Chapter 4

ARIA

The soft hum of the city outside barely reached my apartment. For the first time in weeks, the noise didn’t press down on me—it felt distant, like something I’d finally outrun.

I sat curled on the couch, still gripping my phone, staring at the message that had landed in my inbox just ten minutes ago.

> Congratulations, Aria. Your application has been accepted.

Start date: Monday. Welcome aboard.

Four lines. That’s all. But they hit like a wave I hadn’t been braced for.

I laughed—half breath, half sob—and blinked hard. It was real. After months of freelancing jobs that paid pennies, after pushing down my pride to keep up rent and groceries and Lexi’s meds… this was real.

“Lexi!” I called out, voice catching in my throat.

She peeked out from the kitchen, still in her hoodie and fuzzy socks. “What’s wrong?”

I turned the screen toward her.

She squinted at it, then gasped. “No. Way.”

I nodded, barely able to speak.

Her grin spread like wildfire. “You got it?! You actually got the job?”

I nodded again, and she let out a little scream, rushing over to throw her arms around me. We hugged hard—tight and breathless, like we were holding onto each other and everything we’d scraped through to get here.

“I told you,” she said into my hair. “You deserve this. Finally.”

I laughed again, the sound bubbling up like something unfamiliar but needed.

“Yeah. I think I finally believe it.”

---

Later that night, after Lexi had gone to bed—still grinning in her sleep, probably—I stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

The reflection that looked back at me was… different." Not just tired, not just surviving. There was something new in her eyes.

Light.

I ran a hand down my neck, then across my shoulder. My skin felt hypersensitive. Not from stress—but from relief. From hope.

This celebration wouldn’t be a drink or a night out.

It would be mine.

---

The bedroom was dark, save for the warm flicker of the candles I’d lit along the windowsill. Their glow licked over the walls, casting slow-moving shadows as if the room itself was breathing with me.

I slid into black lace, the set I always saved for nights like this—nights when I wanted to feel powerful, beautiful, and in control. It clung to me like a whisper, like silk soaked in memory.

My laptop screen lit up as I logged into the cam site.

The chat was already alive with familiar names and new ones, blinking messages pouring in, hearts and emojis, and tips stacking in the corner.

But I wasn’t looking at them.

I was waiting for him.

Obsidian.

And then—there it was.

His name.

No fanfare. No greeting.

Just presence.

I bit my lip as my fingers brushed over the Lush toy, already slick with anticipation. The moment I held it in my hand, my body responded—like it remembered exactly what he did to me last time."

My heart pounded.

Then the first message appeared on-screen:

> Start slow. Let me guide you.

I inhaled slowly, then nodded at the camera, though I knew he couldn’t see my face, only my body, only the parts I chose to share.

But he saw more than that.

I slipped the toy inside—slowly, carefully—feeling the hum press against me from the inside out. A soft buzz, not overwhelming, but firm enough to make me exhale shakily.

Another message lit the screen:

> Good. Let me feel you breathe.

My thighs shifted on instinct, rubbing together slightly as the vibrations pulsed in sync with my heartbeat.

I trailed my fingers up over the lace of my bra, brushing against my nipple, already hard. The mix of texture and sensation made my head tip back.

He turned the vibration up—just a notch.

Not for shock. For build.

The chat blew up—tips came in, requests scrolled by—but I barely noticed. This wasn’t about them.

It never really was.

Another message from him blinked into view:

> Do you feel that, Luna?

I want you right on the edge.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My hand dipped lower, fingertips brushing the lace between my legs, feeling the way the toy pulsed inside me like it had a mind of its own.

I imagined him—wherever he was. Watching. Knowing. Feeling the same heat rise under his skin as mine did.

The buzz shifted again, a slow rise, then a wicked drop.

I gasped, legs twitching.

> Don’t come yet. Stay with me.

I bit down on a moan, chest heaving. The ache was maddening—delicious and cruel, like my body was begging without permission.

“I—” I whispered, “I can’t hold—”

> Yes, you can. For me.

God, I wanted to. Not just for the orgasm. For the approval. For his approval.

And then—

> Come for me, Luna.

It hit like a wave. My hips arched off the bed, toes curling into the sheets. The sound that broke from me was raw, too loud for the silence of the room, but I didn’t care.

I fell back into the mattress, trembling, breathless. My hand rested over my heart, trying to steady the pounding beneath it.

The toy went still.

I blinked back tears—not of sadness. Of release. I'm finally letting go.

One last message came through:

> Good girl.

I swallowed hard.

“Thank you,” I whispered, voice hoarse and soft in the dark.

Then, I ended the stream.

---

After, I lay on the bed in nothing but candlelight, arms stretched over my head, the warmth of my body still humming with aftershocks.

I should’ve felt exposed.

But I didn’t.

I felt seen.

And for the first time in a long time—I felt worthy of it.