And his chest—fuck me.
All those taut muscles and lines of ink I’ve memorised in stolen glances and late-night fantasies. Tattoos I’ve imagined tracing with my tongue, mapping with my mouth until he’s gasping my name. Skin I’ve craved like something holy and forbidden all at once—an altar I shouldn’t kneel at and can’t stay away from.
The sight of him like this—unguarded, half-lit and haunting—is enough to punch the air out of my lungs.
His gaze lifts from his laptop screen, brows knitting. “Lil’, it’s late. What’s wrong?”
I swallow, the heat already rising in my cheeks. “I… couldn’t sleep.”
His expression softens in a way that makes my knees feel unsteady. “Come here.”
I shouldn’t be in his room this late. The hour is heavy, the house quiet enough that I can hear the faint buzz of the streetlights outside. My bare feet make no sound on the carpet, but the weight of every step feels loud as I cross the room slowly, feeling every inch of his eyes on me, like his stare is hands skimming my skin.
As I draw closer to his desk, he leans back in his chair and reaches out. When his fingers close around my wrist, the joltgoes all the way to my belly. He doesn’t ask. He pulls me into his lap, and I go without protest, curling sideways, cheek against his shoulder. It’s a position I’ve found myself in a hundred times and one I crave when my thoughts get too loud.
His scent—soap, leather, and something darker—wraps around me. I breathe him in and let my eyes fall shut.
We sit there, the silence stretching, until he says, voice low by my ear, “You’ve been looking at cam sites again.”
My breath catches. I lift my head, pulse skittering. “How…?”
“You should know better than to think deleting your search history actually deletes anything.”
“Oh, God.” I cover my face, heat flooding my skin. “Matt.”
“Hey. Look at me.” He pulls my hands away, not harsh but firm, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone as if to steady me. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re curious, you want your own money. I get it.”
“It’s not just the money,” I whisper. “It’s… the control, the power. I like the idea of it.”
His jaw flexes, expression darkening at every word that leaves my lips. He’s holding my eyes captive, but out of my peripheral, I see his fist clench on the armrest of his chair.
“And maybe… I want to know what it’s like to turn people on. To be looked at like that. To… to be desired, wanted.”
His eyes darken, pupils swallowing the green. “Christ, sweetheart. You have no idea how dangerous that is.”
“Then teach me, help me. I trust you, Matty.”
He goes still underneath me. “Fuck, Lily. Don’t say shit like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Because I shouldn’t even be looking at you like this. Never mind touching you.”
“But you do. And you want to, don’t you?”
He doesn’t deny it, only grips my waist tighter, his fingertips a quiet warning against my hips.
“Cam work isn’t just flashing yourself to strangers,” he says roughly, his eyes begging me to understand. “It’s a performance. It’s a game of psychology. You’ve got to split yourself in two—the you they see, and the you they don’t. Otherwise, it will eat you alive.”
“I can learn.” If Matt has seen my browser history, then surely he’s seen the hours of research I’ve done into this. The hundreds of sites I’ve looked at and compared before starting the process of making my account on Tempt.
His voice softens. “I know you can. You’re clever and stubborn as hell.”
A shaky smile tugs at my lips. “So… will you help me?”
For a long time, he just stares, the war playing out in the tight set of his jaw. Finally, he tips his head back, exposing the long column of his throat as he lets out a pained groan before meeting my eyes again.
“Fine.” The word comes out on a slow breath, like it's costing him to give in to me. “I’ll help you. But we need to be smart about this.”
