Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77236 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“We’re taking a long walk tonight, girl,” I told her, then walked us both until I was slick with sweat, and Frida was panting and shooting me sideways looks. Like she wanted to know what the heck she was being punished for.
“Alright. Let’s go home,” I said, taking us back to the apartment.
Where I decided that I was going to block the hot biker guy in the morning.
Except, of course, my resolve somehow evaporated as soon as I woke up in the morning after having sweaty, bedsheet-tangling sex dreams about the guy.
I barely made it a day before I was toggling over to his profile.
And waiting.
I didn’t have to wait long.
I never could have expected though, that this time, the orgasm wouldn’t be chased by shock and a small bit of embarrassment, but by a hail of bullets…
CHAPTER FIVE
Alaric
What the fuck was that?
If ever there was a solid throat kick to the ego, it was a woman immediately ending a video call the second she saw your face.
I sat there in stunned inaction for a long moment, staring at the chat box that declared she was now offline.
Objectively, I knew there was nothing wrong with my face. Sure, attractiveness was subjective. And some women might not care for light hair or green eyes. But as a whole, I knew I was technically good-looking. Getting women had never been an issue.
So what was it then?
I tossed my spare phone to the other side of the bed, then got up and jumped in the shower.
It wasn’t until the cool water cascaded down my body that a potential explanation came to me.
That she had no idea it was me.
I guess I’d figured when she’d followed me, she’d done it because she had ‘met’ me at the meeting, then saw my profile when I’d set it up, and wanted to support a new creator.
It never occurred to me that she hadn’t correlated the disguised biker and the guy she’d seen at the hotel.
That would explain her reaction, right?
Especially because she was so damn careful about keeping her identity a secret. Maybe it had just freaked her out to know that someone she thought was possibly just a random subscriber was actually someone who knew what she looked like.
It made sense.
But, I figured, with some time, she would realize that another creator who was also very carefully concealing his identity would never try to expose hers.
She had just as much information on me as I did on her. Well, maybe slightly less. Since she didn’t actually know my name.
Still, she would think it through and come back again.
Why I cared so much about that was beyond me.
I was sure, if I wanted to, I could accept any of the private message requests I got daily, open up a video call, and have cyber sex with any other random woman.
The thing was, I didn’t want to.
I had no rational explanation for it.
But the desire was strictly about interacting with Siana.
She was pretty, sure, but that didn’t seem like enough of a reason to feel so strongly about just video-calling her.
Maybe it was because it wasn’t anonymous. Because I knew of her as a fully formed human being. One with imperfections, anxieties, and quirks.
Like myself.
I thought by creating my profile, that the attention would be the same thrill I got from being on a stage. At first, there’d been some ego-building, making me realize just how debilitating my insecurities had become over the years. But it wasn’t long until the comment sections just felt… hollow. Almost impersonal. Like they weren’t actually praising me, but a character I created.
I don’t know.
It didn’t make sense.
All I knew was I definitely got more of a rush, more of a confidence build, on a video call with Siana, seeing her hand in her panties, hearing her sweet little whimpers and moans, and knowing I was doing that to her.
“Fuck,” I hissed the following morning, realizing I’d fallen asleep obsessing over this shit, then had woken up and done the same for almost an hour.
I tossed my extra phone into the back of one of my nightstand drawers, grabbed my normal one, and took it with me as I got dressed, then headed over to the clubhouse.
There were a million things I needed to do at home. I had my kitchen cabinets partially primed. I had the boxes for the new faucets for the kitchen and bathrooms sitting on a piece of wood propped up on sawhorses that served as my only table in the whole damn house. I had more weeds to tear out in the backyard, and I needed to head back to the home improvement store to snag more paint samples and look into tile for the kitchen and bathrooms.
But I knew that most of the work I needed to do around the house required physical effort, not mental, which would only allow my mind to wander.