Page 27 of Felix

Oh, no.

Do I have a crush?

I dismiss the thoughtimmediately. I’ve never wanted a relationship before, and I don’t want one now. It’s only affection I feel.

Right?

“All right,” Jerome shouts. “New position. Change it up.”

Right.

Lifting, I swing myself around, putting Emil and I in a sixty-nine. I heft my skirt so it’s not over his face, and it settles against his chest, giving him what I’m sure is a perfect view of my thong.

“Oh my God,” he mumbles, palms landing on my thighs.

“Okay?” I ask, looking back.

“Oh my God.”

“Sooo,” I say slowly. “This is the part where, if your cock is in my mouth, I should be aware of my angles, right?”

Emil coughs, hands flexing on my thighs. I hide my smirk against his leg.

Oh, yeah. This is going to be a lot of fun.

Chapter 7

Emil

I’m no stranger to fucking. I’ve done a lot of it here at the studio. I’ve been railed over countless surfaces, had sex that’s slow and sweet, had plenty of dicks in my mouth and ass and in between my thighs. I’ve had to wash cum out of my hair more times than I can count.

There’s not much I haven’t seen or done.

But as I watch Raylin give Christian a touchup in preparation for our very first live video together, I’m hit with nerves like I’ve never experienced before. I don’t know if it’s him or the upcoming scene, but my heart has been beating heavily since the moment I walked through these doors, and I’m already descending into that foggy place where everything shuts off and I lose any and all control over rationality and reason.

There are plenty of people who enjoy being watched. Who enjoy exhibitionism. But not all of them feel a near desperate urge to have others present when they come. Not all of them would do just about anything to make that happen.

When I started seeing my therapist, worried about where my impulses might lead me, she suggested I find a safe way to explore my kink instead of trying to shove it down. One that wouldn’t land me with a public indecency record.

I found Elite 8 Studios.

Inside these walls, I am safe. The cameraman, the crew, everybody here has consented to watching me have sex. It’s part of the job, and no one bats an eye. And it feels good. Every time I do a scene, I get high off the knowledge that people are watching. That, even later, people will continue to watch. Viewers will see my videos days, weeks, years later, and that fact gives me a thrill any time I stop to think about it.

But I have never, not once, felt like this on the cusp of filming. I don’t know if it’s the promise of live viewers this time around—knowing countless people will be watching me at the same moment I’m being fucked or who knows what else. I don’t know if it’s the idea that they’ll have a say in what happens to me. I don’t know if maybe it’s Christian himself—this man who’s been my personal voyeur for months, who I’ve gotten close to, who will finally be touching me for real.

I can’t say if it’s one reason or all of them, but I’m so far gone, I would drop to my knees right this instant if anyone asked it of me. I would do it for any member of this cast or crew, and I’d love every goddamn second. And I have done scenes like that before, where my costars took turns on me. Hot as hell.

But then? I was in control. I was doing my job.

Right now? My control feels nonexistent.

“Everybody ready?” Jerome calls. “We’re five minutes to showtime.”

Oh, God.

I give my boss a swift nod, my mouth running dry. My hands shake as I head to the refreshments table and grab a bottled water. The cool liquid helps a little.

“Hey. You okay?”

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