Vanessa swallows, biting her bottom lip while she watches the tail of the group roar by.
“Ness?” Theresa presses.
I can’t peel my eyes off the woman beside me, studying every flick of her eyes, every unsaid worry in the tension of her jaw.
Her gaze slips to me first, and then Theresa, apology in the untold explanation she keeps guarded for the club. “Yes.”
TWENTY-ONE
JINX
My pointer hoversover the first post on Kyra’s page. Ever since Darko gave me the name, I’ve been doing this dance with myself. It feels wrong. A violation of trust when I have the real woman in my life. But at the same time, I need to know.
Fuck, do I need to know.
What face does she show the world when she’s Blue Babylon? Who is Kyra when she’s safe in a world of her own creation?
How will it make me feel?
It’s that last question that has me take a step further than I’ve managed up to now. That makes me click the post instead of closing the browser window with conflicted, warring emotions. The video pops up, enlarging on my laptop screen, Kyra front and center on her hands and knees as she moves away from hitting record.
I tap the image and pause the video.Fuck.Do I want to do this without telling her first? Would it be better to say I’ve already found her content, ask if she minds if I look? Or is that twice as fucking perverted?
Why the fuck is this so hard when the woman on the screen isn’t a stranger?No brainer, you fucking idiot.
I draw a deep breath, then set the video to play again. It cost me fifty dollars and a fake profile to get access to this tier, and it’s not even Blue Babylon’s top-grade shit.
Fucking looks like it, though.
Kyra moves on the screen again, her hair straightened but the same sun-touched brown that it is now. But her makeup is a damn sight heavier: smoky black eyes, overlined lips making those puppies even plusher than they are already. She sits back on her heels, dressed in fucking nothing but a strappy bondage-inspired two-piece lingerie set and a silky gown over top, open at the front.
My heart is an undeniable beat against my ribs.Holy shit.What would seventeen-year-old Matthew have thought if someone had told him this is what his secret crush would grow up to do? Bet I would have laughed the fuckin’ person out of town and said, “Kyra? That girl?” because damn, the woman on my screen is an entirely different beast.
“Hey,”she purrs.“How was your day?”Fuck—she roleplays, sucking me right into the scene with her.“I bet I can make it better.”Vague answers that fit with whatever I—the user—might say.“I missed you.”
I slam the lid down and freeze the video.Fuck.Am I really doing this?
Of course I fucking am.Why else would I have visited her goddamn page again if I didn’t intend to do something about it?
I stare at the laptop as though it’s possessed, hands to my waist. My bedroom door’s shut, but it almost feels as though I should take this shit on a hike to the middle of the desert just to be sure nobody else might hear, which is fucking stupid considering her sub count says this has probably been watched over a hundred thousand times.
How long would it take me to murder that many men?Or women.Jesus. I scrub a hand over my face and draw a deep breath.I can do this.If not for science, for personal gain.
It’s been fucking ages since I’ve blown a load, and if this shit does it for me, I’ll buy that woman a goddamn ring.
I edge the laptop open again and set it on my small desk, angled so I can see it from my bed. If I sit my ass far enough away from it, I can’t be tempted to pussy out each time she does something that makes mefeel. My finger shakes a little when I tap the key to start the video playing again and then get settled on the foot of my bed.
Kyra slides the gown off her shoulders, letting it pool around her ample hips. Fuck, I love how she looks with meat on her bones. A goddamn goddess.
“You don’t have to do anything, baby,”she croons.“Just watch.”
Is she in my fucking head?
My girl teases her thumb under the strap of the barely-there bra, offering the slightest hint of dusky nipple before she repeats the action on the other side. I tear my focus away from her and take in the backdrop—a plain mattress set on the floor with soft fur throws and copious pillows behind her. It could be anywhere. How would people know if she filmed here in Minnesota unless they recognized who she really is? And then, would they say anything if it implicated them?
Fuck knows, I wouldn’t.
“Which one should we use?”she damn near groans as she lifts two girthy dildos into view.“The purple one’s my favorite. Let’s use that.”Again. Cleverly scripted answers that don’t compromise what the viewer thinks.
