The words hit me like a spark, warm and confusing all at once. I open my mouth to ask him what he means. If he’s flirting, staking some kind of claim, or just being his usual charming self, but before I can get a single word out, he’s already returned his attention to his phone. The sudden shift leaves me sitting there, blinking, my mind spinning with questions.
Does he see me that way? Was that a joke, or something more? Why do I even care?
I replay his voice in my head, trying to decode the tone, the look in his eyes, the timing of it all. But I get nothing—no clues, no certainty. Just a lingering heat in my chest and a million thoughts I can’t quite stitch together.
And as the silence stretches between us, I realize something dangerous is beginning to bloom.
And I have no idea what to do about it.
CHAPTER4
LATE NIGHTS AND DARK SECRETS
Lety
The days pass in a blur of meetings, paperwork, and spreadsheets. I’m exhausted by the time I leave the office—late, of course. César has stayed with me every night, either working silently by my desk, or feeding me dinner from another one of my favorite food trucks. By the third day, it hit me that César never stays late to work on his own tasks. He only sticks around to help me with mine. Which led me to believe he was there for me…but why?
As much as I hated to admit it, I liked the attention and knowing César cared about my safety.
Because of the long days at the office, I’ve completely ignored my DesireDen account. I’ve popped on a few times to respond to comments and messages, and posted a few half-dressed selfies, but that’s all I’ve had the energy for. I’ve started to miss my live shows—and, of course, the amazing orgasms that come with preforming—so I’ve vowed to make time for a live show on DesireDen. Judging by the reaction from my audience when I posted I’d have a show tonight, they had missed my performances as well.
However, in order to get ready for tonight, I had to call in sick for work. The people-pleaser in me felt bad for leaving César without help, but his response had been…unexpected after my text.
I’m sending over lunch. Take it easy and don’t you dare open your work computer.
I won’t.
Good girl.
Good girl?The fucking man is going to be the death of me. Does he even know what he said and the effect it has on women? He has to. That asshole.
True to his word, César sends a small feast that could feed a family of five, as well as dessert, since he knows I have a sweet tooth.
“Oh, César, the man you are,” I murmur between bites of picadillo. Once again, he knows exactly what I would order, as if he’s been secretly studying me for months. I don’t know if I should be flattered or concerned. I’m leaning toward the former, though.
Pushing all thoughts of my boss out of my mind, I get ready for my live, opting to wear the new angel lingerie costume I bought. Seems fitting since I’m going with a good girl theme—totally not inspired by César at all. Just a happy coincidence.
I also don’t think about César when I start the camera, my boobs filling the screen. I watch as the number of viewers rises to levels I haven’t seen in a while. I must have been away longer than I thought.
I don’t think of César when I take my vibrator out from the nightside table.
I definitely don’t think of him when I place it against my clit, letting the vibrations create undeniable pleasure.
And I don’t think about him when I come on my fingers. His brown eyes aren't looking back at me when I close my eyes.
I don’t think about it because it would be highly inappropriate of me to get off on the thoughts of my boss.
Messages flood my inbox the moment I end the short livestream, right after promising a private session to the top bidder. Notifications chime in one after another, and I glance at my DesireDen wallet. My jaw nearly drops. The balance leaps from a few hundred to several thousand in seconds, skyrocketing the moment a familiar username appears: DineroDaddy.
I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s been my top contributor for months now, always first to tip, first to comment, and first to slide into my DMs. Of course he’d win the private chat. His bid crushed the others without even trying. Still, there’s a strange twist in my stomach when I think about how much he’s sent me over time. Thousands. And tonight alone? Enough to make me blink twice.
I don’t usually feel guilty about taking money from men who willingly hand it over. But there’s something about DineroDaddy—something that makes me pause. Then again, with a name like that, I doubt he’s hurting for cash, so I clamp the guilt deep down. This is my job, after all, and the money is given willingly.
CurvyBabe:Hi, DineroDaddy. Looks like you are the top contributor again. You’ve won the private show. Just give me a minute to change into something cozier and I’ll be back.
I type out the message and hit send, my heart ticking just a little faster. From across the room, the red negligée hanging in my closet seems to beckon me—a barely-there lace bra, matching panties, and a sheer robe that leaves little to the imagination. I’m just about to stand to go slip it on when my phone buzzes. His reply makes me freeze mid-motion.
DineroDaddy:No need, mi reina. I just want to talk.
