Page 21 of Pucked On Camera

"Uh-huh?" I manage, fidgeting with the stem of my wine glass.

"Whatever's behind that door... it's part of you. And I'm pretty sure I'm gonna like it." He says it with such certainty, an assurance wrapped in those simple words, it makes my heart race in a way that's terrifying.

"Maybe you will," I murmur, meeting his gaze.

"Whenever you're ready," he adds softly, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. It’s the very thing that I need to find the courage to do what I need to do.

"Actually," I begin, my voice steadier than I expect, "I did promise you a full tour of what I haven't shown you yet." The words tumble out before I can second-guess them, a surge of boldness igniting within me.

I stand up, smoothing down my shirt as I feel Riley's gaze follow my hands. There’s a deliberate sway in my hips and a playful smirk on my lips while I walk towards him. He watches me closely as I reach for his hand, my fingers sliding between his.

"Come on," I coax, gently tugging him off the barstool. There's mischief in my voice, but underneath my skin, my pulse is running a marathon. I lead him across the living room, each step feeling like a block on the barriers being knocked down between the persona I've built and the person I truly am.

We stop in front of the studio door, and I release his hand. I slowly turn the doorknob, pushing it open to reveal the hidden part of my world. With one step, I’m inside and flicking on the lights, lighting up the space where I become someone else entirely.

"This is my studio," I say, sweeping my arm around the room filled with photography equipment, costumes hanging in the closet, and a green wig resting on a mannequin head. Every inch of this room is a testament to my double life.

Riley steps in, taking in the details, his expression unreadable. My stomach knots as I brace myself for judgment, for disappointment, for the end of something that's barely had a chance to begin.

"I work online," I confess, the words spilling out in a rush. "On OnlyFans." My eyes dart to his face, searching for a reaction—any reaction—that might give away his thoughts.

"I create content, disguised but fully exposed," I continue, my heart hammering against my ribcage. "It's... it's how I make ends meet." I'm laying it all out and entrusting him.

"It's very much a secret that no one else can find out about." My voice softens to a whisper. The truth hangs between us. It’s fragile and could either bind us together or shatter.

"Amelia," Riley begins, turning to face me. His blue eyes hold mine, intense and searching. I brace for impact, ready for whatever comes next.

Instead of words, he pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me in a gesture that feels like shelter. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. In his tight and strong arms, I find a moment of peace and a glimmer of hope that my trust hasn't been misplaced.

Riley kisses my forehead and pulls back from his hold to look at me. His smile is warm and accepting.

"Pick something out for me," I challenge Riley, a playful edge to my voice as I swing open the closet doors wide. The costumes are a kaleidoscope of colors and textures, remnants of my online persona's many lives.

He takes the few steps over, and his fingers graze sequins and lace before pausing on a crimson corset that’s all about sin and sophistication. "This one," he says with a wide smile.

"Bold choice," I reply, though my heart skips at the thought of slipping into the role he's selected. My hands are surprisingly steady as I dress in the costume, and the snug fit of the corset is a familiar comfort.

"Wow," Riley breathes out when I turn to face him.

"Let's save this moment, shall we?" I suggest, snagging my phone from the vanity. The camera app comes to life with a tap.

"Here, you take it," I say, handing him the phone after setting it to portrait mode. The lens captures us, the backdrop of my studio blurred behind our figures.

"Smile," Riley teases, but I stick out my tongue instead, the click of the shutter freezing our laughter onto the screen. We carry on playfully and candid, swapping poses between chuckles—him pretending to be scandalized by the corset's boldness, me feigning shock at his mock horror.

"Okay, serious now," I instruct, but there's nothing serious about the way my pulse dances or how close he stands. His arm wraps around my waist as we pose.

"Perfect," he murmurs, and I'm not sure if he means the photo or the proximity. Yet when I peek at the image, I see it—the genuinesmiles, the spark in our eyes. These are snapshots of our pure connection.

"Enough evidence for one day," I laugh, locking the phone and tucking it away. The costume stays on, though.

"Mr. Watson," I say as the character slips from my lips. “I’m yours for the taking. Are you here to breed me tonight, Sir?” He’s lying, stretched out on the bed, with a dirty little smirk on his face.

"Oh, Princess," he growls. "Surrender to me." He jumps up like the athlete he is, picks me up, and tosses me on the bed. His hands roam over the curve of my hips, dipping into the persona as easily as he slips beneath the layers of my chosen costume. There's no hesitation in his touch, no sign of Riley the hockey captain, just the bold caress of a lover on a quest to procreate.

Chapter 12

Riley

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