Six

Ican't keep up with the DMs. Even if I could type fast enough, it wouldn't be worth it. My regulars don't know I live in DC, so even though the mishap with the emergency alert system is trending on every platform and dominating the news cycle, I can't tell them why I'm not in the mood to stream. Even if I did, it wouldn't change anything. Angry, horny men can't comprehend that the world doesn't revolve around them. Trying to convince them I have a perfectly valid reason for cancelling is about as productive as building a sandcastle in quicksand—and only slightly less dangerous.

I love my regulars. They're entitled at times, disgusting at others, but they're sweet to me and praise me like I'm their goddess. Tonight, however, their words are far from sweet. I've only ever upset them like this once before: the great ball gag misstep, or as I like to call it—ball gag-gate.JustTheTip2093: Why did you cancel?BonerDonor: I got a sitter for this.BeefBus1818: Are you fucking serious?StuffinMuffin: Miss you, bb.BiFlying8F8: Can we go private instead??SpendingMyAlimony: Sit on my face and kill me.Roger871973: If you ever cancel on me last minute again, I swear to god—

I click the ‘block user' button so fast on that last account, it makes my laptop's trackpad stick. I get all manner of filth in my inbox and usually take it in stride. Men say ridiculous shit—online and in real life. Getting into camming, I wasn't na?ve enough to believe men would pay to watch me masturbate and merely comment Yes, girl! You did so great! or Wow, you've developed so much confidence in your own skin! This is an exchange. A business transaction. While I love the rush of performing, I know my job is about sex. Sex isn't always pretty.

Death threats are an automatic block though, along with any fetish comments about me being Latina. Bye, Roger871973. I hope you and your tub of Vaseline are happy together.

I close my browser, logging out of my camming account in the process, and place my laptop aside on the couch cushion next to me. If I want to keep my income steady, I'll have to make it up to my regulars sooner rather than later, but it's a problem for future-Valeria to solve. For now, I'm giving myself permission to step back and process everything that went down last night.

The emergency alert. My father calling.

Lander.

Lander inside of me.

Running away.

I sink lower into the couch. I owe him an explanation. At minimum, I should let him know it was my aversion to lawyers that drove me out of his condo, not him. But the thought of being in the presence of his flawless face or his perfect body and telling him I never want to talk to him, let alone sleep with him again, seems miserable—like the emotional equivalent of a root canal.

Right then, someone pounds on my door and my stomach flips, speak of the devil. It's like karma herself just rolled her eyes and said, It's time to pay the piper, bitch, before ushering Lander right to me.

I take a deep breath, mustering up my resolve. Karma is right. Time to put on my big girl panties and let this esquire down easy.

Except the man waiting for me when I open my door isn't a six-foot-something lawyer with a charming, all-American face and a flawless, sculpted-from-marble body. Instead, what I get is a woefully familiar black-haired, slightly over-cologned diplomat's advisor.

I've changed my mind. Karma isn't right. Karma is a big, evil cunt.

"Sebastian," I practically spit, drawing back my face in disgust. "What are you doing here?"

Sebastian Villalobos shoots one thick eyebrow up while he surveys me. His brown eyes land on the phone in my hand, and in a swift motion, he swipes on his own phone. Nothing happens.

"Ah, so you did block my number," he drones in Spanish before he pushes past me into my condo.

My delayed attempt to stop him fails, but I linger by the open door. "Get out," I order, pointing into the hallway.

Rolling his eyes, he faces me. We haven't seen each other in a month since my last obligatory "family dinner." In that time, he's gotten himself this hideous haircut that's short on the bottom and flouncy on the top like he's about to play in a World Cup final. Except he's not a soccer player, he's my father's lackey. He should tie his hair into two teeny space buns with ribbons, like a groomed teacup poodle. It would be far more fitting since he's a bonafide lapdog.

He lets his shoulders drop before he slides his hands into the pockets of his tailored dress pants. "I called you last night and it never rang. I've been texting you all day and you didn't respond. Why would you block me?"

"Sebastian, get out." I point more forcefully into the hallway, even though I know it's futile. In the two decades we've known each other, Sebastian has never processed a single word I've said: not a protest, a rejection, or even an opinion. Not surprising. As my father's protégé, he learned from the best, after all.

"Answer my question," he replies, eyes thinned. "Why did you block me? Did you block Vicente too? You know the consequences."

Reluctantly, I abandon my post by the safety of the open door and grab Sebastian by the arm, attempting to drag him into the hallway. "I don't want you here," I protest, straining.

"Why not?" he demands, tilting in the opposite direction. "I came here to make sure you were okay after last night, and you have the nerve to disrespect me?"

"You have no right to me or anything going on in my life," I blurt out, summoning all the strength I possess to move him. I'm strong, but he's big. Too big. Honestly, I think we're both shocked when I manage to make a few feet of progress. Sebastian recovers quickly though. He wrenches his arm out of my grip, sending me stumbling, and I barely catch myself on the doorframe. "Jesus, Sebastian, just go!"

Refusing to back down, I grab him once more and pull, dragging him towards the doorway. He catches it this time, bracing himself, and he latches his hand around my wrist.

Oh fuck this. Changing course, I tug the front door open with the full weight of my body and freeze.

Apparently, karma didn't like me calling her a cunt because her revenge is in full force. Lander is standing in the hallway, watching me fling my door open after I adamantly refused to do this very thing for him last night.

His gaze travels over me, taking in the situation. At first, his expression is surprised, but when his eyes drift from Sebastian's right hand clutching the doorway to his left choking my wrist, everything shifts. Murder. It's the only word to accurately describe the threat spreading over Lander's face. Full-on, unfiltered murder.

Nobody speaks until Lander looks right at me, clears his throat, and asks, "You good, baby?"

Baby. Countless men have called me baby over the years, but for the first time, it makes my stomach flutter. In fact, my stomach is so fluttery, I almost forget this guy has no business calling me baby.

My jaw lowers, but words don't come out. All I can do is gape at Lander's stoic expression. Despite the lightness of his words, his eyes are locked on mine like he's trying to read my thoughts.

"I asked if you were good," he emphasizes before he plants himself right next to me. "I'm sorry I'm late. I got held up with a partner on my way out, but I told him I had to get home to my girlfriend."

His girlfriend?

And then Lander moves closer to me, slides his arm around my waist, and pulls me towards his big body. Sebastian instantly releases me.

I've traded one man's touch for another, but in Lander's presence my body curls into his on its own. His scent engulfs me, a combination of his oud wood cologne and the addictive, manly aroma that recalls his condo—the place where I screwed him not even a day ago. It's entrancing. It's all so heady and overwhelming and downright entrancing.

In fact, it's so entrancing, my brain stops working. I don't process the strange turn of events, my body's innate appreciation for his appearance, and the stunned expression on Sebastian's face. I lose track of all of it. Of the tension. The confusion. My rule.

I go with it. Lean into him. Smell him.

I don't even stop him when he touches my chin, bows his head, and presses his soft lips against mine.