Chapter 5
Chapter Five
COVE
I can’t stop thinking about that stream last week.
The way I moaned Everest’s name like he was the only one watching. The way it felt in my mouth. Sharp, then sweet. Like cinnamon candy. That weird flutter I got when the chat exploded after I said it. I’ve done hundreds of streams—thousands, probably—but that one? That one stuck.
Saying a random sub’s name during climax has kinda become my signature now.
It started as a fluke. A little extra sugar on top.
But the reaction? Holy hell. Now, every time I log on, I get a dozen messages begging to be “picked.” Some of them tip more just for the chance. They love it. And I kind of do, too.
I’m sprawled across my couch in nothing but a pair of fuzzy shorts and an oversized hoodie that smells like sleep.
One leg is draped over the armrest, and I’m absentmindedly chewing on the corner of my thumbnail, scrolling through comments from the last stream on my laptop.
The ones about Everest keep catching my eye.
JuicyFruitSlut: Who’s Everest?
DaddyVibes: Lucky bastard.
SweetNStabby: Will you say my name next time, Kisses?
And that’s when the idea hits me. Like a shot of caffeine straight to the chest.
What if I didn’t just say someone’s name?
What if I actually picked a subscriber to film with me?
My stomach flips.
It’s insane, wild, and logistically a nightmare. But also… kinda genius? And if I’m being honest, really fucking hot. I sit up, grabbing my phone from the coffee table, my pulse kicking up as the idea spins itself into something more real by the second.
I open my browser and type without even thinking: weird holidays in December.
Cotton Candy Day. December 7th.
I blink at the screen, my heart now thudding like it knows something I don’t. Cotton Candy Day. My name. My day.
Is this fate?
Did Lorna know when she asked me to do the December shoot?
I tap the link and find out there’s a tiny carnival two hours away throwing a whole event for it.
Ferris wheel, food vendors, a snow machine.
My brain is already staging the entire shoot: fairy floss, pink lights, me in a corset and thigh-highs, maybe a little powdered sugar down my thighs for effect.
God, it’s perfect.
The only problem? I don’t even know if Lorna will let me. She doesn’t usually say no, but this is a whole other level of chaos. A fan on camera with me?
I open my messages and type out a quick text.
Me: Hey, you got a minute?
She calls before I can even put the phone down.
“Talk to me, sugar tits,” she drawls. I can hear jazz in the background and the clink of a wine glass.
“Okay,” I say, sitting up straighter. “Hear me out.” I pull my knees up and hug them, already buzzing. “So I started randomly picking a viewer’s name during my orgasm. Like everytime I’m gonna cum I just pick a random or kinda random name to say.”
“Okay,” Lorna says, mildly amused. “That’s a clever ploy, Cove. I might have to steal that, I don’t think my guys would appreciate it though.”
“Yeah, and at first it was just a fun little thing. Like, 'Oh JuicyFruitSlut’—bam, moan, done. But now?” I lean forward, eyes wide even though she can’t see me.
“It’s a whole fucking thing. Like, the thing.
People literally beg in the comments for me to pick them.
I’ve got DMs full of viewers trying to bribe their way onto the moan list. Tips have doubled. They’re obsessed.”
She hums low. “Naturally. Everyone wants to believe they’re the special one.”
“Exactly.” I grin. “So I was lying here, thinking about my calendar shoot, and the name thing kept bouncing around in my head. And then this crazy idea hit me.”
“Go on,” she says slowly. “I’m listening.”
“What if I didn’t just say someone’s name?”
I let the silence stretch for a beat.
“What if I actually picked a subscriber—random, vetted, totally real—and filmed with them? For the calendar shoot.”
There’s a pause. And then a long, slow exhale.
“You’ve been watching The Bachelor again, haven’t you?”
“No,” I lie. “Okay, yes. But this idea is gold. We pick someone. They get tested, sign a consent and NDA. I film with them live—or at least semi-live. Make it a whole contest. I’m already calling it ‘The Sweetest Ride.’ Cotton Candy Day is in December, Lorna. This is fate.”
She’s quiet for a few minutes. Then she exhales. “It’s a fucking brilliant promo hook.”
I grin, already vibrating. “So I can do it?”
“You can do it under two conditions. One, they have a background check and pass it with flying colors. I mean real clean—no surprise felonies, no jealous partners with knives, no creeper shit. Agatha is already deep enough in crazy for all of us. I don’t need you getting a psycho too.
Second, they need a full STD panel and proof of results before they step one foot on set.
I’m not having you go viral for the wrong reasons. ”
“Done,” I say immediately, practically bouncing now.
“This could blow up,” she adds. “In a good way.”
“I know.”
“Don’t get sentimental with whoever you pick.”
“Me? Never.”
“Liar.” She laughs, low and warm. “Send me the announcement draft when it’s ready.”
“On it,” I say, and we hang up.
I stare at my phone for a second, grinning like a lunatic. It’s happening. I’m actually doing this.
I open the Notes app and start typing before the buzz wears off, my fingers flying over the screen.
COTTON CANDY KISSES: THE SWEETEST RIDE
One lucky subscriber. One exclusive December shoot.
Want a taste of what it’s like to be the one on camera with me?
Prove it.
Fill out the form. Get tested. Get chosen.
I’ll be picking one fan to join me in person for a once-in-a-lifetime shoot—live, filthy, and sticky-sweet.
Just don’t fall in love, Sugar.
~ Until the next sugar rush
I reread it, then smirk and hit Save. I’m gonna sleep on it before sending it to Lorna. Maybe tweak the call-to-action tomorrow. But the bones are there. And if she approves then I’ll post it for my subscribers to salivate over.
The idea’s out now. Alive and real.
Someone’s about to win the sweetest ride of their life.
I have no idea who they are…but I already can’t wait to meet them.
The next morning, I wake up with sugar in my blood and trouble in my brain.
I barely slept. My body might’ve been curled up under my weighted blanket, but my mind was throwing glitter and screaming The Sweetest Ride on loop. Cotton Candy Day. A carnival. A random sub. It all still feels like fate.
So I do what I always do when I get an idea I can't shake.
I write.
Sitting cross-legged on my bed, mug of coffee balanced on my thigh, I open my laptop and draft the pitch email to Lorna. Keep it casual but not careless. Sweet but not soft. I even hyperlink the article about Cotton Candy Day, just in case she thinks I made that shit up.
By the time I hit send, my stomach is in knots. It’s either going to be a hell yes… or a have you lost your fucking mind, Cove.
I don’t have to wait long.
My phone starts ringing five minutes later. LORNA in bold caps, no emoji.
I answer on the first ring.
“Cove,” she says in that voice that sounds like money and Marlboro Reds, “I just read your email.”
“Too much?” I ask, nerves flaring.
“It’s insane,” she replies. “It's a liability wrapped in lingerie.”
My heart sinks a little.
Then she laughs. “I fucking love it.”
I let out a sharp breath. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. It’s batshit enough to work.
You’re already known for the name-calling gimmick.
You’ve built hype around it without us even having to script a damn thing.
Fans are throwing money just to hear you breathe their name.
Now you’re offering them a chance to actually be there when you do it?
” She exhales. “You’re a marketing money shot. ”
A slow grin spreads across my face. “So I can really do it?”
“You can do it,” she confirms.
“I’ll make sure everything’s cleared before they ever step on set.” I say immediately, grabbing the nearest pen like I need to write it in blood.
“And Cove?”
“Yeah?”
“This isn’t a romance novel. This is a fan fuck fantasy, and you’re still the one driving the candy-colored bus. Don’t let them fall in love or vice versa.”
I snort. “Noted.”
“But also,” she says, her tone softening just a touch, “have fun with it. You’ve earned it.”
I hang up, staring at the ceiling for a moment. The idea is real now. Not just fantasy. Not just a cute quirk. It’s happening.
I re-open my Notes app again and scroll to the draft I started yesterday. My fingers hover over the keyboard.
Let’s give them something to scream about.