The game is chaos—bullets flying, colors strobing, my chat spamming emotes so fast I can’t even keep up. My headset’s slipping over one ear, and I’m hunched in my chair, thumb killing the sprint key, when the office door creaks behind me.
I barely glance up. “Hang on, guys—boss level,” I mutter, trying to keep the panic out of my voice as my health bar plummets.
Then the smell hits me—rich, spicy, unmistakable. Colton’s cigar.
I turn just a little, eyes flicking from the camera to the side—then I freeze.
He’s naked.
Like, not a stitch on. Just broad shoulders, bare chest, and that cigar clamped between his teeth like it belongs there. And yeah—he’s hard. Really fucking hard. Heavy, thick, and swinging with every step as he strolls through the background like it’s any other Tuesday.
The chat explodes:
[chat] BRO
[chat] YOUR MAN IS OUT HERE
[chat] NICO TURN THE CAM OFF OR DON’T
[chat] HELP HIM OUT LMAOOOO
[chat] THE COWBOY GOT THAT LOADED HOLSTER
My heart thuds so hard I nearly throw my controller. “Uh, hold up—guys, gimme a sec,” I mumble, already biting my lip as I glance at him again.
He’s smirking now, eyes locked on mine, cigar glowing as he takes a slow drag like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You gonna keep playin’,” he says, voice all smoke and southern drawl, “or you gonna help out, sugar?”
I mute my mic. My hands are already moving, pushing the chair back, dropping to my knees.
I crawl to him like it’s instinct. My hands find his thighs—rough, warm, strong—and I look up at him, teasing. “Gonna give the internet a real show, cowboy.”
Then I take him in—slow, hot, deep. His cock fills my mouth, heavy on my tongue, and I moan around him. I feel him tense, feel the weight of his hand slide into my hair, gripping tight. He doesn’t move much—doesn’t need to. Just lets me do the work, lets me worship him the way I want to.
The chat is probably going feral behind me, but I don’t care. All I hear is the low, gravelly groan he lets out as he exhales a thick plume of smoke. The scent curls around us, earthy and sharp, mixing with the salty heat of his skin.
“Fuck… Nico…” he growls, voice rough like gravel. “Keep goin’. Don’t stop.”
I don’t.
I press in harder, letting him hit the back of my throat, letting that pressure build. His hips give a shallow thrust and I take it, swallow around him, feel the tremble in his thighs.
And then he cums.
Hot and deep. Thick pulses coat my throat and I take every drop, never pulling back, just breathing slow through my nose, swallowing like it’s second nature. His grip stays tight in my hair, other hand resting on his hip as he lets the cigar hang from his lips—eyes half-lidded, jaw slack, looking every bit the cocky bastard I love.
When I finally pull back, I lick my lips slow, drag the back of my hand across my mouth, and glance at the camera with a grin I know is gonna get clipped.
“Y’all wanted a show, right?”
Muted mic or not, the chat is losing its damn mind. I hear the tail end of a donation chime and some kind of scream-filter echoing through the stream.
Colton just lets out a low chuckle behind me, cigar still burning, smoke dancing in the air like a signature.
“Guess I should walk through naked more often,” he mutters, heading for the bedroom like he didn’t just break the internet.
And honestly? I might let him.
