CHAPTER 7
ASHTON
It was showtime. The stream was going well. Tips were rolling in. Comments were thirsty. The usual crowd.
But then a name popped up. One I recognised but had not seen it listed for a few years.
Something about it made me pause.
Not the name itself, but the way he was watching. No comments. No emojis. Just...presence.
I could feel it.
Like he wasn’t here to get off. Like he was here to see me.
I shifted slightly, letting my gaze linger on the lens. Not seductive. Not playful. Just...open.
And for a second, I imagined him on the other side. Sitting in a dark room. Alone. Watching me like I was the last puzzle piece in a box he didn’t know he’d been holding.
Weird.
But not bad.
I kept going. Let the rhythm take over. Let the performance do its job. As I moved to the music, only I could hear. Imagining his hands ghosting over my heated skin.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling.
Who was he?
Why did his name feel like a whisper I’d heard before?
And why did I suddenly want to know what he looked like when he wasn’t watching me through a screen?