Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
COVE
I tell myself this is just another shoot.
Another day, another orgasm, another carefully controlled scene in the archive of Candy.
That’s what I repeat on loop as I curl my lashes, glue on the falsies, and dab peach shimmer in the inner corners of my eyes like it’ll make me seem less anxious.
Maybe no one else notices the way my hands tremble—but I do.
I haven’t felt like this in ages. Not since my very first live stream or when I took my nursing exam. Not since the moment my finger hovered over the “Go Live” button, heart racing like I was about to expose something far more than my body.
And today? Today I’m doing that again. Except this time, it’s with someone who’s real.
Everest.
I haven’t even seen his face. All I know is his screen name, the way he types with careful curiosity, the way he asked if I was okay that night.
The way he never pushes too far, but still tips enough to make my knees weak.
And now I’m about to meet him. Touch him.
Climb into a Ferris wheel gondola with him, take his cock inside me, and hope I don’t shatter from the inside out.
“Stop spiraling,” I mutter, pulling the curling iron through the ends of my hair. Loose cotton-candy waves, literal and figurative. They bounce too much, like my nerves.
And then the spiral begins.
What if he’s ugly?
Like… not just awkward or plain but truly hideous like the crypt keeper vibes. Or what if he’s eighty-six and smells like mothballs? Or worse…what if he’s hot but weird? Like, foot-on-my-clit, meowing-during-orgasm weird?
God, what if he doesn’t wash his dick?
I groan and drag both hands down my face, muffling a scream. This is why I don’t do in-person. Behind a screen, I can curate everything. Control everything. I don’t have to worry about someone making weird eye contact while asking if they can “suckle.”
But Everest didn’t give creep vibes. He gave… sincere. Like the kind of guy who says please when he wants to taste you. Who asks if your door’s locked before he jacks off to your voice.
Still. I’m not immune to the roulette wheel of men.
And now I’m about to spin it.
“Talking to yourself again?” Lorna lets herself into my house and sits on my couch, she’s in her BTL logo tee with her phone in one hand and iced matcha in the other. Her brows arch when she sees my outfit laid out on the back of the chair.
“Is that the skirt?”
“It’s the skirt.”
She whistles low. “Sugar and sin. You’re gonna break that poor man.”
“I hope so,” I shoot back, but my voice sounds wobbly, even to me.
Lorna crosses her arms, leaning on the arm of the couch like she’s ready to diagnose me. “You nervous?”
“No,” I lie. Then I add, “Maybe. A little. Okay, a lot.”
She grins. “It’s cute. Like watching a dom panic before a first date.”
“Not a date,” I say, bending to grab the thigh-high socks I plan to pair with the baby-pink platform Mary Janes. “It’s work. I’m an actress. With orgasms.”
Lorna sips her drink and hums, unconvinced. “Sure, babe. Just keep telling yourself that.”
By the time I’m fully dressed, a pastel corset laced so tight it lifts my tits like a gift and a tiny skirt barely brushing my ass, I feel like a walking contradiction. I look like bubblegum. I feel like dynamite.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I ask.
“Just wanted to check on you since this is a big deal. We’ve never done anything like this. Are you sure you’re good to go?”
“Yup. I’m ready to head out now actually. Wish me luck.” I smile, giving her a wink.
“You don’t need luck.” She stands and heads to the door. “You need him to be hot with a big cock.”
I cackle. “That too.”
The carnival is loud and bright. I have a cherry-limeade in one hand, a GoPro in the other. I do my best not to spill the sugary drink on my tits while I check the camera settings.
I’m waiting for him to arrive and my heart feels like it’s dancing the tango. My phone buzzes in my pocket and my stomach flips like a coin tossed into a fountain.
MountMeEverest: I’m almost there. Just parking. I’m in a tan jacket with a polo horse on the left chest.
I pull out a compact mirror and double-check my lipstick. Matte cherry. No smudges. No regrets.
This is it.
I see him before he sees me.
Tan jacket. Fitted jeans. Hands shoved into his pockets like they’re not sure what to do with themselves.
His skin is golden, the color that comes from sun and sweat and never skipping arm day.
His hair’s dark and damp-looking, like he maybe just showered or ran a nervous hand through it one too many times.
And then there’s his face. Strong jaw. Light scruff. Freckles scattered across his nose.
But it’s his eyes that get me.
Big and blue, like glacial pools that could drown you if you stared too long. They scan the crowd like he’s searching for something—or someone—and when they land on me, it’s like they already know.
I swear his whole body goes still, like I’ve just knocked the wind out of him. He starts walking over, hesitant at first, like maybe he’s afraid I’m not real. Like I’ll vanish if he gets too close.
“Hi,” I say, smiling as I step forward. “You made it.”
“Hi,” he echoes, his voice is deeper than I expected. Rough in a way that hits low in my belly. “You’re…”
“Exactly like the videos?” I tease.
He laughs, a little breathless. “No. You’re more.”
Okay. Cue internal short-circuit.
I clear my throat, trying to shake off the nerves. “I’m Cove,” I say, offering my hand like he hasn’t already seen me naked.
His palm is warm when it wraps around mine, steady but a little clammy—like he’s nervous too. “Everest.”
Of course it is. Everest. Tall and solid and a little intimidating until he smiles. I also can’t help but laugh internally that he used his real name as part of his username.
We walk through the carnival like normal people. Or at least, we try.
“Ever done anything like this before?” I ask.
He snorts. “What, a porn shoot on a carnival ride? Surprisingly, no.”
I laugh. “You’re doing great.”
“You haven’t seen me naked yet. That might change your mind.”
I look him up and down, then lean in and whisper, “I’ve seen enough. I think we’ll be fine.”
His ears go pink. God, he’s cute.