Chapter 5
Haven
Carter’s face lights up my screen with a smile glued to his face as if he hasn’t been waiting all damn day to see me. He’s curled into bed, his hair messy like he’s been dragging his fingers through it nonstop. In this moment I’d give anything to do that.
“You comfy, sweetheart?” he asks, with a crooked grin.
“Mmhm,” I nod, tucking the blanket tighter around me. “You better let me pick the movie, last time I let you listen to Tate’s suggestion and I couldn’t sleep for twenty minutes after you went to bed.”
His laugh is teasing. “Okay, okay. No scary shit. Just mellow for our night tonight.”
I settle back into my pillows, pretending it doesn’t make me melt when he calls it our night. No chaos or masked unhinged twin with a permanent claim on my lower spine. Just Carter.
After finally agreeing on a movie, we hit play. It’s easy, even if the ache of not being around him settles under my ribs. These past few weeks since his last visit have felt like an eternity.
I’m not even paying attention anymore. I mean, I am, technically, but mostly I’m watching him react to everything like it matters.
The way he groans at bad decisions, the way he mutters under his breath like he could somehow fix the plot if he just complains loud enough.
I laugh, knowing his mic picks up every sound, knowing mine does too.
Halfway through, I shift on my side, propping my head on my hand. “You look good tonight,” I say softly.
His cheeks flush. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “Like… really good.”
He bites his lip, “I wish I was there,” he murmurs. “I’d hold you just like that. Warm under the blanket, your legs all tangled with mine.”
There it is.
That little shift, the blush, the way his eyes dip like he doesn’t know where to put all that attention. I like that I can do that to him. Probably more than I should.
“I’d kiss your neck,” he goes on, voice barely above a whisper. “Slide my hands under your shirt, ask if I could touch you.”
I exhale, shaky. “You don’t have to ask Carter.”
He blinks slow. “Say that again, p-please.”
“You don’t have to ask.”
His jaw tightens. His screen tilts like he’s adjusting under the blanket and my stomach flips. Movie and blankets forgotten. The only thing that matters is the way his breathing deepens. “Can I see you?” he asks.
I nod as I go to tug my tank top lower my phone vibrates, startling me.
Tate: hope he’s not putting you to sleep, pretty girl because I can’t stop thinking about your mouth, and the way you moan
My breath stutters.
Carter sees it instantly. “What is it?”
I don’t even think before showing him, which is probably telling in itself, because part of me wants to see how he reacts, wants to see if that softness shifts into something else.
He half groans, followed by a laugh. “Fucking Tate.”
I set my phone down. Not to ignore Tate’s message but because Carter’s eyes are locked on me, his screen catching the curve of my shoulder and the outline of my tank top like he’s memorizing every pixel.
“He doesn’t get to have you tonight,” Carter says quietly. “Not like this.”
Even though he’s trying to sound confident, I can hear the tension in his voice, the shared space of possessiveness he’s still figuring out how to wear.
I tilt the camera a little, giving him a better view of the dip in my collarbone. “No,” I say softly. “All yours tonight.”
Carter swallows hard, he looks halfway destroyed and I haven’t even touched myself yet. “Tell me what to do,” he breathes. “Please.”
That word—please—it hits me in the chest every time. He says it like he absolutely means it. I think that’s why it turns me on more than anything else. He wants to get it right, for me.
My fingers trail lightly over the curve of my neck, just to tease. “Start slow, just watch me.”
His breath stutters. “I am.”
The way he’s looking at me, hungry and eager, it makes me feel bold, made of fire. I let my hand slip lower beneath the hem of my tank, just a tease of skin, just enough to make his lips part and his jaw clench.
He shifts under his blanket. His camera angle dips slightly, I catch a glimpse of his stomach and the waistband of his sweats riding low, his breath catching every time I move.
“You can touch yourself too, Carter,”
He nods immediately, his hand disappearing beneath the frame as his head tips back for a second, and I can see it the rush of sensation hitting him all at once.
“I—I don’t know if I’ll last long,” he admits, breathless. “Just watching you…”
“You don’t have to,” I whisper. “I just want you to feel good.”
His eyes squeeze shut as he groans softly. I can tell he’s trying to hold it together for me, trying not to fall apart too fast, even though his body’s begging him to. My mind drifts back to the first night with him, how hard he tried to please me first.
“Talk to me,” I coax. “Tell me how it feels.”
His lips part, and it takes him a second to find his voice. When he does, it’s barely there. “Feels like you’ve got your hands on me,” he says. “Like I’ve been waiting for this forever, like it’s finally happening for the first time, I don’t want it to stop.”
I press my fingers to my lips, the tension building between my thighs as I whisper, “Then don’t stop.”
His breathing is ragged now. My name falls from his lips again, a desperate whisper wrapped in want. I can tell he’s close, his eyes fluttering, his throat tight as he tries to hold on, tries to wait for me.
I dip my hand into my shorts, circling my soaked clit. “I’m so fucking wet for you Carter, s-so close,” I murmur. “Come with me.”
“Fuck—Haven—” His voice cracks, it’s too much, it’s everything.
“Look at me when you do,” I whisper.
When his eyes meet mine, I fall apart. A slow, shuddering moan slips past my lips as my body clenches, heat rushing through me like a spark catching dry leaves, all-consuming and bright.
My hips jerk, fingers stilling. On the other side of the screen, Carter groans low, his whole body tensing, eyes squeezing shut, his hand faltering before he finally stops.
“Oh my God,” he breathes, chest heaving, forehead falling forward like he’s too overwhelmed even to sit upright.
We’re both quiet for a second. Just the sound of breathing, of the soft hum of our computers, of the silence after a storm.
Then he laughs, just a little. So sweet and so Carter. “Pretty sure that ruined me,” he says, smiling so big it makes my heart ache.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I tease gently, curling deeper into my blanket. God—that was a lot, like a lot, and I can still feel it buzzing under my skin.
“It’s not.” He sighs. “I’ll never recover, but not in a bad way baby.”
I bite my lip, watching him tuck his hoodie back down, still flushed, soft around the edges. I feel it again, that tug. That ache to reach through the screen and touch him for real. But it’s late, and I have an early morning. “I should try to sleep,” I yawn. “Big day tomorrow.”
He nods, brushing his fingers through his hair. “You’ll kill it. You always do.”
I smile. “Good night, Carter.”
“Good night, baby sweet dreams.”
We just leave the call open a few extra seconds, like neither of us wants to let go first.
The first thing I register the next morning is vibration and the sound—ping-ping-ping—followed by the flutter of the curtains and the unmistakable burn of daylight on my face. I groan, roll over and freeze when I see the time.
“Shit.”
It’s nearly noon. I was supposed to be up by nine, wanted to at least. I fumble for my phone, heart hammering. Fantastic, love that I finally sleep like a normal person and immediately ruin my schedule.
Cassie: girl are you alive
Cassie: I’m taking your silence as a yes, also your stream chat thinks you’re dead I’m about to tell them you were kidnapped by masked men
Carter: Morning, sweetheart. You okay?
Carter: Did you sleep in? Totally fine if you needed rest. I can hop on stream and stall if you want.
Tate: wake up sleeping beauty we’ve got games to ruin and people to destroy
I slap my pillow over my face and let out a muffled scream. “Why am I like this?”
Dragging myself upright, I squint toward the hallway, then back at the chaos in my messages.
My hair is a mess, my throat’s dry and I slept like I was in a damn coma. I wanted the morning slot, wanted the hype, wanted to show I’m serious about this tournament. Now I’ve got to recover like a damn pro. I fire off one quick group message, and a separate one to Cassie.
Me: Yes, I’m alive. Give me ten minutes.
I grab a hoodie, chug half a water bottle, and spin toward my desk. It’s time to rally; five minutes turns into ten. When I finally go live, the second my camera flips on, the chat explodes.
[Stream Chat:]
mod_goblin: SHE’S ALIVE
ec_hoe3: I KNEW SHE WAS JUST TAKING A POST-CHAOS NAP
Neoncherry: tournament queen energy only today
I laugh as I settle into my chair sliding my headset into place. “Okay, okay—yes, I slept in. No, I’m not dead.”
The energy in the chat is crazy, even after I’ve been offline for almost twelve hours.
But it’s more than that, they’re excited.
They know I’m finally stepping into something bigger.
I queue up my warm-up match. Just as I load in, a notification blips on-screen: HavenHexed is now competing in the ELITE OPEN brACKET.
The upgraded rank, real deal. Another notification: GoldenBoy69 has joined your lobby.
I smile without even thinking. “Morning!”
Carter’s voice filters through my headset instantly. “Morning. You sound good.”
I catch my reflection in the corner of the screen. Still a little sleep-ruffled, still feeling flushed from last. “I feel good,” I admit. “Let’s see if I can channel it into a killstreak.”
We dive in; the match is clean and tight. Carter hangs back, supporting from a distance, calling shots with that soothing voice that makes my whole body want to melt. Mid-match, Tate pings into my chat.
NoOneGhost: not bad for someone who sleeps through half the day. you gonna break hearts or brackets today, pretty girl?
The second I read it, my hand stutters on the mouse. I almost die in-game, almost. “Tate,” I mutter under my breath, a smirk pulling at my lips.
Carter just sighs. “He couldn’t help himself.”
“Never expect him to.”
“Did you see the bracket yet?” He asks softly.
“No—why?” I alt-tab over, breath catching when the next match loads. Upcoming Match: HavenHexed vs. ERRORx47
My pulse jumps, it’s a guy who talks shit in every single stream he’s in. The one who once implied I only rank because of “backup” and who absolutely follows Dylan like a fanboy.
“Oh, I’m gonna wreck him.”
I end the stream on a high, my heart pounding from the rush of it all. Carter stays on the party chat while I log out, his smile seeping from the other side of the screen. “You crushed that,” he says. “Seriously.”
“Think I made up for oversleeping?”
“Sweetheart,” he says, voice all soft praise, “you could stream once a week and still have everyone wrapped around your finger.”
I blush and roll my eyes, but the compliment lands right where he knew it would.
We talk a little more, nothing serious, just light banter and soft mentions about last night, but I can tell something’s lingering behind his eyes, something he’s not saying.
Before I can press him, we hang up. My phone lights up with a message.
Tate: assuming Carter didn’t tell you I’m in the tournament based on lack of apology coming from his room, guess that makes me the bearer of good news, you, me, same bracket let’s see who ends up on top angel