Page 71 of Aim Assist

Amy

The rest of the week is… busy.

Long nights with Liam, who wakes up with me every morning with his arms tight around me, as though scared I'll run away again.

I would, but the bastard's learned from the last time. Now he comes to my room to end the night. I can't run away. My dog is here.

We never once speak of the future. It's like an unspoken understanding between us that this is nothing more than a beautiful summer fling.

He doesn't talk about it, and I avoid such conversations like spoiled milk.

The streams go great. Our viewers end up in some sort of internal fan-based war, where my viewers defend me and declare me the queen of the game and his viewers… shit on his talent, but tell my viewers that he'll end up carrying me one day.

It's funnier than it sounds.

Liam still dresses as Phantom every day, and—before you ask—yes. I fuck his brains out every evening with that sexy cosplay.

There might have been a few seconds in the elevator with his dick in my mouth—again—and we get interrupted by an old grandma who wanted to go down to the lobby.

She's nice about it. Says she was young once, too. Liam flashes her a charming smile and she turns her back to let me continue, but that one is… not it. Old grandmas do not do it for me.

So we continue it in my room later.

I've since learned that Liam loves my retro dresses. Specifically, he loves to fuck me over tables in it.

There's a small table in my room that works.

There are also bigger ones in the hotel's conference rooms. We use those a few times. I like to pretend I'm his secretary, and he's my sexy CEO. Also more fun than it might sound. Overtime is great with the right kind of pay, you know?

Don't worry; we clean up after ourselves. We're not monsters.

One night we go out to dinner in town and run into the two guys who watched us on the beach. That's fun. They don't stop staring in our direction for the entire meal, and Liam ends up fucking me in the bathroom. Yes, they're there. Yes, it's hot. They see nothing, but they hear all of it.

And they're nice enough to keep watch for us, too.

I'm pretty sure at least one of them jacked off to it, because I heard a lot of moaning. But that's not my business. Hopefully their next vacation will have another random pair who likes to sneak around and have sex in public.

My favorite is the movie theater, though. That's on our last night, and he spends the entire running duration between my thighs.

There's no one else there, but—yeah. That's definitely my favorite.

I don't remember what the movie was, and my memories with Paul Finklewick at the movies are officially erased. Gone. Disappeared from this earth. Bleached from my brain and replaced with so much better.

And when all the streaming wraps up and we part ways, there are no crazy goodbyes.

He takes me to the airport. Gives me a sweet kiss before I head through security. Tells me I'm gorgeous.

I tell him he's a maniac and needs some serious help.

He laughs.

I laugh.

And now I'm on the plane and why the fuck am I crying?

It was nothing.

A fling.

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