Broken Falcon, page 4
Instead, earlier, when he’d been hyped up with adrenaline from the fight, he’d broken that promise to himself and logged in to her site.
She hadn’t been there. He’d perused the photos and other OnlyFans-type content she posted for her regular subscribers—but it wasn’t the same without the personal interaction. With Desiree, it had always been the way she talked. Flirted. And even listened.
Listened.
She knew his voice. Thank God he’d only said a few clipped words to her before he recognized her. Then his stutter had come roaring back when faced with the woman of his fantasies, forcing him to drop his voice to just above a whisper to get the words out.
He’d never in his life been so grateful for the speech impediment he’d battled since early childhood and had mostly conquered.
There was part of him that appreciated the fact that the stutter was his own affliction, for lack of a better word, and not something Parks created. The stutter was part of who he truly was, which was the thing he was most trying to figure out these days.
Who am I now? Are my thoughts even my own?
He didn’t think he was the man full of aggression looking for targets to beat up. Not at his core.
He tried to remember who he’d been four and a half years ago, before Ted Godfrey took him under his wing. Godfrey’s goal had been to mess with Chase’s mind in a trial run of an infrasonic weapon that was likely a precursor to the sonic weapons that were suspected of having been used on diplomats in the American embassy in Cuba a few years ago.
Who had he been then? He’d been twenty-two. Fresh out of the police academy. He took the job with Raptor to gain experience as he waited for an offer from one of several police departments.
He’d gotten an offer that first summer—after Ted had taken control. Chase still didn’t remember turning it down, but he’d seen the correspondence. The chief of police for the department said they’d had a video conference interview because Chase had been in remote Alaska and couldn’t fly down for the interview.
Chase didn’t remember the interview either, but apparently, he’d nailed it. Then Godfrey had wiped it from his mind, because he needed a test subject for their weapon.
Chase needed to go further back if he was to figure out who he really was.
One thing he did know, given his mental history, there was no way he’d ever get a job as a police officer in the future. He was really only fit for Raptor at this point.
He was okay with that—Raptor was a good company, and his coworkers were like family now—but sometimes he wondered if the person he’d been at twenty-two would be fine with that. Did he accept it because he’d been programmed to, or was this his calling?
He had no fucking clue.
He was a man who literally didn’t know his own mind.
And the woman in his passenger seat was the only person in the last year who’d offered any kind of respite from the constant questions and doubts.
He had to focus on the road, or he might simply forget how to breathe. Having her so close flooded his brain with reactions he couldn’t process—but for once, it was in a good way.
He felt exhilaratingly alive.
Why on earth had he decided to give Desiree up?
Was it because he wondered if the old Chase would frown upon him engaging in a transactional relationship with a camgirl?
If that were the case, then judgmental old Chase could just fuck the hell off.
This Chase needed to have some emotional interactions, and this was the only safe way he knew to do it for now.
Eden gave him directions after the exit to her townhouse, and he wove through streets that were still busy even though it was nearing eleven p.m. on a weeknight. A few blocks farther and things would spread out and get quieter, but she lived closer to the central hub—walking distance to a Metro station.
He pulled up in front of her unit. It was a nice one, narrow, but long, with the apartment being a one-story unit above what he assumed was a deep garage.
Why did she have a garage if she didn’t have a car?
But then, she’d never said she didn’t have a car, and he wouldn’t ask. None of his business.
He’d wonder how she afforded such a nice place if she lived alone, but then, that was another assumption—that she lived alone. She could be married for all he knew.
And it wasn’t a stretch to think she could afford the place on her own because of her secret job. He’d researched the business enough to know that some camgirls made upwards of twenty grand a week. Desiree wasn’t at that level—especially since going solo and she clearly had a day job as a barista—but she could probably easily make rent even without a roommate.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said as she pushed open the door.
Damn. He’d wanted to run around and open her door. Get one last chance to stand close and breathe in her scent, even if all he got was the smell of ground coffee. He’d never once considered what Desiree might smell like, and now he couldn’t get enough. Eden was so damn beautiful. Everything about her was alluring, from her straight dark hair that was probably soft to the touch, to her petite frame and gently rounded curves.
But it was better this way. Keep it professional. “You’re welcome. Can I walk you to the door?”
She cocked her head. The outer stairs to her front door were just a few feet away and well lit. His security duties were over. And now he realized that was the kind of thing a man said when escorting a woman home after a date.
At least, he thought that was the kind of thing men said. He hadn’t been on many dates. In the Before Times, his stutter had contributed to a shyness that he finally managed to beat when he was in the police academy, but the impediment meant he’d dated infrequently. And Parks had done her best to muddle the memories he had of the few dates he could remember. They came back in bits and pieces now, disjointed and unconnected to any emotions.
He knew he’d hooked up here and there—he hadn’t been a virgin when Parks dug her claws into his head—but he’d never been in a relationship that started with a proper date and a hope for a goodnight kiss. At least, he didn’t think so.
“I think I can make it all the way up to the door without help.”
He laughed. “Okay. Just know I’m right here if you need me.”
Now she chuckled, and the sound was even better in person than the throaty way she did it online.
She closed the door, and he watched the sway of her hips as she walked up the stairs.
He didn’t know a lot about women, but he damn well knew that ass sway was for his benefit, because she hadn’t walked like that down the alley or through the coffee shop. That was pure Desiree.
Interesting.
Once she was safely inside, he put the SUV in reverse and pulled out of the short driveway. As he headed to the compound, he wondered if Desiree would be online tonight.
Chapter Four
DESIREE
Even though I’m in a hurry, I force myself to take my time as I apply my makeup, thinking about Chase Johnston’s wiry body as I blend foundation and choose eye shadow. Tonight, I will pretend everyone in the chat room is him.
I pull on the blonde wig and wonder if Chase would like me as a blonde. It’s ridiculous to be thinking about him this much, but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt any kind of zing with a man, let alone the wild sparks I got just from being near the Raptor operative. I’m going to use the energy boost for all I can tonight.
I think my sessions are getting stale. I’ve lost a few regulars in the last two months. Men who had made the move from CamDames with me, but who don’t show up anymore. Have they moved on to younger, sexier women?
These are the kinds of questions that come to mind as I consider the consumer psychology of online sex work. What keeps my clients coming back for more? When do they reach a saturation point?
I’m not seeking an online sugar daddy—that would be dishonest given that this is my sideline until I’m financially stable. I don’t have the time or energy to give a sugar daddy what he’d deserve given the financial outlay. So maybe I should focus on the drop-off point. What makes a guy move on, even when everything seems to be going great?
Falcon hasn’t been to my site in more than a month. Probably longer, but I’d need to check my tip ledger to be sure. More nights than not, when Falcon showed up, he would pay for a session in my private room. I miss that income, but also, I kind of miss him.
He never once turned on his camera in the private room, but at least there, I could hear his voice. And I liked it. Smooth and deep. Friendly.
Commanding.
Falcon always took control of our private sessions. It was sexy as hell.
He’s one of the few clients who legitimately turns me on, so I’m not doing all the work myself. I’m not acting. I’m enjoying.
And I do like this job. I wouldn’t do it otherwise, but Falcon always made it more fun, so I’ve been disappointed by his long absence.
Plus, I miss the income. I need to replace him and the other regulars who’ve fallen away if I’m ever going to be able to buy a car without going into debt. I have a mortgage that already keeps me up at night. A car loan would send me into a tailspin.
I should consider running ads on some of the bigger porn sites, but you never know who you’ll get with those, and the cost is exorbitant. My biggest hurdle is always how to grow the business without throwing money away. I need every penny I can get now that I’ve gone solo.
I didn’t quite realize how good I had it with CamDames, but still, I have no regrets. I’m the only person who profits off the sale of my body now, and that thought gives me a jolt of spine-straightening pride.
I’ve worked hard for this body, and I will monetize it for as long as is necessary. And then Desiree will disappear.
Until then, what I really need to do is put in more hours, which is why it’s good that I’m going online tonight. I need the money. But I don’t usually log in this late, so it’s highly likely none of my regulars will be online.
Subscribers—men who have unlimited access to my static content and the group chat room I usually spend at least an hour in, five days a week—have provided an email address or text number so I can ping them that I’m online and looking for company. Maybe I’ll offer up a coupon for a private session to get them online this late. Fifty percent off fifteen minutes with me should do the trick.
I focus on my makeup. I need to look hot tonight if I’m going to get someone to redeem a coupon this late. I’m usually logging out in fifteen minutes, not just starting an online shift.
I study my face in the mirror. I don’t look like me at all—at least it seems that way because I’ve never left the house like this. It’s not Eden who stares back at me. It’s Desiree.
I think Desiree is pretty, but a bit overdone.
Desiree learned makeup from National Treasure Dolly Parton. One of my favorite Dolly quotes will always be, “It costs a lot of money to look this cheap.” And now that I have a vast supply of quality makeup, wigs, and costumes, I know exactly what Dolly meant.
When I put on the makeup, I can feel a shift inside myself. Like this sultry woman who lives inside me breaks through to the surface. She says things I would never say. Does things I’ve never done—not with a partner, anyway.
I’m fascinated by her. By me. But that seems strangely egotistical, and I want to analyze that too.
Desiree is interested in trying all the naughty things I would never consider in real life.
Like tonight, for example. I had a perfectly good opportunity to ask a stranger if he wanted to go to a hotel room and fuck me all night long. Desiree, if she were real, would have asked the question without hesitating.
And maybe she’d have been turned down. Or maybe she’d have had a fantastic night with a hot man.
Sadly, I will never know.
I head for the closet and start digging through my costumes. I’m going all in, starting with a sheer teddy so my nipples will be visible from the start. No need to make them pay to see tits when I’m feeling this hot.
When I first started this job, CamDames wanted me to get a boob job. My C cups weren’t big enough, they said. But I don’t want fake breasts. I know how to use my assets, and my cup size goes with my body. I work hard to stay slim, because that’s what my clients like, but it’s a constant struggle.
I spend an hour each day exercising in the homeowner’s association gym up the road, and I’m careful about portion size and sweets. My natural weight is too rounded for my clientele, but I’m not rounded enough to get near the plus-sized market, which is a great demographic and would mean I didn’t need to exercise constantly if I want to eat carbs.
Sometimes I have dreams of pizza.
I think this, more than anything, is why I’ll give up this job when I get my degree.
As much as I’ll miss Desiree’s bold, vibrant, sexual autonomy, I’ll be delighted to welcome french fries back into my life.
And ice cream.
God. How I miss ice cream.
I imagine being in bed with Chase with a pint of Häagen-Dazs. I would lick it off his chest. I have no idea if he’s got a nice chest, but in my mind, he’s ripped and his body pairs well with pralines and cream.
My tongue slides down from his nipples to his abs, and then I follow the trail to treasure and take his hard cock in my mouth. He cups my head between his hands as I go down on him, and he shouts my real name as he comes in my mouth.
I pause in the middle of my camera room after donning my sheer teddy, shocked at my own vivid fantasies that came from nowhere. I’m so hot and worked up, I need to get on camera now.
There is money to be made tonight, and now I have the fantasy that will feed my performance.
I log in to the site and then move to position myself on the bed in a demure pose with my fuck-me makeup and sheer-top green teddy that matches the colored contacts I put in.
I hit the button on a tablet I keep next to me on the bed and take my session live.
There are two men in the room, waiting. They both logged in when my shift was supposed to start but never left. They might be at their computers or not. I clear my throat and smile at the camera. “Sorry I’m late, guys. I had an…interesting time at the day job.”
One guy types into the chat window, saying he’s glad I’m online and hopes everything is okay at work. He’s always sweet, always offering me sympathy, concern, and compliments. I know from our private conversations that he’s married and in his sixties. His wife doesn’t want to have sex anymore, and he doesn’t want to cheat. So this is their compromise. His wife even gives him a budget!
I really like her and the way they’ve openly navigated an arrangement that works for them both. I wish I could make them part of a psychological study.
“Thanks, Hank. I’m fine. Just sad to be late to the party tonight because I’m feeling really hot and a lot needy. I’m hoping you guys can help me out.”
Hank: What got you so hot?
Before I can answer, another client enters the chat.
My belly flutters when I see the screen name: Falcon.
I had been sure he was gone for good. But here he is. Given how eager I am to play tonight, he’s perfect for a private session. I just need to give Hank and the other client, who uses the alias “Thor,” about ten minutes so they get their subscription’s worth, then I can move to a private room with Falcon and he can move to voice, not text chat.
If he wants to, that is.
I dearly hope he wants to.
Tonight will be one of those nights when our session goes further than a striptease and dirty talk.
“Falcon! I’ve missed you! Where have you been?”
Falcon: Extended business trip. I hope you weren’t worried about me.
I give him a throaty chuckle. “I’ll admit I was a bit. I was sure you’d found someone younger and prettier to entertain you.”
Falcon: No one is prettier or sexier than you.
I bite my lip for the camera then smile just a little wickedly. “You are so sweet.”
Falcon: My thoughts about you are anything but sweet. They’re raw, and very, very dirty.
I brush a thumb over a nipple as I give the camera a hot look. I’m not even pretending. I’m full of want. “Oh my. We do have some catching up to do.”
Hank: You still haven’t said what has you so hot tonight, Desiree. And you do look especially…ready. What happened?
I debate how much to say. I never mention my work—no details of my real life are ever shared. I am Desiree, not Eden, in this room. It’s one reason why I use the extra bedroom as my workspace. I don’t want clients to see any part of my real life.
But I also know it’s fine to mention other men. After all, I’m flirting with two men right now as a third may or may not be silently watching. There’s no illusion of fidelity. This is who Desiree is—a woman unabashed by her sexual desires.
“I had a chance encounter with a beautiful man tonight. He was so hot, and his gaze so intense on me, I wanted to ask him to take me to a hotel and fuck me all night long. But I didn’t, so now I’m hoping one of you can help me out. I’m wound up and hot with no cock to play with.”
My guess is Hank will bow out at this point. He likes to go to the private room to chat and talk about his family. For a guy who’s doing this to avoid cheating on his wife, what he really wants from me is the intimacy of friendship. Things are rarely sexual between us, even though I know he likes to look at my body. Even the fantasies he asks me to spin for him revolve around me with other men, not him.
He’s not the only one who just wants a friend with a little voyeurism attached. Ninety percent of my private sessions are more like therapy and friendship than they are sexy times and getting off. I find this fascinating.
Falcon straddles that line. He definitely wants to fuck me, but I’m not sure if he ever jacks off during our sessions. Not when we’re talking anyway. I presume he does after because I think he likes the heightened desire but prefers to come when he’s alone and in control.
