Chapter 39: First Filming 🌶️🌶️

I wake up without a sound.

Didn’t even need the alarm. My eyes just snap open, heart still heavy from some dream I can barely remember. I’m wrapped around her—Emma. Her back against my chest, her breath slow, calm, steady.

She’s still asleep.

I don’t move.

Just lie there, watching her—her cheek buried in the pillow, hair a mess, lips slightly parted. She’s beautiful like this. Like none of this is twisted. Like we’re just a normal couple.

I can still feel her warmth pressed into my stomach, the shape of her hips resting in my hands. I barely dare to breathe too loud. I just try to hold on to the moment.

Because I know I’m about to let it go.

I reach over and grab my phone from the nightstand.

6:42 AM.

I let out a quiet breath.

I know if I wait for the alarm, I won’t have the guts to move.

So I sit up. Slowly.

I ease myself out of her arms. She stirs a little, lets out a soft groan, then settles back into the sheets. I give her one last look.

Just one.

Then I step out of the room. Barefoot. Stomach empty. Head a mess.

And the second I pass the door, the cold hits me.

Down my spine. And deeper than that.

The professor’s talking. I’m not hearing a word. Everything just slips through me. My eyes are on my laptop, but my mind’s still back in that bed—with her. Her skin, her warmth, her fingers drifting across my chest.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

Emma.

I slide it out discreetly under the desk. Screen lights up. One notification.

Emma (text): “Officially the best night of my life.”

I barely smile. But my heart’s already beating faster.

New ping.

A photo.

I open it.

She’s half-sprawled across the bed, her upper body dangling over the edge, legs tucked under her, ass raised high. No panties. Just her bare skin—tight, curved, offered. Soft lighting. Perfect angle.

Emma (text): “Too bad you didn’t fuck me from behind...”

I freeze. The image slams straight into me. My stomach clenches, my cock gets hard instantly.

I type fast.

Me (text): “Fuck ... I dreamt about that all night.”

One second later, a new message. One line.

Emma (text): “From behind ... behind? 😏”

My heart jumps. My face heats up. My hands start to shake. Blood rushes down hard. My jeans feel too tight. I’m on fire.

And I’m still in class.

Everything around me looks normal. But in my head? She’s on her knees, back arched, ass spread—waiting for me. And she knows exactly what she’s doing.

I shove my phone away like I just did something wrong. Like someone might’ve seen it. Might’ve seen everything.

I stare at my screen but don’t register a single thing. My breath is slow, tight. And all I can think about now ... is tonight.

Because after what she just sent me?

There’s no way I’m letting that image go.

Not anytime soon.

I’m outside with Jack and two other guys. We’re perched on a low wall in the sun, everyone holding a sandwich or something sweet. Talk’s all about sports, finals, summer break. Normal shit. No tension.

Right in the middle of it—my phone vibrates.

I slip it out discreetly, screen facing me. It’s her.

Screenshots. Messages. The poll results.

I start scrolling. And yeah ... it hits hard.

Comment after comment, all of them explicit as fuck.

“You clearly like being dominated, so stop pretending. Show us what he really does to you.” “We wanna see. Even just his hands. His cock. Something.” “Swear to God—if you say it’s your brother, I’m subscribing for life.”

And the DMs go even further.

People asking for duo content. Audio. Movements. Proof.

I read through it all, breath getting tight.

Jack cracks a dumb joke beside me, everyone laughs. But I’m frozen there, phone in hand, screen spitting fantasies in my face like a slap.

I type fast.

Me: “You know some people are gonna freak out, right? Don’t push it too far.”

She replies immediately.

Emma: “Too late. I already announced a video for tonight.”

My jaw tightens. My heart starts beating harder.

A video?

I stare at the message, trying to stay calm.

Fuck. That’s not nothing.

I hesitate to text her back, but the screen lights up again. New message.

A photo.

Selfie. She’s pouting slightly, lips pressed together, eyes looking down.

And the caption:

Emma: “Okay, maybe that was a bit much ... are you mad at me?”

Another one pops up almost instantly:

Emma: “Maybe I deserve a punishment tonight...”

Emma: “Maybe I deserve it in the ass tonight...”

I freeze, screen still in hand. My stomach knots.