Chapter 10 Mavi
Mavi
The analytics are wrong and I’ve been staring at them for ten minutes trying to figure out how. Sai Hollis watches everything I post within hours of it going up, sometimes within minutes, and the replay counts climb through the night.
That’s been the pattern for five weeks, consistent enough to set a clock by.
Consistent enough that I restructured my entire platform around it.
The Thursday video, the one I recorded in warm lamp light with his name in my head and slick already soaking through my panties has been live for over twenty-four hours and has zero views.
The man who watched my softest content nine times in a row hasn’t opened the app.
The man who logged on eight minutes before every stream and stayed until the last second has gone completely dark.
No views, no activity, nothing. A flatline where there used to be the most reliable signal on my dashboard.
I close the laptop and pull my knees up in the nest as the silence sinks in.
Something broke in him after the hallway, though that isn’t a surprise for how unbelievably soft he was.
I felt how close he was to the edge when I pushed him into that wall.
I felt it in the rigid lock of his jaw under my hands and the way his whole body shuddered, like a man who was already falling apart and my hands just gave him permission to finish.
What surprises me is the completeness of the silence. Not even the explicit content he usually checks once and moves on from. Just total dark.
I didn’t know I needed his attention like that.
I’ve wanted it for years, built fantasies around it, structured my entire cam persona on the premise of it.
But wanting something as a fantasy and feeling it happen under my hands are different things, and I have been living for the new one since the hallway. I don’t want to go back.
The craving has turned physical in the last several hours, sitting low in my belly like a second hunger.
I catch myself pressing my thighs together at the easel, leaning toward the shared wall when I walk past it, breathing deeper in the hallway hoping to catch even a trace of sandalwood.
My body has decided that Sai Hollis belongs to me and is getting increasingly impatient with the fact that I haven’t gone and collected him yet.
The easel gets my attention for a few hours and the work is decent, the kind of painting that happens when there’s too much feeling and not enough outlet.
My phone buzzes with an email from the gallery owner who’s been following the new pieces: Would love to see the new work.
Studio visit this week? I respond yes, schedule the visit, the earned satisfaction overshadowing the craving in some part.
Even the evening stream goes smoothly, nothing out of the ordinary until a tip drops.
The number is massive, the kind that makes the chat erupt in emojis and exclamation marks.
There’s no message attached, just the amount and the account name.
The same blank profile that has been sitting at the top of my analytics for five weeks.
My silent, obsessive, obedient Alpha who went dark for twenty-four hours and just announced his return by throwing money at my screen like a man who can’t speak, dropping to his knees instead.
In the only language available to him through this platform, it means I can’t stay away.
At least, I really fucking hope that’s what that means.
I pause mid-stream and look at the notification, then at the camera.
The smile that comes isn’t the cam smile, not the warm practiced performance I give four hundred strangers.
“Thank you, loves. You were perfect tonight.” The sign-off comes smooth and professional because I don’t abandon my audience mid-show regardless of what’s happening in my chest. I offer the usual warmth, the kiss to the camera, and then the laptop closes, leaving me alone in my bedroom with my pulse hammering in my ears.
“Just think about this, Mavi,” I mutter to myself, knowing I’m going to make the wrong choice. “There’s no need to go over there.” Still, my gaze dances to the window facing his, the small cutout between our bedrooms feeling like an ocean of distance rather than twelve feet.
Something akin to worry blooms in my chest, my thoughts wondering if Sai is alright. He’s never dropped money before. Is he worried about me? Was it a pity gift? Hollis Alphas have a lot of money. Was it an apology? Did he not want this kiss?
I start to spiral, wondering if my need for dominance wasn’t actually received the way I thought it was. No, he was receptive. He wanted it. I could feel it.
“Fuck.”
Quickly, I strip out of my lingerie, shower, and throw on a robe, absolutely about to march to my nest and curl up before going to sleep. Instead, I stalk out into the hallway and over to Sai’s door, my heart nearly beating out of my chest.
This close, I get a whiff of his sandalwood scent, slick coating the rim of my ass, a persistent warmth gathering between my thighs with every step closer. My body is already preparing for him before my knuckles have even touched the wood.
I want his hands on my waist again. I want to hear the sound he makes when I praise him.
I want to find out what happens when I push past the few words, the single kiss, and give him more, give him structure, give him the thing his body was begging for in the hallway when his hands stayed at his sides and waited.
And fuck, I desperately hope it’s something he wants as much as I do.