Dane skirted the rocks near the tide line and came to a halt. A shadow fluttered away from him. Then he bent over, and I realized he was stripping.

“The water’s freezing, you know.”

No answer, but I sensed his grin.

He tossed his jeans aside and dashed off, and I followed. I dropped my pants, kept my bra on. Dane howled when he hit the water and thrashed wildly, a bomb of spray exploding around him. I jumped in on his heels and screamed. Even in the depths of summer, the ocean up north is always cold.

We kicked and flailed and stirred up our blood. Dane swept an arm and sent a wave over my face, and looked very pleased with himself until I dunked him. Our legs locked, using each other for purchase as we wrestled, and in the icy water the warmth of his skin was a shock. He didn’t really fight. His hands lingered on my shoulders, my ribs, feeling me.

I pushed away.

Still couldn’t swim, but I’d learned to float. On my back, facing the vast black lens of the sky, I began to detach from myself. The cramp in my hand and the numbness between my legs felt distant, insignificant. I was as small to the universe as the stars were to me. The Milky Way looked like a scar, a half-healed wound letting the light bleed through.

“Where do you go?” Dane was close, but I couldn’t see him. As he spoke my ears dipped underwater and his voice went ultra-deep. “When you leave the house at night.”

“You’ve been watching me.”

“I’m fascinated with you.”

My wet skin prickled.

On nights I couldn’t sleep, which was often, I’d take the skiff out. From Chebeague to Peaks Island was a good five-plus miles. Depending on the current, I could row it in under two hours. Then a short walk from the shore to Max’s house. By the time I got back home near dawn, my body had evolved past pain to some uncharted territory where I could slice my palm open on the gunwale and not even realize it till I saw the red mess on my clothes.

If my PT knew about this I’d be lectured from here to kingdom come.

“I go for walks,” I said vaguely. “To clear my head.”

“I could clear your head.”

“I am seriously overfucked these days, Dane.”

“Not the way you should be.”

I kicked myself upright, spitting salt water.

Dane stood close behind me, his hips at the waterline. His chest dripped with crystal beads, slick with starlight. He was a gorgeous man, and not for the first time I felt that telltale knot low in my belly. A different arousal than I felt when camming. Not because he was flesh and blood while my viewers were merely grains of light on a screen—it was the unpredictability. The unscriptedness. I didn’t have to play a role, wait for him to tell me what to do. I could step forward right now, wrap my arms around his neck, put my lips on his.

“Morgan.” The water shivered, that black mirror breaking as he moved closer. “You want this, too. I see it when you look at me.”

“What you see,” I said, not moving when his body stopped centimeters from mine, heat bridging the space between us, “is your own reflection. Not me.”

I turned and waded toward the beach.

Dane followed slowly, giving me time to dress. I waited on the rocks. He pulled his jeans on over wet briefs, watching me out of the corner of his eye.

“There’s a meeting Friday,” he said finally. “Frankie wants to expand. She’s bringing in some people to talk about it.”

“Who?”

“Some web guy and some sales shills.”

“Okay.”

“I want you there.”

“Forget it,” I said, standing. “I’m not getting into some power struggle between you two. I’m here to work.”

“It’s not because I don’t trust her. It’s because I trust you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know me. If I see my reflection in you, it’s because we’re the same.”

Now I gave him the side-eye. “So I’m a shady player with commitment issues?”

“And a sexy smile.”

“Don’t even start. Did you miss the sign saying ‘Emotionally Unavailable’?”

“Big words. I read slow.”

Grudgingly, I smiled. Dane smiled back, all boy-devil mischief. My heart gave one hard knock to remind me it was still there. We trekked together up the beach, his gaze on me the whole time, and I thought, If only you were someone else. If only you were that someone.

Dane thought I’d gone to bed. I texted him good night, player and set my phone aside. Then I opened my laptop and switched on the proxy.

We scouted other cam sites religiously, to poach talent and sniff out trends and generally be ruthless motherfuckers. Frankie sussed the competition; Dane and I were too busy jerking off on cam. She’d become the de facto boss even though Dane was an equal partner in the company. It didn’t concern me.

The only thing that mattered was that I knew which sites catered to which fetishes.

It took only ten minutes to find her. “Ariel” was Canadian. I caught a trace of her accent, the curve in her vowels. Her profile described her as a “kinky-ass bi nerd girl.” Short auburn hair and Buddy Holly glasses and a hoop nose ring. In her photo gallery she masturbated with a vibrating Xbox controller. Doctor Who and Firefly posters plastered the walls.

young_rae-z: what kind of games do you play

Dahlz: Read her bio.

sweet_ophelia: do you do breath play, bb?

young_rae-z: who made you mod dahlz

Dahlz: Who taught you how to read? Oh right, no one.

Ariel stretched, her nipples poking through her sheer tee in hard studs. “I play lots of stuff, Young. Right now I’m on a Diablo III kick. You guys like Diablo?” Her voice was nasal, cynical. “Yeah, Sweet, I do breath play.”

I clicked the PRIVATE CHAT button.

When the video stream loaded, Ariel’s smile had changed, no longer ironic but sultry. Her voice slowed. She looked into the lens, establishing eye contact even though she couldn’t see me.

All the usual cam tricks. I smiled.

“Hi, baby. What can I do for you tonight?”

sweet_ophelia: hello, Ariel

sweet_ophelia: are you comfortable choking yourself?

“Sure, I can do that for you, baby.”

sweet_ophelia: thank you

sweet_ophelia: can you call me Morgan, please?

“Of course, Morgan. You’re so polite.”

sweet_ophelia: and you’re beautiful

sweet_ophelia: your eyes are amazing

sweet_ophelia: the perfect shade of green

Just like hers.

“A sweet talker. I lucked out.” She laughed, low in her throat. “Do you want to tell me about yourself?”

sweet_ophelia: no, bb

sweet_ophelia: I’d like you to be quiet now

sweet_ophelia: and take off your shirt

I leaned back in my chair, my thighs spreading. One hand inside my pants. My breath came fast.

sweet_ophelia: squeeze your tits

sweet_ophelia: good

sweet_ophelia: now put your hands around your neck

Dane took the yacht out Friday morning to ferry our guests over from the mainland. In the house, Frankie barked orders at the crew, prepping the dining room for her conference. I grabbed my camera and sneaked out the back door.

Fuck that corporate bullshit. I intended to remain a worker drone mindlessly serving the queen bee. The less I had to think, the better.

Chebeague was a small wooded island ten miles off the coast of Portland, with a year-round population of three-hundred-something souls. Those who wanted more quiet and isolation than the mainland offered, a place to feel away from it all without really being away. Open beach stretched from our front steps to the ocean, but behind the house was a thick quilt of pine, so lush and deep you could walk a dozen feet and feel transported into myth. In the trees the light turned eerie green, pollen sparkling like gold dust. Nymph shadows flickered at the edge of vision. The branches thrived with birds like nerve impulses, swallows in royal and peacock blues, orioles in goldenrod, flashes of intense color. Underfoot the earth was damp and fragrant as coffee grounds.