The Billionaire's CamGirl

“You want to hear something funny? A good joke, Weaver? I’ll post these slutty screenshots of you from Sugar Girl all over the internet. Everyone will know about you and your dildo show for my brother. And you, Chris. You won’t be so untouchable anymore.”

Chris is seething, but underneath, I can tell that he’s legitimately confused. “Where is this coming from, Ryan? What have I ever done to you to provoke this?” he asks, and his tone is more hurt than angry.

“Don’t pull that ‘good brother’ crap now, Chris, just because you need something from me. You can make this all go away. I want one night. With her.” He points a finger at me and the sneer on his face is sickening. “You should have been a little more careful with your laptop.” The idea of sleeping with him is nauseating, but the fact that he thinks that’s something up for offer, that I’m Chris’s to lend out, that has me pushing Chris aside and right up in Ryan’s face.

“If you want to fuck me, Ryan, you need to ask me, not Chris. But I’ll save you the breath because the answer is never.” And now I’m screaming. “And it’s not because you’re a little bloated from drinking too much or that your clothes always look like you slept in them, it’s because you’re the worst. The literal worst everything! Go ahead and post whatever and wherever you want to, I don’t give a shit. Despite the fact that you act like a goddamn high schooler, this is the real world. I may not want to advertise my cam-girl gig, but I’m not going to let you blackmail me over it.”

They’re both looking at me silently—Ryan in shock and Chris in awe. My heart is racing, and my body is screaming run. I open the door and gesture for Chris to leave. I guess he likes this dominant side of me because he follows, and we’re in the hall walking back toward the elevators. He takes my shaking hand in his and asks, “Are you okay?”

“I think so, but ask again when we get to your room,” I reply. Despite my earlier bravado, my voice cracks and I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I felt a surge of adrenaline confronting Ryan, but it’s been replaced with fear and a prickly, horrible feeling of shame.

Chris and I ride down two floors in the elevator in silence, concern etched on his face, but he doesn’t say anything, and I appreciate that. When we get inside his hotel room, I sit on the chair by the window, my eyes instantly drawn down to the park, searching for that familiar horse and the handsome cab driver.

“I thought you could use this.” Chris sits on the window ledge and hands me a glass of amber liquid. “Whiskey.”

“Thanks.” I take a few sips, staring out the window, following the horse’s path, until I feel brave enough to speak. “What do you think Ryan will do?”

Chris lets out a long slow breath, runs a hand through his hair, and looks down at me. “Ryan’s ultimately a coward, Weaver. But I guarantee you I won’t let him do anything to hurt you.”

I put down my glass and bury my face in my hands. Chris is on his knees at my feet in a second. “Don’t do that,” he pleads. “I promise. I’ll protect you. Why are you crying?”

I look up at him, and the concern in his eyes pierces my heart. “I’m crying because I’m not afraid. I’m crying because I realize I really don’t care. I’m not ashamed of what we did, of how we met. Being with you, knowing that you’d do anything to protect me, well everything else just seems dumb. Nothing bothers me because I have your…” I stop speaking; suddenly I am afraid. Afraid to say the word on the tip of my tongue, in my heart, because if it’s not reciprocated, I don’t know what I’d do.

“My love, Weaver,” he whispers. “Say it: you have my love. I love you.”

He holds my chin and brings my face to his. Our lips meet, and with his lips pressed to mine, he says it again. “I love you.”

He lifts me from the chair and carries me to the bed, laying my head on the pillow. His kisses cover my eyes, my nose, all over my face. His face is buried in my hair, breathing deeply, and his hands are roaming under my shirt. He keeps repeating the precious words, “I love you.”

He rolls me over on top of him and his kisses are rougher. His hands are under my shirt and I feel his fingers kneading into my back, trying to get me even closer. I move my fingers under his shirt, swirling them around his nipples, and I inch myself down his chest toward his hips. I rub my cheek over the bulge under his fly and feel his hips jut up, urging me on. His belt buckle unclasps easily, and I yank it out of his pants and throw it aside. Next, I open the button, taking the time to rake my nails below his navel, enjoying how his stomach dips as he sucks in a sharp breath. When I unzip his pants, his cock is straining against his boxer briefs, and I press my lips against it, wetting the fabric with my tongue. I feel him pulsing under my mouth, and I drag my tongue up, and let the thick head escape the elastic waistband. I swirl my tongue, moving forward so my hair cascades over his waist. His fingers tug my hair to the side, and I peek up and catch his eyes, looking down at me. “Yes, that’s it, yes,” he pants. I wrap my lips around the tip and flatten my tongue as I bob on him, his hand in my hair ever so slightly leading me on. I sit up on my knees and start to pull the boxers down with his pants, he lifts his hips so I can take them off completely. Before I dive back onto him, I lift off my shirt, and unclasp my bra, tossing them aside with his clothes. As I lean over, I allow my hair to brush across his bare hips, trail over his cock.