2. Cherry Mis-Chief #2
“ Holy crap . Where did you fall from?” I look around, then grab the little shit and pull her off my laptop. “Sorry, this is a different type of pussy.”
I turn to the screen, horrified to see that she’s led me onto some other woman’s profile.
Horrified for all of a second, before my shoulders drop and my mouth snaps open.
This woman . . . wow.
She’s stunning—well, whatever I can see of her is.
Her face is not visible but I think she’s a redhead, though her hair is different in a few of the pictures in her carousel.
A short black bob in the shot where she’s wearing a leather corset, blonde waves in the picture of her lying down on her stomach. Wigs, maybe.
As for the rest...My eyes bounce across the screen. Most of this must be photoshopped—or AI or something. Nobody real is that hot.
Her ass, two perfect, swollen circles; her tits, definitely smaller than that other woman Kyle is obsessed with but otherwise ample sized. Her freckled skin, her hips, her endless fucking legs.
Damn , I miss women.
I miss sex. The smell of it, the sound of it, the ego boost of making someone feel good enough that their world tips over. And I miss intimacy. Kissing, hugging. Knowing someone’s ready to pick up the slack if I need it. Talking for hours on end about nothing and everything.
But I certainly won’t find any of it with this woman, no matter how devastatingly attractive she is.
I won’t find any of it on TOP.
I tap to return to my profile, but Mollie seems to think my fingers are her personal playthings. Her paws latch onto my hand, sharp nails sinking into my skin.
“Son of a?—”
A ping cuts me off, and my eyes snap to the screen where a call window has popped up. The ringing continues as I hover over the keyboard, frantically pressing the Esc key over and over.
“No, no, no?—”
I grab the edge of the laptop, ready to slam it shut, but before I can, the black square vanishes and a woman appears in its place.
She’s kneeling on a bed, eyes locked on the camera, lips curved seductively.
My heart stops.
Mollie is still mauling my fingers, but I barely feel it.
It’s her. The goddess. She’s fucking stunning.
“Hello?” she drawls.
Hair as red as fire, fair skin, and adorable freckles that pepper her cheeks and nose and chest.
“Holy shit.”
Her eyes are a dark, muted green, and her smile is contained, until it stretches and she says, “Why, thank you.”
“N-no, that’s not what I meant.” Can she see me? She can definitely hear me, but I don’t see my face on the screen.
“Oh? You don’t think I’m holy-shit beautiful?”
She is. Absolutely. She’s also young. Far too young to appreciate the see-through pink nightgown she’s wearing.
The way it dips down her chest and rests on her skin like liquid silk.
“No—I mean, yes. I just...I didn’t mean to start the call.
My cat—” Noticing Mollie is still wrestling with my hand and making my fingertip bleed, I shake her off. “My cat hates me. She, um, called you.”
“Your cat called me?”
Even if I wasn’t seeing her narrowed eyes, her voice is doubtful enough to tell me she doesn’t believe it for a second. Why would she? I sound insane.
“Yes. My cat called you.”
“Okay.” She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Meow, then.”
I huff out a single breath, watching her tits press together in the new position.
“Are you new, Chief?”
“Chief?” I echo.
“Your username.”
Chief? That fucking idiot can’t even spell, can he?
“Yeah. I am. That obvious?”
She chuckles under her breath. “Seasoned users know they don’t need to scapegoat their cat to call.”
“I’m not...” Throwing a glare at Mollie, who’s currently sprawled over the table and playing with a wad of balled up paper, I roll my eyes. “Anyway, I should?—”
“Let me guess,” she says, settling on one hip and looking at the camera.
Her long, wavy red hair slips down one shoulder and onto the white duvet.
I don’t think it’s a wig, but what do I know.
“You’re too old for me. You’re a good guy, and you can’t fathom paying for someone to get you off.
Or you’re married, and your wife would kill you if she found out you called.
Or maybe it’s that you have a little girl and you can’t help but picture her here instead of me, a testament to where you went wrong raising her. ”
Damn. Am I that predictable?
“Uhhh . . .”
“Which one is it?”
“A little bit of everything, actually,” I admit.
“Ah, yes. The three-for-one guilt combo.” Her nose wrinkles at the tip.
“I love older men. Most women do, you see, because men our own age are several years behind us in maturity. As for your wife, well, you wouldn’t be here if you could get what you need from her.
” She seems thoughtful for a moment. “And your little girl...if she, all grown up, told you she wanted to work in the adult entertainment industry—that it’s her dream and what makes her happy—would you stop her? ”
Well, I would fucking try.
“Is there anything wrong with enjoying performing for others?” she asks as she lowers one strap of her nightgown, baring her shoulder. The movement is hypnotic, my eyes following every inch of its descent. “Anything wrong with enjoying money? Fame? Sex? Desire?”
“No, of course not.”
“If you knew that she was perfectly safe,” she continues as she lowers the other strap, revealing another freckled shoulder, “and that she was thriving, would you stop her?”
Sadie’s defeated expression earlier today in the car comes back to me. “No. I’d do anything to see her happy.”
The woman grins. “Let me ease your concerns then. There’s a button on my screen. It reads ‘Leave.’ If I should click that, the call would end instantly, no questions asked. I’d be given a chance to file a report on you, and you wouldn’t be able to rate my performance or get your money back.”
I listen with rapt attention. Her voice is sultry, sexy. Low, like she’s whispering straight into my ear.
“And if you were found to be in violation of the Terms and Conditions—trust me, it’s easier than you think—you’d be kicked off the platform. If you weren’t, I’d be able to block you and never see you again.”
She straightens, gripping the edge of the mattress. “TOP values its performers more than its customers.”
“G-good.” Even so, I’m not sure I can go through with this. Maybe I could donate the money on my card to her—or would she interpret that as an act of pity?
“And as you can see,” she says as she turns the camera around and shows me her room. “I’m not exactly strapped for cash. I’m not here because I don’t have a choice. Hell, I still live at home.”
She shows me the flatscreen TV mounted on the wall and the thick, expensive-looking carpet under her California king bed. But what really catches my eye are the sketchbooks stacked on the desk, a half mannequin draped in fabric, and colored pencils and markers spilling out of a container.
She must be an artist.
An artist who, judging on the dexterity with which she goes through her speech, has given it many times before. With the easy confidence she emits, it doesn’t feel like I’m talking to a full-blown pornstar like Jewel. Just a...woman.
But none of it really matters, does it? She’s young . Barely legal, I assume. “How old are you?”
“How old do you want me to be, Chief?” she says with a sneaky little smile before tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Please, don’t—don’t call me that.”
“What should I call you?”
“Aa—” Nope, not a smart idea. “I’m not sure.”
“How about I tell you my age, and you tell me what I should call you?”
I hesitate, but with a twinkle in her eyes, she says, “I’m twenty-three,” then lets the nightgown drop until it pools around her hips, uncovering the most perfect, heavy set of tits I’ve ever seen. Freckled. Freckled tits with beautiful pink nipples.
I have no idea how old she is.
“Call me...” I think of my nickname throughout high school. “Cole.”
“Hmm. That’s one sexy fake name.”
“Nickname, actually,” I say distractedly. I don’t even know her sexy fake name, and, dead serious, right now I’d tell her my name’s Aaron Coleman, I’m thirty-seven, and I live at 23 Mapleview Ave, Roseberg. My social security number too.
“Thank you for sharing that with me, Cole.” One hand rises to the side of her neck, then trails down in between her tits and down her flat stomach. “I like your voice, you know?”
“Do you?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s raspy, dark. I bet I’d like it mumbling dirty words in my ear. Or...” She hums. “Or whimpering, moaning as you come deep inside me.”
“ Hmmsf .” I cringe instantly, holding a hand to my crotch as if it’ll stop me from getting hard. What kind of noise was that?
“Tell me, Cole. What do you need?”
“Need?” I echo, my chest rising and falling quickly as my eyes flick between her tits and those beautiful green eyes.
“Yes, need. What can I do for you, baby?”
Holy hell. The things I’d do to this woman. What does it say about me? I’m over a decade older than her, yet I don’t think I could control myself if she were naked in front of me, asking me what I need .
Actually, I don’t think I can control myself now either. “I . . . I need . . .”
She grins, shifting to all fours on the bed. Her tits bounce with the movement as the nightgown drops to her knees. “Yes?”
Fuck, look at those pink lace panties. She’s so sexy.
“I need—” The phone rings, startling me back to reality. My heart is galloping, my forehead covered in a thin layer of sweat. “—to go. I have to...”
Shaking my head, I press on the red button, and once the call ends, I land on her profile again, my heart pounding in my ears.
Cherry .
That’s her sexy fake name.