Chapter 37
Carter
The call connects before the second ring.
And there she is, blinking up at me through the camera like she hasn’t been awake long enough to fake being unaffected. Her voice is wrecked with sleep when she murmurs, “Miss me already?”
God, yes.
But I play it cool, barely. “Nah,” I say, leaning back in my chair, arm stretching behind my head like I haven’t been watching the clock all day just waiting to hear her voice. “Just checking to make sure my future co-streamer isn’t slacking.”
She snorts. “You mean your boss?”
“I mean my everything,” I say without thinking—and then immediately freeze.
“Say it again,” she whispers.
I swallow hard. “You’re everything to me, Haven.”
“So… this call isn’t just about raid timing and who’s hosting Friday night?”
“Nope.” I smile, my heart doing flips. “It’s about what happens after.”
“After the stream?”
“After all of it,” I say, voice softer now. “I want a future with you. I want to build something. Collab content. Late-night gaming marathons. Sharing a desk setup. You stealing all the hotkeys I configure.”
Her laugh is soft. “So domestic.”
“Dangerously,” I agree, grinning. “But I’m serious. I want you here.”
“Carter Hart… are you asking me to move in with you?”
“No,” I say, and I can’t stop the grin. “I’m asking you to move in with us. Our house, our life. No more weekend trips.”
Our garage smells like cheap coffee, and whatever preworkout Tate spilled last month and never cleaned up.
He’s perched on the edge of the workbench,his hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, flipping a coin over and over in his hand.
I stand there for a second just watching him and thinking about how the hell to say this without setting off every alarm in his head.
Finally, I break the silence. “You busy?”
He doesn’t look up. “If you broke the monitor again, I’m going to duct-tape your hands behind your back.”
“Okay, relax,” I say, stepping closer. “It’s not that.”
He sighs, flipping the coin once more before catching it mid-air and letting it roll across his knuckles.“Then what?”
“I talked to Haven this morning.”
That gets his attention, barely.
“She’s moving in officially.”
Now he looks up. “To our house?”
I nod. “Yeah, to our house Tate.”
He raises an eyebrow, skeptical.
I step closer. “I want this, Tate. I know it’s a lot, and yeah, it changes everything. But it also makes sense, this just… makes it official.”
He’s quiet for a long moment before his jaw flexes once. “So that’s it? She just moves in and what, we all live happily ever after in a house with twin psychos?”
I can’t help but shake my head. “Yeah. That’s the plan, minus one psycho.”
He tosses the coin onto the bench, leaning back. His eyes narrow like he’s doing the math of this whole future. “You think it’s gonna work?”
“I think it already is,” I say. “We love her, she loves us. We’ve survived everything else, we can survive cohabitation and who forgot to take out the trash.”
He drags a hand through his hair, tension bleeding out one slow breath at a time. “You really want this?”
“With everything in me.”
He snorts softly. “God, you’re so fucking earnest.”
“I’m also right.”
He points at me. “I get the hall closet.”
“You already have it.”
“Then we’re good.”
He says it like it’s no big deal. But I see it, the way he exhales through his nose like the panic’s passing. He wants this too, he’s just scared of saying it out loud.
The knock at the garage door startles us both out of our thoughts. Three hard bangs, a pause, then one final thud like they’re trying to knock the paint off the frame.
Tate mutters, “If that’s a delivery and they dented my case again, I’m committing a felony.”
I head over, unlock it, and swing the door wide.
Hunter strolls in with aviators perched on his head and an energy drink in one hand. “I swear to God, if you’re calling me over here to talk about your plants dying when you were gone, I’m blocking you.”
“Not this time.”
He eyes me and then Tate. “Okay, now I’m scared, spooky bro looks mad.”
“Don’t be.” I nod toward the folding chairs. “Sit.”
“This better be good.”
I lean against the bench with my arms crossed, trying to figure out the best way to say it. Then I give up. “Haven’s moving in.”
He blinks. “Like… into your house?”
“Yeah.”
“With both of… you?”
“Yep.”
He just stares at me for a moment, then nods slowly, like he’s waiting for the punchline that never comes. “So, let me get this straight. You’re officially entering the throuple domestic era? Wait, how does it even work with you two, is there dicks touc—”
Tate, still at his workbench, grunts. “Fucking yuck, don’t finish that sentence.”
Hunter points a lazy finger at him. “You’re not denying it though.”
“I’m just not labeling it with weird bullshit.”
Hunter turns back to me. “So you’re serious.”
“As a heart attack,” I say. “No more weekend bags. Just… life. Together.”
He lets out a long breath, nodding. “Damn.”
I raise a brow. “That a good damn or a bad damn?”
“That’s a you grew the fuck up when I wasn’t looking damn.”
Tate mutters, “Miracle of the year.”
Hunter grins. “Hey, I’m proud of you, dude. Even if this ends with all of you in couples therapy because one of you can’t figure out how to load the dishwasher.”
“I load it just fine,” I protest.
“You put cups on the bottom rack,” Tate says without even looking up.
“I was in a hurry, and that was one time.”
Hunter snorts and slaps my shoulder. “Nah, man. I’m happy for you. For all of you. Just make sure she knows what she’s getting into.”
“She does,” I say, smiling now. “And she still said yes.”
“Then that’s all that matters.”
He heads for the door, but not before tossing a look back at Tate. “If you leave knives in the couch cushions again when I house sit, I’m staging an intervention.”
“No promises,” Tate deadpans.
The house is quiet. Tate’s door is shut, the hall lights are off, and for once, the usual static of stream notifications and controller clicks isn’t echoing through the walls.
I’m in bed with my phone resting on my chest, and a photo of Haven open on the screen.
It’s not even a scandalous one. Just her smiling in a hoodie. My thumbs hover over the screen, then I finally type.
Me: Is it normal to miss someone this bad after less than a week?
It only takes her two minutes to respond.
Haven: You’re such a simp.
I grin.
Me: you love it.
Haven: I do.
Then she sends a photo. It’s dark and blurry. Just her hand trailing over the hem of her sleep shorts, like she’s debating pulling them down and showing me more.
Haven: You gonna be good tonight, Carter?
My whole body tenses.
Me: I’ve been thinking about you nonstop.
Haven: And?
Me: And I’ve been reading stuff.
Haven: Oh?
Me: Like… articles. About kinks. Stuff I might want to try.
There’s a pause. My heart stutters like a total coward as I add another text.
Me: For research purposes.
Haven: What kind of stuff?
Me: Submissive stuff. Restraints. Choking. Praise. Light sensory play. Stuff I didn’t know I’d want until I met you.
My screen lights up with the three little dots.
Haven: Carter Hart. Are you turning into a kink nerd on me?
Me: Maybe. I bookmarked a better quiz than the one we did last time. Want to take it together?
Haven: Only if I get to use the results against you.
Me: …That’s kinda the point.
I drop the phone on my chest and groan, pressing my free hand to my face. I can practically hear her giggle from miles away.
Haven: You wanna be my good boy that bad huh?
Me: I already am.
I stare at the message for a second longer than I should. The second I send it, my stomach does a whole somersault. My phone buzzes again.
Haven: You don’t even know what that really means Carter.
I bite my lip, letting my head fall back against the pillow, heart punching against my ribs as I type one-handed.
Me: Then teach me.
I pause , then keep typing.
Me: Teach me how to please you better. What makes you feel safe and ruined at the same time.
I pause.
Me: I’ll do all of it. Anything. Just say the word.
My breathing is uneven now, the sheets twisted around my legs as my brain short-circuits on the image of her reading my messages in bed, maybe touching herself because of me.
She types. Stops. Types again.
Then a voice note pings. My pulse spikes. I fumble the phone, finally pressing play.
Her voice—God, her voice. “You want to be my good boy that bad, huh? You want to be the one who listens? The one who begs pretty? The one I get to wreck in every way I want?”
I swallow hard, my hips twitching. “Then next time I see you, Carter, we’re doing it my way. You’re going to take everything I give you, and you’re going to say thank you. Can you do that?”
I drop the phone onto the bed like it’s scalding hot, chest heaving, blood pounding in my ears. I don’t know if I should laugh or beg right now.
Me: Yes, ma’am.
The typing bubbles appear again.
Haven: Good boy.
I throw an arm over my face, groaning into the dark, my cock aching from just her words, the threat of what she’s planning. My sweet, savage girl. My gamer vixen from hell. And I am so, so down bad.
I send one last message before I let myself drift, phone clutched against my chest.
Me: I can’t wait to come home to you every day.