Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
She steps in, shivering in the cold. “You look handsome,” she coos, pressing close to kiss my cheek. “Is this a special occasion, or do you always set the table like you’re about to host a presidential dinner?”
I can’t help smiling, even now. “I clean up when it matters,” I mutter around the frog in my throat.
But Eliza doesn’t notice. She follows me into the kitchen, shedding her coat and revealing a line of bare shoulder that makes my cock twitch, even as my stomach roils. She moves around the kitchen, light and confident, stealing a carrot from the salad and popping it between her teeth with a sassy crunch.
I pour wine and hand her a glass. Her fingers brush mine, linger a second longer than normal, and it takes all my willpower not to yank her in and demand answers right then.
Instead, I set the steaks to sizzle and keep my eyes on the stove.
Eliza leans against the counter, sipping her wine. “You okay, Commander?” she asks, head tilted. “You seem… I don’t know. Distant.”
I grunt. “Long day. Had some weird dreams last night.”
She watches me, searching my face. “Want to talk about it?”
I shake my head and flip the steaks. The sizzle is loud, masking the pounding of my pulse.
Dinner is smooth, but it takes every ounce of my energy to hide my nerves. The food is perfect, but it tastes like cardboard. I try to ask her about work, but the words stick in my throat. Fortunately, Eliza fills the silence, telling a story about a lawyer who accidentally emailed a sex tape to an entire listserv, but even that doesn’t land. I just nod and mumble responses, waiting for her to call me on my bullshit.
She sets her fork down, eyes wide and hurt. “Jack. Seriously. What’s wrong? You’re on edge tonight.”
I drink half my wine in one go. “Nothing. I’m just distracted.”
She leans in, her hand on my forearm. “Is it me? Did I do something?”
The words hang in the air, daring me to say them. I want to chicken out. I want to pretend I saw nothing, that I can keep going like it doesn’t matter. But the image of my girl, nude and gorgeous on some stranger’s computer, will never leave me.
I clear my throat. “Can we sit in the living room?”
She nods, eyes full of concern.
I pour us each more wine, and we move to the couch, a foot of space between us at first. I let the silence stretch, wanting her to confess, but she just looks at me, searching for a crack in my armor.
Finally, I can’t take it. I turn to face her, and the words come out, flat and deadly:
“I saw you online last night.”
She blinks. “Online?”
“On a cam site,” I say, letting the words hit like a bomb.
Her wine glass slips, sloshing red across her hand. Her face goes white, then red, then white again. “What… what do you mean?”
I don’t blink. “You were on a live cam. Username ‘BunnySnowGirl.’”
Eliza stares at me, open-mouthed. For a second, I see the wheels turning—calculating, rationalizing, maybe even plotting a denial. But she’s not a good liar. Never has been.
Her eyes fill with tears, and her voice comes out in a ragged whisper. “I—Jack—It’s not what you think.”
I laugh, and it’s the ugliest sound I’ve ever made. “What I think is I saw my girlfriend, the woman I’ve been fucking for months, getting railed by a pink dildo for a crowd of anonymous perverts. Am I off-base?”
She starts to cry, real tears, but not the delicate movie kind—full-body, shoulders-shaking, air-gasping sobs. She drops her head to her hands, mascara streaking down her cheeks.
I want to hold her, but I stay perfectly still.
After a minute, she forces herself upright, eyes red but focused. “Please let me explain,” she says.
I nod, but don’t say anything.
She takes a breath. “I started doing it last year, before I met you. I was broke, saddled with student loans, and the law firm was paying me shit. Someone I knew in college made a ton doing cam shows during the pandemic. She told me about it, and I thought I’d try it for a month, just for a little bit.”
She swallows hard. “It was supposed to be one time. But it paid so much more than anything else I’d ever done, and it was easy, in a weird way. I could be whoever I wanted. I didn’t have to pretend to be smart, or perfect, or even myself. I could just perform, then log off, and go back to real life.”
She wipes her eyes, shoulders slumped. “I should have told you, Jack. I was going to, but I kept waiting for the right time, and there never was one. And then I fell for you and I thought if you found out, you’d never want me again.”