Naomi was just trying to delete old files.She didn’t mean to open the wrong folder.But there it was.A file named: Naomi_Alone_Night1.movHer stomach flipped.She stared at it.Clicked it.And watched herself walk into her own bedroom on the screen. Towel slipping off. Hair wet. Phone in hand.She was naked. Touching herself on the bed. Moaning. Whispering things into the dark.Things she never said out loud.The footage was clear. High angle. Like from a vent. It showed every angle her parted thighs, her fingers dipping into herself, the shudder in her spine as she came.She paused it.Heart racing. Breathing shallow.There was only one person in the house who knew her room that well. Who built his own gaming rig. Who never let anyone near his PC.Tyler.Her stepbrother.She felt like throwing up.But her thighs clenched instead.Because he’d watched.And saved it.She should have deleted it. Should have screamed.Instead, she waited until midnight.Crept into his room.He was asle
Chapter 19 – The Sugar Baby InterviewLani hadn’t expected the ad to be real."Seeking a discreet arrangement. Monthly stipend: $15,000. Must be open-minded. Interview required. No prior experience is necessary."She clicked on it as a joke.She answered it as a dare.But now she stood outside a towering Manhattan building 21st floor, penthouse suite with her knees trembling and her panties already damp.Her student loans were a monster. Her checking account was starving. And she hadn’t eaten anything all day except fear and curiosity.A sleek woman in a black jumpsuit opened the door.“You’re Lani?”“Yes.”“Come in. Strip your jacket. Leave your phone in the basket.”Lani obeyed.The suite was silent, dim, scented faintly with bergamot and leather. Marble floors. Black velvet walls. A single camera was set up in the corner, red light blinking.She froze.“I didn’t agree to being filmed.”“You will,” came a smooth male voice.He entered the balcony.Tall. Older. Clean shaven with stee
Sera knew better.She’d been raised on hymns and sermons, clothed in purity and praise. Her father was the town’s most respected preacher, and she, the perfect daughter, was expected to reflect that image in every breath she took.But perfection never excited her.It was a sin that stirred her blood.She sat alone in the candlelit chapel at midnight, the stone floor cold beneath her knees, the scent of incense curling through the air like temptation.She came here often not to pray.To confess.Her own way.To feel something dangerous in the only place she was never allowed to touch herself.But tonight felt different.He was there.The man in the booth.He wasn’t Father Caldwell, she could tell. Caldwell’s voice was brittle and old.This one was young.Richer. Calmer.Sinful.“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” she whispered, voice trembling.“It has been how long since your last confession?”She smiled.“Ten hours.”A pause.“I see.”Sera leaned forward, eyes fluttering shut.“I
Miles thought working at the university library would be quiet.His new internship promised hours of sorting dusty archives and shelving books, perfect for someone who preferred silence over socializing. His supervisor, Miss Carroway, seemed the perfect embodiment of that silence.She was always in fitted turtlenecks, pencil skirts, thick-rimmed glasses, and low heeled shoes. Stern. Professional. Maybe early forties, maybe older. Sharp eyes, tighter lips.And she never smiled.Until Thursday night.The library was nearly empty.Only a few grad students whispered in corners. Rain tapped at the arched windows. Miles was shelving books in the restricted reference section when he heard itA low, deliberate cough.He turned.Miss Carroway stood at the end of the row, her glasses lowered slightly as she studied him.“You organize alphabetically?” she asked.“Yes, ma’am.”“Come with me.”She turned without another word, heels clicking against the polished floors.He followed.Not to her offi
Naomi was invisible in real life. She liked it that way. Classes, campus, coffee shop she existed in the background. She wore oversized sweaters, headphones tucked in, and her hair in a messy bun. Few people knew her name. Even fewer remembered her face. But online. She was someone else entirely. Behind her locked door, curtains drawn and fairy lights glowing, Naomi transformed into her alter ego: VioletNoir, a cam girl who wore nothing but lace and desire, watched by strangers who worshipped her every movement. She never showed her face. Only her body. And her voice. Breathy, teasing, always in control. Every tip, every private request, fueled her secret hunger. It wasn’t about money it was about power. Being desired. Being seen. Until one night, she received a private message that chilled her. Nice bookshelf, Naomi. She froze. The bookshelf was behind her visible in her streams, yes, but it was from a cheap local store. The second message came seconds later: Chem 20
Zara was never supposed to walk that floor.Her assignment was simple: rotate security every two hours, cover the lower ten levels, and never question the protocols around Floor 21.“Private tenant,” her supervisor had warned. “No calls. No keys. No interference.”But the rules didn’t stop curiosity.And Zara had always been curious.That night, as she leaned against the security desk, the quiet hum of the city outside made her thoughts wander.She closed her eyes for a moment.And imagined.The elevator button for Floor 21 lit up under her fingertips.Her pulse raced as the car rose. She imagined herself stepping onto a carpeted hallway lined with mirrored panels and rich silence.She passed the suite 21B.Suddenly, her radio crackled.“Curious, aren’t we?”A man’s voice. Rich. Low. Amused.She turned, imagining the door unlocking.“Come in, Zara.”She stepped into her own fantasy.The suite was dim and sensual. Moonlight poured in through the floor to ceiling windows. There he stood