Chapter 3 Mavi #2
The orgasm builds in slow, heavy waves, each roll of my hips pushing it higher, the knot grinding against the spot inside me that turns my brain to static.
By the time it crests, my hand is wrapped around my cock, my back arching off the blanket so hard my thighs shake, slick pulsing out of me in a rush I can hear through the microphone.
The chat dissolves into incoherent capital letters as the tip counter climbs past last week's total while my body clenches and releases in waves.
I ride the pleasure with my eyes half-closed, my lips parted in ecstasy, not a single thought in my head except how good this feels and how much better it would feel with a real knot, attached to someone who deserved to be there.
"Thank you, loves. You were perfect tonight,” I murmur to the camera, trying to push past the after-shocks because in the end, this is still business. I blow a kiss to the camera, throwing them a sloppy smile. "Same time Thursday. Don't be late."
It takes me another moment to click off the camera with the remote before sliding the dildo out of me, my body flopping to the mattress. The air still feels charged with my scent and slick, my skin overheated as I silently wait until my legs work.
The person on camera is just me at full blast, and dialing it back down means an oversized shirt and paint under my nails and wondering if there's anything in the fridge besides yesterday's pasta.
Most of the makeup comes off in the bathroom, though the gloss stays because I like how it looks.
The sheets are a mess of slick and sweat so I strip them and toss them in the hamper before pulling on the oversized shirt that's been living on my bathroom door since Tuesday.
Then I grab the laptop and settle back against the headboard with my legs crossed and the analytics dashboard loading on the screen.
Viewer count, peak concurrent, average watch time, tip breakdown, the clinical math of what my body and my voice are worth on any given night. These numbers pay my rent, buy my paint, keep me in silk, and I respect them for exactly what they are, which is money.
I scroll through a few of the screens before finding exactly what I was searching for.
And there he is. My favorite ghost. Logged on eight minutes before the stream, stayed until the last second, didn't comment, didn't tip, didn't do anything except watch with the kind of silent dedication that would be creepy if it weren't so profitable.
Same blank profile, same highest subscription tier, same pattern of rewatching my recordings three, four, five times like he's memorizing me for an exam he's never going to take.
I know who he is, though. It took me three days to figure it out, which is honestly two days too many.
My neighbor, the tall, serious, devastatingly beautiful Alpha who moved in five weeks ago and still can't look me in the eye, who walks past my door every morning in clothes that cost more than I make in a week smelling like sandalwood and something darker that hits me in the chest every time I catch it in the hallway.
I can hear him through the wall at night following the same path in the same order, door to kitchen to bathroom to bedroom, like he's afraid of what happens if he takes a different route. He watches me every night and pays premium prices to watch the highest paid tiers.
In some roundabout way, my newest tier, Behind Glass, was made for him. Exclusive content, designed for an audience of one. The replay count confirms he took the bait, and the number should probably concern me but instead it makes my blood do something that feels dangerously close to interested.
All of my followers thrive on this dominant Omega I portray but they would never want that in real life. No one actually wants to submit to their Omega.
I close the laptop and lean back against my headboard, letting myself think about the Alpha next door, whose name I still don't know, which is a problem I intend to fix soon.
I know he's at least six-two with shoulders wide enough to fill a doorframe and hands large enough to wrap around both my wrists without trying.
I know his jaw is sharp, his skin a beautiful dark bronze, his eyes carrying the weight of someone who's been holding something too heavy for too long and doesn't know how to set it down.
He dresses like every garment went through a committee before it was allowed onto his body, and I know his beauty is the aggressive kind, the kind that rearranges the hierarchy of a room just by walking into it.
Someone in the building mentioned he was important but I know nothing about him and some part of me craves that information. The one thing I do know, the one that excites me is that he can't look at me.
He drops his eyes in the hallway and moves past me like proximity to me might burn him, and the one time our shoulders almost touched near the mailboxes, I heard his breathing actually stutter, a full hitch in his lungs like his body short-circuited.
Every Alpha I've ever been with has fallen into one of two categories: the ones who wanted to consume me and the ones who wanted to tame me, and either way the endgame was identical. Make Mavi smaller. Make Mavi softer. Make Mavi into something easy to hold.
This Alpha won't fit in either box. An Alpha who consumes doesn't watch from a distance, he takes.
An Alpha who tames doesn't subscribe in silence, he approaches.
This one does neither. This one just aches, and I can imagine it every single night, this enormous want he keeps locked down so tight it practically hums through the drywall.
The question isn't whether he wants me, because that was established beyond doubt about four weeks ago, but what he would do if I decided to let him have me.
A scenario builds in my head, my control shot from just riding a knot on camera.
His jaw would go slack as he reached for me before stopping because I told him to stop.
I think about what his voice would sound like saying please, what his knees would look like hitting the floor, what it would be like to stand over all six-two of him and watch the composure crack apart to reveal something raw and desperate and willing underneath.
Willing is the word. Not just wanting but willing to let me lead, willing to be told, willing to kneel if I asked, not because I forced him down but because kneeling is what he's been trying to do his whole life and nobody has ever given him permission.
The fantasy has my hand between my legs, fingers sliding through the new bout of slick gathering between my thighs.
I'm not even slightly embarrassed about it because I just came on camera for four hundred strangers and touching myself in the privacy of my own bed while I think about an Alpha on his knees is the least scandalous thing I've done tonight.
My fingers circle my cock, still sensitive from the last orgasm, while I imagine what his voice would sound like breaking around the word please. My hips rock into my own hand as the slick makes everything wet and easy, the fantasy morphing into dangerous territory.
Every part of me wants to watch him fall apart in front of me as I push my thumb into his mouth and feel him suck like he'd been starving for it. I want to climb into his lap and sink down onto his knot while he shakes underneath me and doesn't move because I told him not to.
An Alpha like that would be a fucking gift. A garbled moan falls from my lips as my body starts to tremble. I'm so close, I can almost feel the heat of him underneath me, the weight of his hands hovering at my hips waiting for permission to land.
“Come on Alpha. Get me there. Use that fat cock—”
My phone buzzes, bursting the fantasy immediately. I shouldn’t even be entertaining it, my body not catching as I spray all over my fist and my stomach. I sag back against the pillows before picking up my phone with my clean hand, Juno’s name lighting up the screen.
All residual pleasure dies immediately, so fast it hurts.
The irritation that hits me is so sharp it circles back around to funny, because of course it's Juno, the Alpha who slept with me three times, decided that constituted a relationship, and has been orbiting me since with the persistence of a satellite that can't process its own irrelevance.
I liked Juno fine for the nine total hours I spent with him, taxi rides included, and then I was done with him. The explanation was clear, both in person and written via text, which Juno received and simply chose not to believe.
I wipe my hand on the sheets and let the call ring out, though a text follows immediately because Juno is nothing if not predictable.
Miss you. Drinks this week?
I do not miss Juno, who exists in my memory as adequate hands, an above-average mouth, and the hollow personality of an Alpha who has been told he's charming so many times he never bothered developing anything underneath it.
Juno grabbed. Juno assumed. Juno put his hand on the small of my back in public like he'd purchased the right to touch me, and when I removed it he gave me the look, the universal Alpha look that translates precisely to "I would find this so much easier if you weren’t so… much."
I set the phone face down without responding because the Alpha is not worth the calories it would take to type a reply.
The contrast is Juno who calls versus the neighbor who watches, Juno who demands attention versus the Alpha next door who wouldn't dare ask for it, Juno who grabbed my back in a bar versus a man who pays real money to look at me through a screen and has never once, in five weeks of living twelve feet away, presumed he was entitled to a single word from my mouth.
I know which one I want and I've known for weeks, the wanting just waiting for the right moment to become something I act on.
I twist over to look at the separation between us, my bedroom window nearly 12 feet from his. “Do you ever look at me, Alpha? Not just on the camera, but here. Do you see the real me? Did you watch me fuck my hand to you, the thought of you beneath me, letting me having my way with you?”
Heat coils in my belly, another gush of slick slipping between my thighs as my scent perfumes through my entire bedroom.
I think the man on the other side of this wall might be the kind who knows how to hold something without breaking it. I think when the moment comes, he won't grab and he won't demand and he won't try to make me less. He will kneel and I will let him.