Page 55 of Ryker

It doesn’t.

“Come on, kid. Don’t quit on me now.”

I hate when she calls me kid. I’m eighteen—even though she thinks I’m twenty. Growing up poor, scared, and desperate made me a man a long fucking time ago. I’m the one taking care of my family and handling business. Speaking of which… “I have to get out of here in twenty minutes.”

“She’s probably sleeping,” Natalie whispers, still jerking my cock to get the blood flowing.

My mom’s pain levels have elevated lately, and she ran out of her prescriptions last week. I told Natalie about it, and she gave me some pain meds for a fraction of the price I pay at the pharmacy, but they make my mother comatose, which scares me.

“Come on, big guy.”

I knock her hand off me. “No.”

“Jesus, Ryker.” Natalie’s shoulders slump and she tilts her head, inspecting me like I’m nothing but a cockroach in her cereal. “You have a great thing going here and you’re being really ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful?” I grip her waist and move her off me. “I’ve made you a lot of fucking money too, bitch.” Natalie takes a cut of all the clients she brings to me. Plus, most of what we make when we do these live streams.

Natalie tosses her head back, acting up for the camera and live audience we can’t see.

“Someone’s asking you to slap her,” Veronica says, reading the messages on the screen. “He’ll pay a thousand bucks.”

Natalie’s grin goes a mile wide. “Do it.”

I can’t. Hitting a woman isn’t something I’m capable of, even if they beg. No dollar amount will change my mind either. “No.”

“God, Ryker, you’re ruining this!” She sits up and slaps me instead. Then she laughs. It’s a cackling, obnoxious, anger inducing sound that makes my blood rush.

I grab her wrists and pin her down. “Shut the fuck up.” I pitch forward and shove my half-hard cock in her mouth. She chokes on it. Now it’s my turn to fucking laugh. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who chokes on a semi.”

She shoves her finger in my ass, and I grunt in surprise. Then I pull out of her mouth and truly debate on what to do. This is humiliating. I can leave. Walk right out and never come back.

But I hear the dinging of money coming through on the live stream and I need every fucking penny, so I’m not going anywhere yet.

Glaring at the camera, I concentrate on all my hate, my hunger, my fear, and my torment. I cling to the idea that I can fuck my way out of this hell and snag the condom from Natalie’s hand. With a growl, I roll it down my length.

Then I give our audience a fuck they’ll never forget.

Tara lightly snores against me. The water has cooled down but I’m too exhausted to move. Using my toe to unplug the drain, I let out some of the water and refill it with fresh hot stuff. We’ve probably been in here for about an hour. I’ve massaged her shoulders, arms, and scalp. I ran water down her chest to keep her warm. I kissed parts of her body I could reach. She slept through every bit of it.

When I finally try to reposition myself—because my back hurts like a sonofabitch—Tara jolts awake.

“No!” Water sloshes over the rim as she fights nothing but herself.

“Easy,” I say calmly. “It’s just me.”

She twists towards me, her eyes wide as she takes in her surroundings. “Holy shit.” Rubbing her temples, she sighs. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Gripping the rim, I stand and the water level drops considerably. “I’m a prune.”

And also hard as a rock.

Tara stares at my dick like it’s the prettiest thing in her bathroom. “Don’t get out yet.”

She gets on her knees, wincing, and that makes me feel bad. “You’re still sore?”

“A little, but it’s nice. I like it.”

Doubtful. “I’m sorry for earlier.”

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