like much of a professional.

"You can handle me," he murmurs while releasing my hair from its French braids. He unwinds the sections with deft fingers before affectionately raking them through.

I'm a sex worker, I remind myself, and I can handle him. But holy shit, this cock is something else. It's long and girthy with a monster of a vein skirting the underside. Everything about this dick is the definition of virility. It's the type of cock I've only seen a few times in my life, and never in the flesh.

"So, this is what they were all screaming about," I finally comment, turning up the corners of my lips.

Lander doesn't smile back. His expression remains unyielding. "None of them fucking matter," he grits.

But I do. I matter to him.

His response makes me want to do a good job for him—to put on a show for him. I rise to my knees and wrap my hand around the base of his heavy length. He's too thick for my fingers to meet, but I run my hand up and cup the pink head, getting a feel for him. He's got a delicious curve to the left and he gives me a surge of pre-cum when I run my thumb on the inside of the curve.

So responsive. This is going to be so fun.

Eyes locked on his, I place my tongue on the tip, tasting his salty pre-cum. His cock bobs in my mouth like it's greeting me, and I can't help but try to greet it back by starting off with a solid suck.

Lander swears out loud.

Triumphant, I keep my eyes glued to his and take an inch of him into my mouth. I linger there before I pull back to the tip and work down again. Another inch.

This is my favorite part of blowing a guy: where we figure each other out. With every inch I take, I'm checking for reactions. His dilated pupils. His flickering eyelids. If he grits his teeth. If he pulls more tightly on my hair. I'm deciphering him, making sure I can give him exactly what he needs—regardless of whether he even knows what he wants.

And while I'm figuring him out, I'm also teaching myself. How much I can take. How deep I can go. How far he'll stretch my lips. I've never been a girl who just gets on a dick and hopes for the best; I'm a curator of fantasies.

Clearly, Lander wants to be savored.

His grip on my hair becomes punishing when I pull back and let a drop of my spit fall onto the head. When I spread it with my hand, he lowers his own to rest on my throat, covering the choker on my neck. And when I stick my tongue out and lick the entirety of him, watching him the whole way up, he groans loudly enough for me to feel it in my core.

I take the head of his cock back between my lips and suck him down until the stretch makes my lips burn. A good burn. A great burn. I repeat the motion, taking more this time.

"Yeah, like that," he assures me. "Knew you could handle me. Knew you could take all of me. You know exactly what to do with a big, fat cock, don't you?"

The encouragement is kindling and fuel. I increase my suction and lower my hand to his balls, seeing how it goes over.

Really fucking well.

When I scrape my thumbnail over his sack, Lander tenses before a perceptible shiver passes through him. His hips tilt, pressing his cock further into my mouth at the same moment I lower my head, and the tandem motions slide him closer to the back of my throat.

Breathing through my nose, I relax, hoping I can show him I'm not all talk. Blowjobs on my streams are strictly solo performances with dildos, but I'm more than competent with a cock. I want him to know. I want him to be proud of me.

"Shit," he's grunting—and a competitive, overachieving part of me wonders if I'm the first girl to deep throat him. "You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, baby. Holy fuck, look at you taking it. So good. Such a good girl for me. Such a tight, perfect throat."

His words strike a flare in my center and I'm embarrassingly wet. Needy. I'm really such a praise slut—I won't deny it—but praise alone has never been enough. Praise is easy. Dogs get praised all the time. Pride is something different. I want Lander to look at me with admiration. I want him to beam at me. I want him to challenge me, to push me beyond my limits, simply because he believes I can take it.

I can take it. I can take anything.

He strips off his shirt, showing himself to me. "One of these days, I'm going to fuck you from both ends," he tells me, releasing a shameless groan under every word. "My cock will be in your mouth, and I'll shove something else into that pretty pussy. You want that?"

I don't answer. Instead, I bob on him, taking more of him. Losing myself. Every inch of him is going to belong to me. I want him obsessed with my throat, my hands, my body—and all its many holes. I want him to grow physically sick at the thought of being touched by any woman but me. I want to own his brain and his fucking soul.

My hands stack on the base of his length and I'm covering all of him now, diving down onto his cock with more enthusiasm than I've ever given a man. I'm gagging and my eyes are watering, but this is how it should be. Perfect princess sex is for livestreams and paying customers, but sloppy, no-holds-barred fucking is as real as it gets.

"Valeria," he grits, shoving his fingers through my hair again and pulling relentlessly, making me lose my mind. "I'm going to come if you keep doing that."

That's the point, baby boy. My eyes meet his, finding a sparse ring of color around his dark hunter's pupils. "In my throat," I urge, breaking the suction to speak. My voice comes out used and deliciously scratchy. "That's where your cum goes."

"No," he counters. "I want it on your tongue. Don't swallow until I tell you."

I hate taking orders, but right now I would bathe in his cum if he told me to. I know he's close—he doesn't have to tell me aloud. His body does all the talking. His impressive abs are ridged and tight and his arms throb with veins and taut tendons. His muscular thighs shift, accentuating a powerful body capable of pulling me to the ground so he can have his way with me. But he's giving me so much control, and it's one of the sexiest things a man has ever done for me.

His hand fists my tangled hair, holding my head in place. Our eyes meet, and there's a tacit exchange between us: Nobody is scheming right now. Nobody is playing anybody.

Gaze burning and locked on me, he thrusts upwards, fucking my face—and I love it.

Salty heat floods my mouth, and his groan is magical. I've heard Lander come before, but not like this. Through the tears pooling unshed in my eyes, I watch his renaissance body fall to pieces, moving over me like nothing I've ever witnessed. Some men come, but Lander explodes. The noises from his throat are unrefined and downright primitive, and this is exactly what I wanted. Wrapped up in every harsh exhale that escapes this man's body is unmistakable pride.

Filthy, nasty pride.

His cum spreads across my tongue, filling the corners of my mouth with so much release. It's leaking, making my face look utterly and completely fucked.

"Hold it," he orders, clutching my cheeks with his hands. His eyes lock on mine, intensity drilled into me like we're the planet's axis. "Hold that cum in your mouth, beautiful girl. You beautiful, dirty girl."

I stare up at him from my precarious position: kneeling and leaning forward with my unrestrained breasts swinging beneath me. My eyes water, stinging from holding my breath.

"Open," he orders.

Slowly, I part my lips to show Lander his cum lingering on my tongue, filling my mouth. His eyes lock on the obscene sight, taking it in. Studying me.

Leaning forward, he notches his lips and spits a dollop of his saliva into my mouth.

Into my mouth.

"Swallow." The word is gravelly and probing, challenging me.

Without hesitation, I do—with a gulp—before I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

Slack-jawed, Lander watches me with obvious satisfaction. My pulse races in tandem with the warmth filling my body. Clarity is starting to seep in, and I'm realizing what I just allowed. I let him face-fuck me. Hard. It was dirty, and unrestrained, and…wonderful.

Holy shit, this is something else.

This isn't about proving a point or him winning me over. This isn't a game anymore. This is a tragedy—an honest to god tragedy—because I loved this.

And I still can't have him.

When I rise from my sore knees, I realize my eyes are welling with tears. Immediately, the satisfaction on Lander's face fades away and concern replaces it. He's too smart to misunderstand what's happening here.

"Look at me," he urges, desperate, bowing to put himself at eye level with me. The gesture alone makes a tear slip out. "Look at me. Break your rule."

"I'm not going to break my rule."

Lander leans close enough for me to see the light tips on his eyelashes. "Break it."

"I won't."

"Valeria, I'm begging you."

"I can't."

"Well, I can't move on. I want you so bad that I don't sleep at night, which is completely self-destructive because I only have, like, a four-hour window to sleep most nights. It's killing me. I'm falling apart. But I'm not giving up because I'm positive I could make you happy. Disgustingly, astonishingly happy."

"It's not happening."

Jaw clenched, Lander backs away, facing the opposite direction while he paces. His hands rise to his head and tangle in his hair, and a string of sharp curses falls from his lips before he whirls around again. His expression looks gutted. "Why are you doing this? Why are you punishing us? You're so convinced this is going to end badly that you're willing to make us both miserable right now on the off chance we might be miserable in the future."

I wipe my eyes. "I'm not going to ruin everything you've worked for," I mutter, refusing to look at him now.

"You won't. Please. Nobody would care."

"They would," I insist. "We both know they would."

"Even if they did, I wouldn't care what they think."

"You called it your legacy, Lander," I remind him. "I would be a torpedo in your career."

The way he freezes tells me I've finally struck a nerve, but he shakes his head anyway. "Valeria. I don't know who got in your head, but they're wrong. You have nothing to be ashamed about, and neither do I. I would never apologize for wanting you, and I don't give a shit if all my coworkers know you're a camgirl. I wouldn't even care if they watched your streams. Hell, I wouldn't even care if they saw me naked and jerking off online. My personal life doesn't impact how I do my job, so why should my job impact my personal life?"

I can't listen to this anymore.

"I'm sorry," I manage to say, shaking my head. "I shouldn't have done this. I have to go." I make a beeline for the front door and barely beat Lander into the hallway.

"Valeria," he calls. "Valeria!"

But I don't turn around. No more indulgences—for both our sakes.