Good Game (The System, #1) (13)
“And the winner for Streamer of the Year is CeleryGod!”
Everything tightens, the pressure near boiling. I’m seconds away from coming. I reach down to tap her arm, trying to give her some warning. My breathing hitches when her warm mouth closes around the tip of my cock, and I have to stifle a groan. She sucks just the tip as her hand continues to stroke at a quick, pressured pace. Her tongue flicks across my slit, and it triggers my release to shoot through me. I’ve never been more thankful for the mask I’m wearing as I squeeze my eyes shut, riding the high.
As she swallows the last of my release, Stevie laps at my tip, cleaning every last drop. She releases me with a pop of her lips, and I allow a true smile to form. I reach down to shove my dick back in my boxers and feel her move to zip and button my pants. There is a round of applause, and I look up to see CeleryGod making his way off the stage, award in hand. I didn’t hear a word of his acceptance speech, my brain was too focused on the five-star service I was receiving. I quickly bring my hands up to join the applauding crowd.
“And that concludes this year’s Vazer Stream Awards! Thank you for coming!”
Everyone begins to stand up and leave, saying short goodbyes before trying to beat the traffic out of the building. I scan the room, keeping a lookout for any of the journalists who might have their eyes on me, but most of them seem to be rushing out to see where everyone is headed next—and who with.
“Is she planning on staying under there all night?” Jackson stands up and stretches next to me.
“No, you asshole.”
Parker ducks under the table to join Stevie, and I go to pinch the bridge of my nose, only to hit the mask. I feel them rustling around for a minute before they pop out next to me, Parker holding his hand out for Stevie to guide her up. She delicately smooths out the bottom of her dress.
“Just wanted to make sure her makeup didn’t have that I-just-licked-dick look.” Parker winks at me as he tosses a napkin onto the table. The white fabric is slightly stained with red lipstick.
Stevie doesn’t even cringe at the comment. She tucks a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear before giving me a grin, her lips now a dusty red color.
“Well, I hope you all had a lovely night. I know I did.” She gives a half-assed curtsey before spinning on her heels to walk away.
I stand up and grab her wrist, tugging her back to me. Her eyes flash with uncertainty, but when I bring my free hand to her chin, she leans into it, gaze softening. I search her honeyed eyes for answers.
“What’s your name?”
The corners of her lips curve up in a smirk and her body relaxes as she leans out of my touch, tilting back on her heels.
“Stevie.”
Brat. I know that.
“Stevie what?”
I wait for her to continue, but she just chuckles playfully. Tilting her head up, she places a small kiss on the cheek of my mask, hand grazing dangerously close to the bottom of my jaw. Her painted nails trail briefly down the length of my neck. I’m still lost in her whiskey eyes as she quickly twists on her heels and strides away.
“Well, that’s a new one.” Parker links his arms through mine and Jackson’s. “Come on, Syd texted that the car is waiting for us out front.”
I’m in a haze as we head out of the building, barely paying attention to what is going on around us. There are a couple of flashes of light as some of the remaining paparazzi get off last minute shots. It isn’t until I see our black Escalade, our driver Francis standing with the door open, that I start to come to. Jackson and Parker slide in first, and I’m about to follow behind when a small body jolts me to the side.
“Blade, hey, sorry!” I look down to see all five foot nothing of none other than Allison Lee, also known as LoveLee. I smile, even though she can’t see it, and lift my hand to ruffle her mass of black hair.
“Lee, what’s up?”
“I know you are probably going to say no, but…” I let out a groan, and she starts to wave her hands frantically in front of me. “But I wanted to see if I could convince you to come to the after-party.”
“How do you know I’m not already headed there?”
She purses her lips dramatically and frowns, the slit in her brow crinkling. “Because you never go.”
“Well, I can’t be breaking my streak then, can I?” She somehow purses her lips even further, and I sigh. “Look, why don’t we set up a time sometime next week, and we can all stream Frontline Doom: Zombies? I haven’t played Zombie mode in ages.”
“Lee! The car’s leaving, with or without ya!” some girl yells from far off.
“Shit, Deer will totally leave me behind. Okay, Zombies, deal.” She reaches around my waist to give me a quick hug before bouncing off.
I slip into the car with a laugh and close it behind me.
Allison Lee began streaming a few years after me and is the only person I have really brought under my wing. Her popularity blew up three years back, and with that came a lot of scrutiny. She has a solid circle of streamers and creators she is close with now, but it was rough back then. Trolls attacked her for being an upbeat, attractive girl playing video games. She spilled onto the scene with online multiplayer games, a beast at what she knew and a good sport at what she sucked at. When she played well, people accused her of cheating or being carried, and when she lost, they said it was obvious she was nothing more than a pair of tits—which was stupid given that she used to wear the same black anime sweatshirt in every stream. It was a lot for her to handle, a huge mental health toll, and I made a point of streaming with her frequently so that I could tell the shit-stirrers to fuck right off.