OnlyFeet

Kat

Shit. What have I done? I chose money over love. What's wrong with me? Maybe my mom was right. Maybe I am selfish, shallow. Heard it enough times, and now I'm starting to believe it. I'm starting to believe that maybe I'm just... bad.

No.

Fuck that. Fuck her. I know who I am. I would never hurt someone for gain, let alone Raul. My heart. It is a lot of money. No way to ignore that. But I must. I choose to. I love him, and I made him cry. Gently, I place my hands on his wet cheeks and lift his face to meet mine.

"Honey. Listen to me. It *was* one hundred percent about the money in the beginning. I did not lie to you then. I was scared and it felt like something had to be done. And after a while it did evolve. I evolved. I started to feel different. More confident. More fierce. I know you hate hearing this, and I'm sorry, but it made me feel... empowered, in a way I never felt before. For the first time, really."

"That's not true," he mutters, shaking his head.

"It's not your fault. It's something I needed to figure out, or just awaken. Like you telling me you can't share me."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I am. I'm glad you told me. I don't want to share you either. I should've thought of that."

I kiss him softly, and he pulls me in close, his grip tight and reassuring, kissing me deeper. We hold onto each other, our lips colliding like waves that crash and meld together. When we finally pull back, he wraps his hands over mine, still holding his face. Our eyes lock, like that first time we realized we'd found our person. He kisses me again, this time with intention. He brings my body into his and lifts me up. I float with him into the bedroom.

They say great sex is an equalizer. Sometimes that's for better, sometimes for worse, but as we lie tangled in each other atop our lumpy bed, I know we're okay. A sudden _ping_ breaks me out of my thoughts. Another _ping, ping, ping_ reverberates around the room, and I sit up, clutching the comforter around me.

"What is it?" Raul asks, alarmed, grabbing a pillow to cover himself.

I slip off the bed and hurry to my desk, hoping I'm wrong. I'm not. Damn it.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. The livestream is still on. I'd forgotten to shut it down when Raul came home. On the screen are thousands of viewers, flooding the comments with messages and requests.

@reygrey_12 writes, "When's the next show?"

@dredgekin@2, one of my biggest supporters, has donated $2,000 with the message, "Private show sometime? Will make it worth your while."

I almost forget Raul is there until he walks over, pillow covering his body. Shock fills his eyes as he reads the ongoing stream of comments, emojis, and pings, the dollar signs flashing each time another donation comes through.

The session's total donation count at the bottom reads $11,230. And climbing. I glance over at Raul with a sheepish smile.

He stares back, his voice barely a whisper. "No."

The End.