Page 29 of The Arrangement

The disadvantages were annoying camera angles that the cheap tripods wouldn't get (I fixed that about the first month into camming) and running back and forth to make sure I got the shot. But to be honest, there were only so many things a dude could do without jamming something up his ass to make money solo and I just wasn’t flexible enough for that. Sure, the thirst traps were cute, but it was becoming a saturated market, and the amount of money I was looking to make wasn't something social media alone could accomplish. So I jerked off so many times my dick chafed, made some knife kink content for those who were into that (and there werea lotof people into it), even did some wax play once until I realized there must be special wax for that and my grocery store candle would cause burns.

That's when Natalie came in like a blond, beautiful bisexual saint. I was going to miss her but she deserved a good life helping people, and Jessica was the perfect person for her.

As I panned to pull the footage to full screen, I clicked through the talking parts or the parts I took my mask off to drink water; I was pleasantly surprised with the result.

Georgia was a natural, freckles decorating her body, and that dark hair lain out on my pillows like a damn halo as I slowly fucked herwith my fingers. The way her hands clenched the bedspread before grabbing the back of my head? Money shot.

I made a short compilation video, overlapping the sound that the mics had picked up. Her heavy breathing intertwined with mine; her moans that she could barely control were a symphony against the sound of my tongue lapping at her clit.

The way the shadows cradled her breasts and the red contoured the shape of her nose and brought out the dusty pink of her nipples? To be honest, it was art.

My dick also agreed. Though honestly, unprofessional on his part.

Chapter 16

Georgia

My thighs were still trembling after I left his house. I felt deliciously spent, and my eyelids were heavy. Counting on one hand (and one finger) of my sexual encounters, this would have been number one. I honestly don't remember the last time I came like that. I felt…powerful. Deep down, I knew he was acting because it was literally his job, but he was good at it.

Giving up just a little control and just doing what I wanted, damn the consequences, felt exhilarating. I was floating to my apartment as I found Hannah all snuggled next to the radiator looking content underneath the soft lighting.

I felt the need to shower, just to digest. I swore I could still feel Wolfe's fingers inside me. Pushing, pulling sensations out of me I hadn't previously known existed. The shower was hot and beat against my body like a drum as I stood underneath it with my eyes closed, my whole body feeling wrung out in the best way possible. Was every encounter going to be like that?

Seeing his…member up close was as terrifying as it was intriguing. My dildos weren't even that thick. They did the job so I didn't see the need to go up a size. I'd never been into large penises; I was more attracted to the people they were attached to, so I just saw them as an extension of the person.

But this person was Wolfe, who literally only wanted me for one thing, and that thing was my body. So I didn't feel that bad for objectifying his dick size when we were just fucking. And fucking for money. I washed the smell of Quinn's room off of my body, the coiling smokey scent of bergamot and lemon. It smelled like him, I found myself thinking. Deep and mysterious, yet refreshing in some odd way.

I shook my head to clear those thoughts from my head; I didn't need to be thinking about Quinn at all. I was doing business with Wolfe, and my neighbor would still be the annoying Quinn, though at least I wouldn't have to put up with the random moans at 11 p.m. anymore. Well, I suppose I would, but in an entirely different capacity: A very enjoyable capacity.

Morning came too soon.I hadn't had that good of sleep in a long time—no nightmares of getting horrible calls about my grandmother or the cat dying. I felt rested and satiated. Blinking blearily up at my bedroom ceiling, I lay there for a moment to process everything that happened the night before.

Since I hadn't slept through my alarm, I allowed myself to actually sit and have my coffee rather than simply dumping it in a to-go cup and rushing out the door. I even made some toast for breakfast, giving Hannah some extra love today as she curled around my feet; she was not used to me being awake this early. The sun came in lazily through my dusty blinds, dancing off the adjoining wall while I drank my coffee. I had these butterflies in my stomach and try as I might I couldn’t wish them away.

I walked to work with a skip in my step, my bag slung over my shoulder containing my laptop. I was determined to get some words down on my novel today, come hell or high water. I didn't have a night shift until Monday for The Grind, so it was just a short shift at Hemingway's.

"Good morning, Emma!" I all but hummed as I set my things down to clock in. I had brought an extra thick hoodie for today just in case it was a "stay on top of the bills, and those include the heating" kind of day.

Opening my laptop next to me, I stopped, and with raised eyebrows, I looked around for my boss. The back door was shut, so maybe she was just in her office. There were no boxes to put away, and only a few re-shelves and a few merch items from a local shirt maker to hang up.

Grabbing a few books whose location I knew as I walked towards Emma's office, I stopped to shelve them properly before I knocked on the door. And knocked again.

"Emma? Are you in there? Just wanted to let you know I'm clocked in." I exclaimed to the closed door. It was odd because Emma hardly ever shut her office door. She said she had an open-door policy, even when I told her that wasn't exactly what that meant.

Without warning, the handle turned, and the office door opened. My smile disappeared as I came face to face with a tearful Emma. She was hurriedly replacing her glasses on her face, running her hands under her eyes as if it would make me believe she hadn't been crying.

"Emma? What's wrong?" I asked, questioning slowly; the only time I had seen Emma cry was when her wife died. She hadn't come in for two months after that but never cried in front of anyone else again. There was always a constant mourning look in her eye, but she never spilled a tear, like her grief was too bone-deep to be expressed by tears alone.

"Oh, Georgia, I'm sorry you had to see that." She sputtered, trembling hands replacing her glasses and smoothing back her short grey hair. "It's just been a hard morning."

I took her hands in mine. "Emma, what happened?" Had someone died? My stomach dropped immediately, my mind going through a list of people we both knew and trying not to let the anxiety hit me before I had the facts.

Emma closed her eyes as if steeling herself to answer me. "I got acall from Bill; he does the books for me." I nodded, urging her to continue. "He was calling to give me what he called a 'heads up'."

My head tilted, confused. "About what?"

Taking a deep breath, the shorter woman explained with a wobble to her chin. "With the rent increasing due to increased property tax, it's looking more and more like Hemingway’s won't last the next six months."

I forced myself to remain calm on the outside, just like I always did. Everything could be fixed; I could fix it. I just had to remain calm and make sure Emma was okay. Swallowing hard at the emotions climbing within me, I shook my head and hugged my boss.

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