Epilogue - Caleb #2
She paid her landlord first—one lump sum clearing four months of back rent plus three months forward.
Then the utility companies that had sent final notices.
Internet, power, water. The parking tickets that had threatened collections.
The two maxed-out credit cards that had been accruing interest at twenty-three percent—she paid them to zero and then immediately cut them up.
The student loans got a massive payment. Not enough to kill them entirely, but enough to move her out of default status. Enough to stop the threatening letters. The car payment—she'd been two months behind—caught up and pushed ahead by one.
The rest leaked away in small amounts. Coffee shops. Gas. Groceries. Normal human expenses for someone who'd been operating on empty for months.
She paid off everything she could.
Responsible. Practical. Deeply fucking depressing.
This wasn't "fun money." This was damage control. Financial triage.
She climbed out of the hole just enough to see daylight but not enough to actually stand upright. Still underground. Still surviving, not living.
Still no job.
The copywriting gigs she ignored before Christmas are gone completely now. Fiverr account deactivated due to too many missed deadlines. Upwork profile sits abandoned with a 2.1-star rating and angry client reviews.
"Never delivered final draft. Stopped responding to messages."
"Wasted my time. DO NOT HIRE."
She hasn't applied for new work. Hasn't updated her portfolio. Hasn't done anything except write The Watcher and touch herself in my shirt.
She doesn't seem to care.
This is the part that bothers me.
On screen, her hand moves faster beneath the sweatpants. Her back arches slightly off the camping chair. Her laptop slides to the side, forgotten, as both hands disappear into the fabric.
My cock throbs in my fist. I stroke harder, faster, precome slicking my palm as I time my rhythm to match the restless grinding of her hips.
She's close. I can see it in the way her thighs tremble. The way her free hand grips the armrest of that ridiculous camping chair hard enough to leave marks.
I reach for my laptop with my left hand, cock still gripped tight in my right, and pull up the custom interface I built three months ago.
One button. Red. Labeled simply: SEND.
My thumb hovers over the trackpad.
On screen, Scarletta's head falls back. Her mouth opens on what I know is a moan I can't hear. Her hand moves frantically between her legs, chasing release.
I click.
Her laptop dings. Loud. Insistent. The notification sound she set for DarkDesires forum messages specifically.
Scarletta's eyes snap open. Her hand freezes mid-stroke. She stares at her screen for three full seconds, chest heaving, thighs still spread, fingers probably still touching her clit beneath my sweatpants.
Deciding.
She pulls her hand free and reaches for the laptop instead.
Good girl.
My cock jumps as I watch her open the message. Watch her read.
SUBJECT: EXCLUSIVE INVITATION - Valentine's Day Scavenger Hunt
Dear ScarletSins,
Your performance at the Triple XMas Auction exceeded all expectations. Based on client feedback and documented excellence, you've been selected for our most exclusive event.
Would you like to hunt for the ultimate Valentine's prize?
The Valentine's Day Scavenger Hunt connects our highest-rated participants with curated challenges designed to test limits, reward bravery, and deliver compensation beyond standard contracts.
Event Details:
Duration: 48 hours (February 14th, 12:00 PM - February 16th, 12:00 PM)
Format: Individual scavenger hunt with progressive challenges
Objective: Collect all pieces. Complete the hunt. Claim your prize.
Base Compensation: $50,000
Make this Valentine's unforgettable—for yourself AND for someone who values exactly what you offer.
Interested? Click below to confirm attendance and review terms.
[CONFIRM INTEREST]
I snicker. Actually laugh out loud in the empty room.
Scavenger hunt. She has no fucking idea what I've planned for this one.
On screen, Scarletta's cursor hovers over the button. Just hovers there, trembling slightly—or maybe that's her hand shaking.
She bites her bottom lip.
My hand moves faster on my shaft. Grip tightening. Control slipping just enough to make this dangerous.
Her thighs are still spread. Her other hand drifts back down to the waistband of my sweatpants like she can't help herself.
She's going to touch herself while she decides whether to click.
Fuck.
My hips lift off the couch. Precome drips down my knuckles. I don't bother wiping it away.
Her finger twitches on the trackpad.
Click it. Fucking click it.
The cursor moves. Settles directly over [CONFIRM INTEREST].
Hovers.
I hold my breath.
She clicks.
My orgasm rips through me so hard I see white. Come shoots across my stomach, my chest, my hand still working my cock through every violent pulse as I watch her screen load the confirmation page.
RESERVATION CONFIRMED.
Participant 847-SK-2847 locked for Valentine's Day Scavenger Hunt.
Pickup: Right now.
I collapse back against the couch, cock still twitching in my fist, and watch her stare at her screen.
Then she finds the camera inside the glamping fort. Her eyes lock onto the lens, and for one suspended heartbeat, she just stares.
She knows I'm watching.
I'm always watching.
Her lips part. Slowly. Deliberately. She brings her hand to her mouth—the same hand that was between her thighs moments ago—and slides two fingers past her lips. Her eyes never leave the camera. Never leave me.
She sucks them into her mouth. Slow. Thorough. Cheeks hollowing as she drags them back out, glistening wet. Then pushes them back in. Deeper this time. Her throat works around them.
My cock jerks in my fist. Still sensitive. Still half-hard even after coming so violently.
She pulls her fingers free with an audible pop. Holds them up to the camera. Wet. Obscene. Then she smiles—small, wicked, knowing—and mouths two words I can read perfectly on her lips.
Challenge accepted.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I reach for my phone with my clean hand, heart hammering against my ribs, and type the message I've been waiting seven weeks to send.
Pack a bag, my good little slut.
You're going on a trip.
GET THE NEXT BOOK
WILLING CHAFF
48 Hours. No Limits. No Mercy. No Excuses.
GET IT HERE
ScarletSins
Check here if you agree to be hunted. Yes.
Check here if you agree to be caught. Hell yes.
I told myself the first time was desperation. The second time is just... follow-up. Fact-checking. Character development. Research.
Why am I doing this again?
Story fodder.
That's what I keep telling myself.
The auction starts in three hours and I've already checked the box I swore I wouldn't.
Run.
Watcher
Check here if you've been counting the days. Every single one.
Check here if you let her think this was her idea. Obviously.
She came back. Told herself it was for the writing. Told herself she's gathering material. She has no idea what I'm gathering.
Why am I doing this?
Because watching isn't enough anymore.
The auction starts in three hours and the hunt is already over.
She just hasn't stopped running yet.
This book contains: a man who should be in prison, a woman who should know better, and scenes that will make you google "is this okay?" (It's not. Enjoy.)
Vibe warnings:
He watches. Always.
Your therapist will have questions.
Consent is... creative.
This is not a safe book. Neither is he.
Morally bankrupt MMC who is not sorry.
She runs. Not fast enough.
Prey/predator dynamics
The forest is not her friend.
"No" is a conversation starter.
He doesn't share. Ever.
Touch her and find out.
Safe words exist.
The game has rules.
GET IT HERE