5. Willow
5
WILLOW
I 'm restless all week, and it has very little to do with officially starting a job on Monday. Going home is always awkward for many reasons—even without counting Dimitri Volkov.
I have a strange relationship with my sister. She was more of a mother than a sister, really, despite the fact that there's only a four-year difference between us. She took over paying the bills in high school, making sure I did my homework and got some food, enough sleep, and my meds. Neither of our parents gave a shit.
When she got together with Cam, he immediately stepped up, not only as her man, but also as the provider. In our weird little family, he's my twenty-four-year-old Daddy. A very hot daddy I've drooled over more times than I can count. Not that I'd ever go there , but yeah. It's awkward as fuck.
I try to be as independent as I can, but Morgan has always insisted that I prioritize school over any job. It was one of my motivations for rushing through college—I needed to make my own money.
That might be one of the reasons I createdRuby Red Heart.
Not the main reason, though.
The night of my eighteenth birthday, just when I planned on sending Dimitri the naughtiest picture yet, and a clear invitation, begging for his attention like a bitch in heat, Morgan casually mentioned she was attending his engagement party.
On my birthday.
I got smashed on cheap vodka and signed up to OnlyFans right there and then, loading the pic I was about to send him, though I at least had the sense to apply a few filters and cut off my head.
It got a fair bit of attention, made some money, and give or take a few hundred vids of inserting various toys and fingers into my orifices in front of the camera, the rest is history. I only started to bring guys into it over the last couple of months. The first was a friend who did it for a laugh—Alexander Burdon, a chess wiz from Cross and Roses. We stayed in touch through college, and he’s in the city, as he's attending NYU. Alex was never a stick-in-the-mud, and he shared plenty of his own embarrassing and incriminating misdemeanors, so I ended up fessing up to my dirty little hobby. When I confessed I’d considered bringing in some guys to up the ante but didn’t feel comfortable taking that step, he offered to help, so long as his face could remain hidden or blurred.
Honestly, up until that point, I thought he was gay, but it turned out he was bisexual.
I blew him in front of the camera, and we both laughed through it all. It wasn't super popular though, as Alex isn't all that well-endowed or muscular. So the next time I hired an escort. It was a lot more awkward for me, but hey, the viewers loved it. I blew him and he went down on me.
My audience is pushing for a full sex scene, but there's no way I'm losing my actual virginity on demand for an audience.Well, I took care of the whole hymen thing with toys ages ago, so it's not actual virginity, but I still haven't had anyone's actual penis inside me.I’d like the first time to be more than a pay-per-view favor.
I promised them a double blowjob next time. Maybe I should do that before heading out to Cali, and post it as a New Years Day's special. It'll let me let off some steam.
"Hey! How was work?"
I grimace, glancing up at one of my roommates. "My supervisor keeps calling me Wendy and I'm fairly certain he has no clue what I look like, as he keeps staring at my boobs."
"Fair. They're very good boobs."
I glance down to my tank top and shrug. I'm an E cup, so I can't deny that."It's December. I was wearing a cardigan; it's not like he can tell ."
"Trust me, he could," says Lucy with a wistful sigh, pouting as she looks down her mostly-flat chest. "Girls with boobs never get it. We can feel your boobiness from a mile away."
"Well, you'd think he'd care more about the fact that I managed to analyze all my files for the week in three days."
"Brains and boobs. Keep going and he'll just have to learn your name someday."
"Let's not get ahead of yourself. I'm twenty; my boobs might grow bigger. Then they’ll keep trumping my brain.”
"True, true. There's no hope for you, Wendy."
"Where's Anne?"
We're rooming with Lucy's twin sister. The flat actually belongs to their grandmother, which is the only reason why we can afford it. It's small but gorgeous, and in a much nicer area of Manhattan than one recent graduate and two new professionals could normally swing.
Lucinda’s a mad scientist working for Eros Corp, of all places. The club has morphed into a household brand for naughty stuff, from lube to condoms and sex toys. She works in the development department. And let’s just say she brings home the best toys for me to play with. Her birthday present to me last week blew my mind. Or more accurately, my clit.
Anne, for her part, owns a small bookstore a few streets away.
They're opposites, which I find bizarre, because my sister and I are pretty much the same person, just with different hair. Well, hair and body. Morgan’s slender, verging on skinny, even after giving birth to Cameron, while my body seems to lay credence to our father’s claim that we have Italian roots. I look like I eat all the pasta.
Which I do.
Surface things aside, the two of us think the same way, and gravitate towards the same kind of people. She immediately connected with the few friends I managed to make in high school. Nadia, Jace, Elsa, Cain, Judith, Lucas, Rowan, Maverick, and Alexander are all two years older than me, which makes them right between my sister and I in age. She connected to them as much as I did, which made for fun dinners back when she and Cam came to visit.
Age, tits, ass, and responsibilities aside, we are like twins.
Morgans says I'm smarter but I think we have the same mental capacities; our main difference is I've had time to study, and research, and think , while she was too busy being my parent to do as well at school.
We're both STEM through and through. Not to mention liking the same type of guys, obviously.
Meanwhile,my identical twin roommates are fire and water under the surface.It’s uncanny.
"There's a book club tonight. Naughty romance." Lucy wrinkles her nose in distaste.
I know for a fact she doesn’t mind naughty romance, but I don’t see her sitting around with a glass of wine to discuss it the way Anne would.
"Really? Why didn't she tell me!" I pout.
I very much like to sit, drink, and speak about cocks.
"Er—because you're always working? And studying? And studying your work?"
I toss one of the pillows on the sofa at her, rolling my eyes. “I’m done studying, you know.”
She's right though; I don't take much me time. It's purposeful. Back when I had time to myself, I didn't use it wisely. My long list of unanswered texts sent to a certain hot, absolutely not age-appropriate, uninterested guy are a testament of that.
When I first started seeing a shrink because of my messed-up behavior with Dimitri, and my weird-ass thoughts about Cam a year ago, I was given several tips to curb my less-than-healthy impulses. Meditating, keeping busy with productive things helpful to my personal growth. So I work. I study. When I want attention, I get it in a safe, consensual space. Yes, my shrink is completely forRuby Red Heart, though she does recommend caution through it all. She knows how fucked up I am without that outlet.
The technical term she applies to me is a love and sex addict. Which is funny for a girl who hasn't even had proper sex, as such. But in short, it means that I attach myself to the object of my fascination, to the point of obsession. Apparently, that condition is often the result of lacking attention growing up.Part of me wonders if Morgan has a similar issue. Except she picked a guy just as obsessed with her, so it’s not a problem in her case.
There are various kinds of therapy for it, but the main thing is recognizing the problem, and taking steps to ensure you don’t give into the impulses linked to the conditions.
I've been very good at that, after I realized that the only thing that would result from my seeking attention is complete and utter humiliation.
The online praise might not be what I crave, but it feeds my need to be seen, and desired.
I make it work.
What other choice do I have?
“Hey, since you’re done studying entirely, would you want to come with me to my company’s Christmas party?” Lucinda offers. “It’s Thursday night. Free booze. Anne can’t make it. You can steal her dress.”
My instinct is to say no, of course. I’m busy. I have…
But then I realize I no longer have a double master’s thesis to write. “Sure. Why not? Except you know damn well none of her dresses would fit my boobs.”
She snorts. “Let’s go shopping then. I guess I could also wear a new dress.”
I nod. Why not? I’m not flying to Cali until Saturday.