I laugh, soft and shaky. “You can’t fight everyone.”
“No,” he agrees. “But I can stand with you.”
The room goes quiet again, not heavy this time, just full.
I look down at my sketch, then back at him.
“Okay,” I say, heart thudding. “Then I’ll do both.”
His smile is immediate, proud, and certain.
“Good,” he says. “I’ll help however you want.”
And for the first time since the idea took root in my chest, the future doesn’t feel like a risk.
It feels like something I might actually be allowed to want.
Hours later, Matt’s room has been transformed into a makeshift stream setup. I’ve swapped my jeans and T-shirt for a matching black lace set, a sheer robe, and a matching mask that hides just enough. My laptop glows in front of me, my phone hooked up to it, the camera angled carefully, casting soft light over my skin and hands.
Eventually, I want to craft something more aesthetic—handmade matching sets and masks for every stream, a professional camera hooked up to my laptop, chat pulled up on a different screen so it’s easier to read. But for now… this will do. A shiver runs through me, part nerves, part anticipation.
“Lil’.”
Matt’s voice cuts through, soft and grounding. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, sleeves rolled up, tattoos on full display in that unfair way of his.
“Ready to break the internet?” he asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, desire dancing openly in his eyes.
I bite my lip, laughing despite the tension curling tight in my chest. “If by that you mean embarrass myself, then yes. Absolutely.”
He chuckles as he comes closer. “You could let me help you.”
I glance back at him, mask in place, pulse spiking. “Are you volunteering as my assistant or…?”
“Both,” he says easily. “I’m a very versatile assistant.”
“You’d have to wear a mask,” I warn, “and keep your shirt on.”
“I can do that,” he says, utterly unbothered, “if you can cope without seeing all of this.”
He flashes me his abs for half a second—deliberate and devastating—before crossing to his wardrobe. When he comes back, he’s already pulling on a black balaclava. Slipping it into place, he’s reduced to piercing green eyes, a tight black top, his new Doc Martens, and jeans worn low enough to make my mouth go dry. The sight of him like this is lethal to my sanity.
He settles behind me on the bed, his legs bracketing mine, close enough that I feel his heat without a single point of contact. Before I can second-guess myself, I hit the button and go live.
Instantly, viewers start trickling in, then flooding.
The chat scrolls fast—demands, compliments, filth, and fascination colliding all at once.
My chest tightens, a heady mix of nerves and heat pooling low in my belly as I try to keep up.
JimsCuntDestroyer:You new here? I’d remember that body.
AdamsLadder:A duo? This is going to be hot.
CometoDaddy: Put that slut in her place.
MistressE:Oh, you’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?
Matt leans down beside me, his voice pitched low, meant only for me. “See? They’re excited.”
