Twenty-Four

Lander collapses next to me onto his back and tucks me against his side. This is the part where I expect him to fall asleep immediately, but it doesn't happen. "You're a revelation," he declares before he kisses me again.

We kiss for several minutes without stopping, subdued—all things considered. After all, we're both naked, messy as hell, and he's hard again. Two minutes post-fuck? I'm not sure if I should be terrified or impressed. Maybe a bit of both.

"Was it good?" His words tickle my ear.

I scoff. "Didn't they teach you about evidence in law school? You already know the answer. I squirted all over you, didn't I?"

"I wanted to make it good for you. I know you…"

When he doesn't finish, I twist to look at him. His lips are parted like he's on the verge of asking a question but doesn't know if he should.

I bet I can guess.

"I won't ever pretend with you," I promise. "I play a role when I'm Aurora, but I'd never fake it when it's us."

A smile spreads over his face. He reaches up and begins to absentmindedly toy with a lock of my hair before he asks, "How did you get into camming?"

I freeze and my stomach plummets. The same as always: a deep sinking sensation that carries me undercurrent where it's hard to breathe.

But then I consider what he's asking, taking it in alongside the gentle glimmer in his eyes. Nobody has ever asked me this before—not even Cora and Essie. People always want to know the details, but they never ask how I got here. My heart swells and the vague sensation of tears stings my eyes, but I brush it off because I have a question to answer.

For the first time in my life, I tell the story of Aurora Amada.

Once I get going, I don't stop. He hears about a nineteen-year-old Valeria, bored at Georgetown and in need of money. She didn't want to ask her father because she was tired of being indebted to a man who believed oppression was a form of love. Nude pictures were the gateway. Then came short clips.

When I tell him how content I felt the first time I did a livestream—how fulfilling it was to make a few dozen people feel a little less lonely for one night, he smiles. And when I tell him that streaming netted me a few thousand dollars a month by the beginning of my sophomore year, he swiftly pats my butt—proud.

He doesn't pry when I give a vague response to when and why I left college. My simple, I didn't need Georgetown to make money isn't a lie, but it's not the answer to his question. Still, the guy is so intuitive, he doesn't press.

"And you've been camming ever since," he concludes, summing up for me when I finish speaking.

"And you've been watching. When did you find out about Aurora?"

"About a month after I moved in." Passively, Lander takes up a caress on the back of my hand with his thumb. "I'd heard you come loudly, spectacularly, every night for a month before I caved and pressed my ear to the wall. I put two and two together."

I know what kinds of things he heard. My routine has never changed in my three years of camming. Innocent. A naive ingenue figuring out her body for the first time, no matter that I lost my virginity when I was fifteen. Thanks for watching me! I was so nervous nobody would join tonight and I would be all alone. I hate being alone. I get so scared sometimes at night.

Lander must notice my distant stare because he mentions, "There was never a moment when I felt uncomfortable with it. If anything, it made me want you more."

I snort. "Because you knew how horny I was?"

"Because you didn't give a fuck," he replies without having to think. "I give a lot of fucks, Valeria. It's exhausting. You do what you want and you take care of yourself. It's impressive."

I raise a shoulder, trying to tamp down the flutters in my stomach. It's impressive. "It's not perfect. Camming isn't a fairytale."

"No job is perfect," he agrees. "But I don't know…it seems like the ideal gig for someone who looks like you and likes connecting with people. I wish my job allowed for more of it."

"Sometimes, I wonder if I've gotten stuck in a rut with it though."

"You're over being Aurora Amada?"

I shrug. "She's not like me, so I'm constantly pretending to be someone else. Ideally, her predilections would match my own, but we're opposites. She's a blushing virgin who wears pink. That's not me."

"Will you tell me about your predilections?" he asks, and his expression isn't lascivious and his tone isn't flirty. He's genuinely curious.

"Rougher," I admit. "More physical. A little degrading, but not too much. I'm sick of gingerly fucking glittery pink dildos and little rabbit vibrators. One of these days, I want to perform with, like, a ten-incher. Something that pushes me to the limits and shows what I can take."

Lander's eyebrows shoot up. "Do that. Immediately."

"What?" I blurt out, chuckling.

"Please do that," he practically implores while he lifts to a seated position. "Hell, I'll order you a box of gigantic dildos right now."

"Stop," I insist, shoving his arm. "You're salivating over the thought, not thinking rationally."

"Partially," he confesses. "But also, you're an amazing performer, Valeria. The thought of you putting all of yourself into your streams…you'd be unstoppable."

I blink, taking in his expression. There's no space for levity among the sheer amount of sincerity in his gaze. "You're not fucking with me," I determine. "You genuinely support my career."

He nods. "When someone loves their craft, it's the hottest shit ever." Lander's eyes meet mine in a burning stare. The low timbre to his voice tells me it's so fucking on now.

Thank god.

I roll over, positioning myself to fill the space between his legs. I lay my arms over his shoulders and tip my head thoughtfully, eating up his desirous expression. "So, you like watching me?"

The question is unnecessary. My bank account is many thousands of dollars bigger thanks to Lander, so I'm positive he loves watching me. He doesn't answer, but his pupils have blown out. He's ravenous.

"I'll take that as a yes," I say before I brush my nose against his. "What do you like seeing?"

His hands drift to the backs of my knees and slide upwards, skimming my bare thighs. "All of it."

I click my tongue. "Be specific."

He moves closer, and the heat of his breath caresses my skin when he murmurs, "Toys." The word rolls off his tongue unwaveringly; he's thought about this before. Those big hands of his slide from my thighs to my ass cheeks. He leans in once more, now speaking so close that his tongue grazes the shell of my ear with the next words out of his mouth. "All those fucking toys, Valeria."

That rough vocal fry, that gruff note of disbelief, makes my pulse race.

"Be more specific," I push again, eager to hear how my streams please him. "Do you like it when I leave the vibrator inside me? When I fuck myself with one?"

I'm not surprised when Lander doesn't flinch in response to the brazen, outright filthy words I've uttered. He's too intense to be scandalized by anything. He simply wets his lips with his tongue. "Weekly, if not daily," he begins, speaking slowly with his eyes locked on mine, "I think about the time you…"

When he trails off, I raise an eyebrow. "Go on."

"You need to tell me that you actually want me to say this to your face, baby," he answers, watching my mouth the entire time he speaks like he's daring me to ask him to stop. "Because once I get going, I'm not going to reel it in. You get that, right? If you don't want to hear some particularly nasty shit, tell me right now."

I move my hands to his cheeks so I can hold his face, giving him full eye contact. "Look at me," I instruct even though he's already staring. I want him to see the utter seriousness in my expression. "Everything you see in those videos and streams, I do because I'm very comfortable and want my viewers to lose their minds over me. So tell me what you like about my streams."

His hands slide upwards again until his middle finger drifts into the crevice between my ass cheeks. I gasp when his fingertip traces my asshole and tickles the sensitive bud. "I think about the night you wore a ball gag and took that little suction cup dildo attached to your mirror."

At first, I'm too caught up in his finger touching my asshole to register his response, but when he nips at my chin with his teeth, my focus returns.

The ball gag. Ball-gag-gate.

It was ten months ago, and I made so much in tips, I bought a plane ticket to Punta Cana the next day for a weeklong solo getaway. A getaway and an escape.

Despite the ungodly amount I earned, the aftermath of the stream was a shitshow. All my highest-paying regulars, excluding Abraham, detested the ball gag. They inundated me with dozens of furious messages, calling me a whore and a traitor. Seeing Aurora with leather digging into her cheeks and drool spilling from her lips was a betrayal. This isn't what we wanted. This isn't what we're paying you for. One guy even threatened to dox me.

I never wore the ball gag again.

"You were moaning like you were in heat," Lander recalls, looking right into my eyes. "Your hips did this smooth roll that was so fucking perfect, I literally came twice while watching you do it. Jizzed all over my fucking keyboard, Valeria."

His breathing has picked up and he squeezes my ass like he owns it. Good. Even still, I can't stop thinking about the vitriol I received from so many men who claimed to adore me—or rather, Aurora. "Everyone else hated it."

"The other subscribers?"

I nod.

Lander's eyes slip into a workplace glare, and I can only imagine what it's like to be on the receiving end—scary as shit. He flicks both his eyebrows upwards and sighs with resignation. "Well, fuck them," he declares. "This is your life. Don't let anyone tell you how to live it."