CHAPTER 9
LINCOLN
Imanaged to avoid Hunter for the rest of the day on Saturday, making an escape from Marshall’s house just before lunch. My only saving grace was that he couldn’t directly try and corner me in front of his brother because then we’d both have a lot of explaining to do, and neither of us wanted to get into that.
Sunday, he messaged me seven times, and I left him on read.
Monday, three more messages, all before lunch. Two more after dinner.
Tuesday, two at lunch, one just before eleven at night.
All of the messages said some variation of the same thing.
Please can we talk about Friday night.
I know we’re strangers, but I’m worried about you.
Why won’t you answer me?
There was no tangible reason for him to want to talk about Friday or to worry about my mental state afterward. He might be my best friend’s boyfriend’s brother, but he wasn’t anything more to me than an escort I paid to dominate me for an hour. I’d paid and he’d done his part, and he’d even donated the extra cash to a fucking fish rescue.
Like… why?
What?
Wednesday morning, I woke up to one single text message that simply readLincoln.
I groaned, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face into the pillow. It was time for me to get my head out of my ass about lots of things, but Hunter Covington was not on the list. Not only was he not submissive—my type—he was also not dominant—my vice. He could clearly play the role well in the bedroom, and that was great, but at the end of the day, I did want a partner wholivedit.
I wanted what Silas had with Marshall. Or what Marshall had with Silas.
Or something.
Patron saint of who-fucking-knows.
Eventually, I forced myself out of bed and into the shower. I needed to film some content, which I normally did in batches. I’d spend a few days making as many videos as my body would allow, and then I’d post until I ran out. The last one I’d posted was the one with the dildo against the wall, so I needed to not just make some more, but I needed to get creative about it.
Hunter’s house would have been great for filming. He had moody lighting and lots of square footage. Being confined to the walls of my studio was limiting, and I didn’t want things to get boring. Maybe I’d splurge for a hotel over the weekend and see what trouble I could get into with a wall-size mirror and a glass-walled shower.
In the meantime, I prepped myself in the shower, styled my hair, had some coffee, then sat down on the edge of the bed to go through ideas. I had a running checklist on my phone of content suggestions, and I often doubled up, especially if there were things that ended up with a lot of views. My income always seemed to go up whenever I focused on sounds over visual so, to start, I propped myself up against the wall with a bottle of lube and silicone cock sleeve.
With one more swallow of coffee, I set up the tripod and the ring light at the edge of my bed, then arranged myself against the wall with my feet flat on the mattress and my legs bent at the knee. The frame cut my face off, which was fine, because it gave an impressive view of my piercings and my package. If I lifted off the bed, my asshole was barely visible, and that was the kind of tease that earned me tips and comments.
I’d probably end up filming a follow-up in a couple of weeks, the same pose with a toy inside of me. It was the thing people generally asked for. If I played with my ass, they wanted me to involve my cock. If I played with my cock, they wanted me stuffed from the back. If I fucked one of those silicone assholes, they wanted me spit-roasted by toys.
Greedy, but I didn’t mind.
I started recording and leaned against the wall, trailing one hand up my chest and the other down my stomach. I’d put more than enough lube on my hand, so when I wrapped my fingers around my half-hard cock, it was already slippery and loud. Groaning, I pinched my nipple and began to stroke myself.
My last orgasm had been Friday night with Hunter. I hadn’t even touched myself since then except to wash in the shower. A hand around my dick triggered a Pavlovian response, and I could practically feel his feet hooked around my calves, pinning me like a butterfly while he worked my shaft.
Dropping my head against the wall, I moaned loudly, twisting my wrist the way he twisted his. The sensation was overwhelming, and I had to slow down to make sure the video wasn’t a two-minute deal. I released my cock and sighed as it slapped hard and loud against my stomach, then I cupped my balls and tugged at the barbells in my nipples until they hurt to touch.
My body was on fire, unable to stop thinking about how it had felt to be on my knees with Hunter behind me. His chestwarm and sweaty against my back, his breath hot on my ear, his hand…
His fucking hand.
I came with a pained cry, arching away from the wall as cum shot onto my chest and slid down my stomach. Fuck, it felt good. It felt horrible. It felt just as confusing as it had Friday night when it happened. With another dramatic grunt of pleasure, I jacked my cock until my balls were empty, then I ended the recording and collapsed onto my bed.
