I want to ride. I want to set the pace and control the depth and look down into an Alpha's face while he falls apart inside me, and I have never once found a man willing to let me have that.
An involuntary moan pulls from my throat as I sink the toy all the way inside of me, the knot pushing fully past the rim. The needy whimper that tears out of my throat is not performed, just what happens when something that big seats itself as deep as it can go and my body clenches around it like it's trying to keep it there. My cock is hard and leaking against my stomach, slick running down the insides of my thighs and soaking into the sheets, my scent gone so thick and sweet I can smell myself, honey and arousal and something almost desperate underneath that I don't let show on my face.
I ride the toy with a rhythm I control completely, speeding up when the tips spike, slowing down when I want to make them suffer, because the control is the point. My hips roll in a slow grind that presses the knot against the spot inside me that makes my vision blur, and I let my head fall back and moan for the camera.
What they don’t know is that every sound is genuine, pulled from my body by the fullness and the friction and the fantasy I keep building in my head of an Alpha underneath me who wants to be there, who isn't fighting for the top, who looks up at me like I'm the only thing that matters and says please and means it.
The orgasm builds in slow, heavy waves, each roll of my hips pushing it higher, the knot grinding against the spot inside me that turns my brain to static. By the time it crests, my hand is wrapped around my cock, my back arching off the blanket sohard my thighs shake, slick pulsing out of me in a rush I can hear through the microphone.
The chat dissolves into incoherent capital letters as the tip counter climbs past last week's total while my body clenches and releases in waves. I ride the pleasure with my eyes half-closed, my lips parted in ecstasy, not a single thought in my head except how good this feels and how much better it would feel with a real knot, attached to someone who deserved to be there.
"Thank you, loves. You were perfect tonight,” I murmur to the camera, trying to push past the after-shocks because in the end, this is still business. I blow a kiss to the camera, throwing them a sloppy smile. "Same time Thursday. Don't be late."
It takes me another moment to click off the camera with the remote before sliding the dildo out of me, my body flopping to the mattress. The air still feels charged with my scent and slick, my skin overheated as I silently wait until my legs work.
The person on camera is just me at full blast, and dialing it back down means an oversized shirt and paint under my nails and wondering if there's anything in the fridge besides yesterday's pasta.
Most of the makeup comes off in the bathroom, though the gloss stays because I like how it looks. The sheets are a mess of slick and sweat so I strip them and toss them in the hamper before pulling on the oversized shirt that's been living on my bathroom door since Tuesday. Then I grab the laptop and settle back against the headboard with my legs crossed and the analytics dashboard loading on the screen.
Viewer count, peak concurrent, average watch time, tip breakdown, the clinical math of what my body and my voice are worth on any given night. These numbers pay my rent, buy my paint, keep me in silk, and I respect them for exactly what they are, which is money.
I scroll through a few of the screens before finding exactly what I was searching for. And there he is. My favorite ghost. Logged on eight minutes before the stream, stayed until the last second, didn't comment, didn't tip, didn't do anything except watch with the kind of silent dedication that would be creepy if it weren't so profitable. Same blank profile, same highest subscription tier, same pattern of rewatching my recordings three, four, five times like he's memorizing me for an exam he's never going to take.
I know who he is, though. It took me three days to figure it out, which is honestly two days too many. My neighbor, the tall, serious, devastatingly beautiful Alpha who moved in five weeks ago and still can't look me in the eye, who walks past my door every morning in clothes that cost more than I make in a week smelling like sandalwood and something darker that hits me in the chest every time I catch it in the hallway.
I can hear him through the wall at night following the same path in the same order, door to kitchen to bathroom to bedroom, like he's afraid of what happens if he takes a different route. He watches me every night and pays premium prices to watch the highest paid tiers.
In some roundabout way, my newest tier,Behind Glass,was made for him. Exclusive content, designed for an audience of one. The replay count confirms he took the bait, and the number should probably concern me but instead it makes my blood do something that feels dangerously close to interested.
All of my followers thrive on this dominant Omega I portray but they would never want that in real life. No oneactuallywants to submit to their Omega.
I close the laptop and lean back against my headboard, letting myself think about the Alpha next door, whose name I still don't know, which is a problem I intend to fix soon. I know he's at least six-two with shoulders wide enough to fill a doorframeand hands large enough to wrap around both my wrists without trying. I know his jaw is sharp, his skin a beautiful dark bronze, his eyes carrying the weight of someone who's been holding something too heavy for too long and doesn't know how to set it down. He dresses like every garment went through a committee before it was allowed onto his body, and I know his beauty is the aggressive kind, the kind that rearranges the hierarchy of a room just by walking into it.
Someone in the building mentioned he was important but I know nothing about him and some part of me craves that information. The one thing I do know, the one that excites me is that he can't look at me.
He drops his eyes in the hallway and moves past me like proximity to me might burn him, and the one time our shoulders almost touched near the mailboxes, I heard his breathing actually stutter, a full hitch in his lungs like his body short-circuited.
Every Alpha I've ever been with has fallen into one of two categories: the ones who wanted to consume me and the ones who wanted to tame me, and either way the endgame was identical.Make Mavi smaller. Make Mavi softer. Make Mavi into something easy to hold.
This Alpha won't fit in either box. An Alpha who consumes doesn't watch from a distance, he takes. An Alpha who tames doesn't subscribe in silence, he approaches. This one does neither. This one just aches, and I can imagine it every single night, this enormous want he keeps locked down so tight it practically hums through the drywall.
The question isn't whether he wants me, because that was established beyond doubt about four weeks ago, but what he would do if I decided to let him have me.
A scenario builds in my head, my control shot from just riding a knot on camera.
His jaw would go slack as he reached for me before stopping because I told him to stop. I think about what his voice would sound like sayingplease, what his knees would look like hitting the floor, what it would be like to stand over all six-two of him and watch the composure crack apart to reveal something raw and desperate and willing underneath.
Willing is the word. Not just wanting butwillingto let me lead, willing to be told, willing to kneel if I asked, not because I forced him down but because kneeling is what he's been trying to do his whole life and nobody has ever given him permission.
The fantasy has my hand between my legs, fingers sliding through the new bout of slick gathering between my thighs. I'm not even slightly embarrassed about it because I just came on camera for four hundred strangers and touching myself in the privacy of my own bed while I think about an Alpha on his knees is the least scandalous thing I've done tonight.
My fingers circle my cock, still sensitive from the last orgasm, while I imagine what his voice would sound like breaking around the word please. My hips rock into my own hand as the slick makes everything wet and easy, the fantasy morphing into dangerous territory.
Every part of me wants to watch him fall apart in front of me as I push my thumb into his mouth and feel him suck like he'd been starving for it. I want to climb into his lap and sink down onto his knot while he shakes underneath me and doesn't move because I told him not to.
An Alpha like that would be a fucking gift. A garbled moan falls from my lips as my body starts to tremble. I'm so close, I can almost feel the heat of him underneath me, the weight of his hands hovering at my hips waiting for permission to land.
“Come on Alpha. Get me there. Use that fat cock—”
