Chapter 6
JACKSON
That cheeky smile…
I watch the clip a few times, Dakota saying she’s not attracted to me. Saying she’s more interested in substance and character, in what a man has to say, rather than just looks. I love that look on her face. A hint of danger. Excitement, as if she knows this is going to get to me.
How much clearer can I be? I used her name, after using words plucked directly from our messages. It gives me plausible deniability while still confirming it.
A knock at the office door breaks me from my reverie. “Yes,” I call.
“That was… interesting.” Pete walks into my office, massaging the knuckles of one hand with the other like he’s trying to process some inner tension. “It would’ve been better if you’d run that by the media team first.”
“I doubt I did any harm,” I say. “I didn’t make any firm commitments.”
“Exactly,” he replies, sitting down. “No offense, Jack, but sometimes you haven’t got the best head for this PR stuff. An announcement in which you announce nothing can draw suspicion. It can make it look like we’re panicking.”
“By assuring our users we’re working hard on the issue?” I ask doubtfully.
But he’s right. I’ve always functioned better in the coding dungeon. Or wrangling disparate teams to unify them into one cohesive purpose.
“Mentioning specific states, too,” Peter says, sighing. “That’s always a risk because it’s so open to leaving places out. Making people feel ignored.”
“Noted,” I growl.
He shrugs. “Just keep it in mind, please.”
“Noted,” I repeat.
Once he’s gone, I massage my forehead, trying to get rid of this tension headache.
He’s right, that’s the annoying part. I was so eager to play games with Dakota, to make her smile, laugh even, feel special and wanted, I crossed the line, using company resources without even acknowledging it was a line.
It felt so easy. And, even if I know I should, I don’t regret it.
I don’t have time to tune into Dakota’s stream today. Back-to-back meetings until eight, then design meetings with the heads of all my major teams to work out the Cove issue. As we talk through it, I can’t help but think how valuable Dakota’s insight would be here.
I get back to my apartment just after midnight, but I feel too wired to sleep.
It’s not just from the long day of work—essentially telling my senior advisers that the only thing that’s going to fix this game is to, well, fix the game…
They want workarounds. Shortcuts. Solutions that don’t require removing and reintroducing a new zone.
When I boot up my laptop, I pull up our conversation thread. Dakota isn’t streaming, but there’s a little green icon next to her name, letting me know she’s online.
With a smirk, I type,
TheRealCreator: Did you see Jackson Cross’s announcement earlier?
DakkyDuck:
She’s quick to reply. No games. No waiting, so she doesn’t seem too eager.
TheRealCreator: Is that a yes?
DakkyDuck: That’s just the emoji I send to people playing games, stranger.
TheRealCreator: Have you heard of the concept of saying something without saying it?
DakkyDuck: Sure. But I think I prefer when people just say it.
TheRealCreator: You’ve got to admit, it’s one insane coincidence. How much emphasis he put on Dakota… But I suppose it doesn’t matter, since you’re not attracted to him, anyway.
DakkyDuck: Ah, so you saw my clip, hmm? Did it upset you? Think carefully before you answer. You don’t want to give too much away.
TheRealCreator: Something tells me Jackson Cross is tired of people drooling over him. I think he got into this business for pure passion. Just like you with your streams. You can’t fake enthusiasm like that.
DakkyDuck: What changed, then? Oh, and I’ll add a ‘hypothetically’ so we can keep playing this game.
I smile again, energized, not even remotely tired. Normally, on nights like these—when the corporate side of this business has emptied me out—I just want to pass out when I get home. But not now.
I answer her honestly.
TheRealCreator: Money. Once money gets involved, everyone changes.
People no longer care as much about the creation, about creating something that makes people care.
It becomes sums. Business relationships.
Networking. You take a man built on programming and passion and maybe a little arrogance, and you turn him into another gray suit.
After I click send, I lean back, breathing slowly. I don’t share this side of me with anyone. Not even Pete. I keep it inside, thinking of my thousands of employees, of satisfying the shareholders, all while trying to make Empire’s Fall as good as it can be.
DakkyDuck: I’m sorry that happened to you. That must really suck. But Jackson Cross built something special. Magical, even. Do you have any idea how many people have met through Empire? How many weddings have happened as a result? There are babies in this world who wouldn’t exist without it.
I clear my throat, shocked by how touched I am. She calls me stranger, and I should hold onto that. Remind myself of how dangerous this could be. But the more I talk to her, the less I care.
There’s only one real solution. End the chat. Cut all contact.
But already, I know I’m never doing that.
DakkyDuck: You should be proud, Jackson.
I swallow. Still holding back. If I confirm that it’s me, it’s on paper. Perhaps I’ve misjudged her. Maybe she will try to use me.
TheRealCreator: I find it difficult to trust people. Especially online.
DakkyDuck: That announcement was pretty clear. If you think holding back here makes any difference, then fair enough.
TheRealCreator: I want to show you something. Log in to Empire and add me. My name is the same there as it is here.
DakkyDuck: Okay… Give me five.
As I wait, I remind myself it’s not too late to back out. Perhaps she meant what she said, and she really isn’t attracted to me. If this is one-sided, there’s no future. My attraction to her is crystal clear, no doubt, just pure, ferocious hunger.
This morning, I woke with a stiff hunger in my briefs, as lingering dreams clung to me. Her thick hips. Her confident smile. Her curly, gorgeous hair.
DakkyDuck: Done.
I boot up the game, accept her friend request, then enter one of the lowest populated servers and invite her to my game.
My avatar is a human who looks, I realize too late, suspiciously like Jackson Cross…
black-silver hair, a suit designed for a special event that wouldn’t look out of place in an office.
I even have the special nickname, CEO, which was earned four years ago through a minigame.
Her character is a tall, graceful elf, with none of the curves that the woman herself has.
TheRealCreator: I prefer your real life avatar.
I tell her once she’s inside my base.
The elf laughs, then a chat window pops up above her head.
DakkyDuck: Are you kidding? Look at me here. I’m like a supermodel!
TheRealCreator: You’re like a supermodel in real life.
DakkyDuck: Erm, no, I’m not.
TheRealCreator: Okay, maybe not. But that’s only because the standards are beyond fucked, beautiful. I like your wide hips. That thick, perfect ass. That big smile and those wide, excited eyes.
She moves her character closer.
DakkyDuck: Is that why you brought me here? Are you into roleplay, huh, goblin?
Amazingly, my cock stiffens. It’s got nothing to do with the avatar in front of me. It’s the thought of Dakota, sitting in some of those mouthwatering short shorts her avatar is wearing, lips pursed as she types out the message.
TheRealCreator: I’ve never done it before. But for you, I’d do anything.
DakkyDuck: In the game, right?
TheRealCreator: If that makes you feel better.
DakkyDuck: Well, there’s still a chance you’re some super clever insider at Halcyon. Maybe you wrote that speech for Jackson earlier and this is all an elaborate game.
I want to put her out of her misery. But I’m able to stay cautious. For now.
TheRealCreator: Follow me.
I guide my character to the corner of my base. I hit the secret button, then a portal appears.
DakkyDuck: Where are we going?
TheRealCreator: You’ll see. You just have to trust me.
DakkyDuck: Oh yeah, stranger. I trust you.
I make my character laugh.
TheRealCreator: Is that sarcasm I detect?
DakkyDuck: No comment.
I grin, then walk into the portal. She follows me a moment later.
We emerge onto a glorious, beautiful cove, a narrow stream of water leading to the ocean, glistening emerald cliffs rising on each side of the stream, sunlight cascading over golden shores with caves beckoning from within the shining emerald.
DakkyDuck: Is this the cove?
It’s like I can hear the shock in her voice.
DakkyDuck: Why is it so empty?
TheRealCreator: It’s a private version. A test version, no enemies, no other players.
DakkyDuck: It looks so much more beautiful like this.
TheRealCreator: Or you never have time to take in the details because you’re too busy trying to survive.
DakkyDuck: Ha, that just sounds like life.
I chuckle—in real life—because she’s right.
DakkyDuck: It’s romantic like this.
Her avatar walks around. I follow as she wanders over to a cave. She turns her character to face mine.
DakkyDuck: Don’t get any funny ideas in here.
TheRealCreator: I’m full of ideas, beautiful, but there’s nothing funny about any of them.
DakkyDuck: Oh yeah? What sort of ‘ideas’?
I swallow, struck with a strong sense of disbelief.
A fantasy goblin and elf in an empty level on a video game, and my dick is already growing hard.
How she looked on her last stream comes to me.
Her top clinging tightly to her big, perfect tits.
The sassiness in her eyes as she stared a challenge at the camera.
The way she licks her lips when she’s concentrating.
TheRealCreator: If I tell you, I might get carried away.
DakkyDuck: Then you HAVE to tell me.
TheRealCreator: A woman like you, Dakota, in a dark private place—all to myself? Hell, I’m shaking just thinking about it.
DakkyDuck: Really? Shaking?
She moves her character closer.
I bite down.
TheRealCreator: It’s a sign of how out of touch I’ve become that I only just heard about you. You’re one of Empire’s biggest streamers. I should’ve known. But now that I do know you… I can’t get you out of my head.
She moves even closer.
DakkyDuck: So.
TheRealCreator: So if I have you all to myself.
No viewers, competition, or commenters thinking they have a chance.
Just you, me, and darkness. Your body against mine.
My hands greedily mapping every single curve.
My manhood pushing against you, feeling how badly you want it, even as you sass me, even as you hold onto control.
I close my eyes, seeing it, feeling it. My hands sinking greedily into her thickness, pulling her flush against me. My dick, firm in my pants, twitching and pulsing as come builds, ready to blow.
I take slow, even breaths. Willing myself to calm down. Or trying to.
With Dakota—with this tempting-as-fuck ‘stranger’—it’s impossible.