Page 2 of Cyber Revenge

My arms fall to my side. My chest rising and falling in boneless post orgasm euphoria. I lay there blinking up at the ceiling with a bliss-drunk grin.

“God, I need to get fucked…”

TWO

LYDIA

I’m not streaming tonight.

No camera. No makeup. No performative moaning into the mic for tips. Just me, in a pair of booty shorts and a worn hoodie, legs curled up on my gaming chair and controller in hand, ready to annihilate whoever crosses my path inCall of Duty.

Sometimes, I like the quiet. The chaos without the comments.

I drop into a match and immediately regret not muting everyone. Some mouth-breather with a cheap mic starts yapping as soon as he realizes I’m a girl.

“Oh look, a bitch on the mic. Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen or bouncing on OnlyFans?”

Classic.

“Bet she sucks harder on here than she does on her OnlyFans,” another voice cackles.

I roll my eyes, already reaching to mute the lobby when another voice comes through. Deep. Calm. Dangerous.

“Shut the fuck up.”

It was like being slapped, in a good way. His voice cut through everything. Sharp and low and full of heat.

“You couldn’t hit a shot if she tied herself to your barrel, you limp-dicked loser.”

The entire lobby goes dead silent.

I choke on a laugh and cover my mouth with the back of my hand, grinning like an idiot. The trolls shut up. Game on.

Who the hell was that?

I caught his username,TripsterGuy.No fucking way. It can’t be. Let’s just pretend it’s not because I can’t fucking handle that level of turned on right now. I think to myself as I ignore the thought of the sexy masked man on TikTok.

I watch closely as he takes out a whole squad with precision and zero commentary. He wasn’t flashy. No screaming into the mic, no flexing. He played clean, tight, deadly.

And for the rest of the match, he stayed close. Not obvious. But every time I went left, he was already watching my flank. Every time someone tried to sneak up on me, he was there, cleaning them up with surgical headshots.

Okay, stalker.

But like… the hot kind.

Between rounds, I send him a friend request on impulse.

He accepts, and before I can second-guess it, I invite him to my party.

We end up in a 1v1 lobby next. No words. Just action. Him versus me, and I can’t stop smiling.

He isgood. Like, sweaty good. Smart. Predictive. He moves like he knows how I’d play before I did. It makes me hyper-focused, makes my hands clench on the controller, makes something way too warm and tingly build low in my belly.

Mid-match, I find myself whispering, “You’re good,” under my breath.

His mic crackled on.

“So are you.”

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