Glitch (Next Level Book 1)

“Touch yourself for me.” I lean in and lick my lips before sucking in a harsh breath through my clenched teeth. “Just like that. Be a good little slut and rub your clit. That’s it. Mmm. Just like that. Go faster. Harder. Ffffuck. That’s my dirty girl. Keep going.” I inhale sharply. “Now stop.” My heart’s racing a mile a minute. “Start again. Slowly, slowly. Mmm. You are so beautiful like this. All worked up and dripping for me.” I count down from ten in my head. Ten, nine, eight, seven… When I reach one, “Stop.”

My cell lights up, the screen showing sixteen notifications. Those texts can wait.

“Show me how wet you are for my cock.” I wait a few beats before adding, “Look at you. So perfect and swollen. Ah, ah, ah, I didn’t say you could touch yourself again.” My deep, throaty chuckle rumbles in my chest. “Give me your hand. I want to know what you taste like. Mmm. That’s good. But we can make it better. Fuck yourself with two fingers for me.” I lean back, quietly taking a sip of water and make sure to swallow nice and loud. “God, you get me so hard.” Five, four, three, two… “Stop.”

I exhale a ragged breath. “Look at you. So needy and desperate to come. Do you ache? Do you want to be fucked?” I lick my lips. “If you want to come so badly, let me hear you beg for it.” I grumble another deep laugh. “I like it when you beg. I like it more when you spread your legs like that so I can see everything that’s mine. Damn, that’s a pretty pussy.” I growl deep like a primal beast. “I’m not finished having fun with you yet. Stroke your clit until I tell you to stop.” I count down from three this time. “Stop.”

Leaning forward, my lips nearly brush against the microphone. “Such a good girl. Do it again and don’t stop until you cream.” I suck in yet another harsh breath. Pant a little.

My phone lights up again, distracting me. Damnit.

Hitting a button to stop recording, I snag my cell and answer. “What’s up?”

“We’re just waiting on you, man.”

What time is it? Shit. “Be right there.”

I hang up and tuck the cell into my back pocket.

Leaving the closet that’s kitted out with my audio recording equipment, I saunter down the hall. I live in a three-bedroom townhouse, alone, so I turned one of the extra bedrooms into a gaming room. Three large screens line my desk. Starting my computer, I watch the sides glow in neon colors as it boots up. My ass hits the chair and I tip it back, logging into Discord before hopping into the lobby of our newest game.

“Sorry about that.” I type into the chat sidebar. I don’t like talking into my microphone, especially when Ara is online with us.

“No problem, man. We’ve got all the time in the world for you to get your dick out of your hand.”

I’m going to punch Trey next time I see him. For now, I type back, “It takes two hands to hold my dick.”

“Ugh, stop talking about your swizzle sticks!” This coming from Ara. “Let’s kick some zombie ass!”

“Well, someone woke up and chose violence today,” Trey laughs.

I glance over at my Discord channel and see Ara’s already left me a message.

Ara666: Hot date?

Glitch: Nah, just caught up in work stuff.

Sometimes when I’m recording a script, I lose track of time. Especially when Ara’s the one I’m fantasizing about.  

Glitch: How’s it going?

I don’t care about Trey or Carson waiting. They can play without me. But I don’t like the fact that I might have wasted Ara’s time. She hasn’t been on in a while and never plays long when she is. Her boyfriend takes up a lot of her time.

Lucky fucker.

If she belonged to me, I’d be even worse. She wouldn’t have a spare minute to breathe unless it’s to scream my name while I fuck her, spoil her, and worship her.

Okay, wow. I need to chill.

Ara666: Okay. Been busy. I’m glad I have a night off to play with you guys. I’ve missed hanging out.

Ara and I have a weird relationship. We skate around the personal stuff, which was fine for a while. But I’ve been dying to take the plunge and ask more questions for months. I want to know everything about this woman. So far, even with the chat I keep open between us, she doesn’t really divulge much. Maybe she likes to keep this part of her life drama free.

Glitch: How’s the boyfriend?

His name’s Jason, but I call him Cocksucker in my head all the time. Ara’s usually busy with him, which is one of the reasons she doesn’t get to play with us often.

Ara666: Broke up a few weeks ago.

If she didn’t already have all my attention, she does now. I pull my headphones off and lean forward to stare at those six perfect words. Broke up a few weeks ago. They broke up weeks ago? My heart pounds in my ears.

Glitch: Sad or happy? Do I need to get out champagne or a shovel?

Ara doesn’t answer, and it takes me a hot minute to realize it’s because they’ve started the game without me. I put my headphones back on and turn up the volume.

“Ara!” chirps Carson in a whiney voice.

“Suck it, Carson,” she shoots back.

God damn. Her voice never fails to make me insta-hard. It drips into my brain and pumps hella hot blood straight to my cock. She’s the only reason I have my volume so loud. If I could filter her voice, and only hers, I’d mute the rest of the world.

My cock twitches when she asks, “Why do I always have to carry your sorry asses?”

Carson laughs like a hyena and says something obnoxious back. I can’t stand the pitch of his voice, or how he talks so much shit. He’s a hundred times worse whenever Ara plays with us. It drives me insane.

Trey introduced us to Ara as “one of the guys” when she first started playing with us. He’s not wrong. That woman can sling insults better than most and she never gets her feelings hurt when anyone trash talks. If anything, Carson has probably spent a few nights licking his wounds after she’s handed him his ass.

Ara is a unicorn. The perfect trifecta of a dirty mouth, ballsy attitude, and a beautiful laugh.

I’ve never met her face to face. Never asked what she looks like or what she does for a living beyond “makes art”. And as far as I know, she’s never asked Trey about me either. That’s fine. Distance is good. It allows me to keep the masterpiece I’ve painted of her in my mind going without interference.

And I’m cool with keeping the Discord channel up for as long as she wants. Sometimes it makes me feel like a dog waiting for a little attention, but that’s on me. She hasn’t led me on or done anything to spur this obsession I have for her.

I did this to myself.

Trey respawns and starts shooting again. “You’ve been MIA, girl.”

Trey is a graphic designer. I’ve got my audio gig at night and run a gaming shop during the day. Carson is a photographer with zero people skills who occasionally works with Trey. Trey and I went to college together and he’s the one who has a connection to each of us and is usually the one to bring up touchy subjects first. For once, I’m grateful he has, because I’d like to know where she’s been too. It’s sucked playing without her.

“Aww, did you guys miss me?”

Carson chuckles. “I’m sure someone here has.”

I want to throat-punch him.

Before I type or utter a word, Trey says, “We were worried. Thought you might have moved on to bigger and better.”

Ara’s right on it. “Bigger assholes than you exist?”

“Oh! Shots fired!” Carson laughs.

I wait for Ara to say that her and Jason have broken up. I secretly like that maybe I’m the only one who knows that much. Some part of me relishes that maybe she confided only in me.

Ara doesn’t say anything more. In fact, she’s radio silent. I look over to see she’s not online and turn to Discord.

Glitch: You good?

She doesn’t answer. An uneasy tightness grips my chest.

Glitch: Are you okay?

Ara666: My computer is being a dicktwat.

Ara666: I’m rebooting.

She pops back up soon after. “Sorrrrryyyy! My computer is being stupid, so I moved to my laptop and it’s so slow.”

“What’s wrong with your computer?” Trey asks. Nosey fucker.

“I don’t know. It hates me.”

Trey groans. “You kicked it, didn’t you?”

I can’t hold in my laugh. It’s deep and grumbly, even as I try to keep it quiet.

“Dayem, Glitch,” Ara says, and I can hear her smile. “You’ve got a serious set of pipes.”

“Glitch can set off alarms and start avalanches with his register.”

I hate Carson. Have I said that already? Before I get twitchy, I redirect them. “Alright, alright, get back to the game, fuckers.”

Look, I know some people have a thing for voices—it’s how I make decent cash with my side hustle—but I hate when it becomes a joke. Even if it’s a harmless one. Yeah, yeah, go ahead and eye roll me, but my voice sounds like I’ve swallowed a box of rocks mixed with glass shards. It might be great now, but it sure as shit wasn’t when I was growing up.

As a freshman whose voice dropped before most of his peers, I got singled out a lot.

Want to watch a guy turn into a bully? Threaten his testosterone level.

Students at my school made such a big deal about my voice that by the time I was fifteen, no one called me by name anymore. They called me Deep Throat. I was so mortified, I didn’t have the sense to say anything back. I shut down and didn’t socialize anymore.

Back then, I was awkward and spindly and shy on my bravest day. Once my vocal cords became a source of entertainment and a way to target and treat me like shit, I clammed up and didn’t speak at all. Not to my classmates. Not to my teachers. And not to my grief counselor when my parents passed away.

I spent my high school life with guys hating me, and girls afraid of me. I didn’t find my groove until college, and it’s still shaky sometimes.

“I’ll probably have to take my computer somewhere to get it fixed, but I’m going to try a couple more things on my own first,” Ara says, making my heart run off with my balls. I should offer to fix it for her. I want to. But…

“Come on Ara, pick up your lady dick and quit lagging.”

“If I pick up my lady dick, will you stop tripping over it? Or should I smack you in the face with it to get you to actually hit a target, asshole?”

“She’s not wrong, Carson.” Trey laughs. “You suck at this game.”

I listen while they go on and on, slinging insults and racking up points. I always carry the team when I’m on, so while they run around and do what they can, I do my thing.

“Suck my dick!” Ara squeals as she wipes out a bunch of zombies at once. Then she assassinates both Trey and Carson, because this is a one-player-takes all game.

Everyone starts shooting off at the mouth, screaming and calling her all kinds of names.

Everyone but me.

I want to tear them limb-from-limb for talking shit to her. That includes my best friend, Trey. My hands grip the controller so hard, the case cracks. But it’s her laugh that stops me from following through with the threats racing around in my mind. I loosen my grip on the controller. My heart still races as I ease back in my chair, but I’m no longer seeing red.

If she’s okay with them talking trash, then I’ll try my best to suck it up too. She’s a grown ass woman. If she didn’t like it, she’d shut them up herself. Or leave the game.

“When are you going to marry me, Arabella?” Trey’s register drops when he asks. He always asks her this. It always pisses me off.

“I’d rather suck on a dead pig’s foot than be your wife.”

Fuck. What a woman.

We play until there’s one of us left alive. It’s her. Usually is. Without a word, we start another game. This goes on for another hour—the bantering, me getting mad; me staying quiet. Ara winning. Another game starts up and I keep my eyes on Ara666. Even her name on the side of the screen is pretty.

Jesus, I’ve got it bad.

My cell vibrates my ass cheek, and I reach into my back pocket to snag it. Shit. Knocking my headphones off, I answer my phone and pinch it between my ear and shoulder so I can keep playing. “Hey little dude. What’s up?”

“Can you play Minecraft with me?”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, hang on.” Listen, when my nine-year-old nephew asks me to play a game, I play. Doesn’t matter that I can’t stand the games he’s into. I will jump in and play until his mother tells him he has to shut down his console and go to bed. “Can you give me five minutes?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks, Beetle.”

“Don’t hang up with me,” he says in a hurry.

Uh oh. When he says shit like that it means he’s having a bad day and is clingy. “Not going anywhere.” I finish up the game in silence and sign off, because dropping out mid-game is a dick move and I wouldn’t do that to Ara. The others? Yes. I’d drop them in a heartbeat, but not her.

“Okay, I’m all yours.” I move to play Minecraft in the living room. Listen, building a world with a nine-year old takes forever. The least I can do for myself is get comfortable while I make castles and kill ender dragons. “How was your day?”

Non-Parent Parent Tip: Some kids have trouble sharing their feelings. Give them a controller and a screen, and they’ll usually open up. I’ve seen it a million times over the years. Adults are no different. It’s easier to vent when you aren’t staring someone in the face so they can see your emotions.

And getting kids to open up is important.

Trust me, I know.

Refusing to let my nephew suffer any of the trauma I dealt with growing up, I vowed the day my sister told me she was pregnant that I’d never let him feel alone.

“I got an infraction at school.”

“For what?”

“Hitting a kid.”

“Mmmph.” I drop it for now because I need to tread carefully about subjects like this. I’ll get to the bottom of it, because he shouldn’t be fighting, period. But I also know my nephew wouldn’t do something like that without good reason. “Which realm are we going into?”

“SeaMonster Superdemon.”

That’s the newest one we’ve made with two kids from his school who trash talk worse than Carson. I click on it and wait for instructions. Beetle usually has a plan on what he wants to build next. When he doesn’t say anything, I pipe up with, “Waiting on you, dude.”

Silence.

“Beetle?” I look at my phone and see we’ve been disconnected. Shit. I call back and he picks up on the fourth ring.

“Dude, the f—” Don’t cuss. “You okay?” I can hear him breathing into the phone. These short, angry spurts of air funnel into my ears and I go on high alert. “Beetle, what’s wrong?”

“THEY STOLE OUR STUUUUUFFFF!”

It takes me a few seconds to realize he’s not talking about being robbed in real life but in the game. Awww shit. I look at our world, where our towers use to be, the treasure chests hidden underground.

“They took everything, Uncle Glitch!”

Yes. They. Did.

I want to tell him it’s fine. That it’s just a game. That it doesn’t really matter because we can make a new world. But that’s not true. It’s not just a game, it’s his outlet. It matters to him. He’s spent all his allotted screen time building this world with his brilliant little mind, and I refuse to downplay this catastrophe.

Those two classmates he invited to play and create in his world have destroyed it instead.

“Beetle!” I hear my sister Erin yell in the background. She must have thought he was hurt the way she panicked. I don’t blame her. He’s spitting mad and acting out, which is something they’re working on. “What’s wrong?”

“They stole everything from my fucking world!” he screams at her.

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

My sister grabs the cell from him, and I cringe when she says, “Glitch, you better not be the one to have taught him that word.”

I’m not. But my sister will never admit she has a foul mouth and no filter. Beetle didn’t get the f-bomb from me, that’s a promise, but he might have picked it up at home, or at school. “Wasn’t me.”

Beetle yells angrily in the background.

“Damnit,” Erin sighs. “I’ll call you back.”

“Hey, don’t yell at him, okay? He’s been riding the struggle bus a lot lately.” Worst. Thing. I. Could. Have. Said.

Erin goes dead quiet.

“Shit, Erin. I’m sorry I—”

“Don’t talk to me like you know my son better than me, Glitch.” She hangs up on me and I stare at the TV screen. The pixelated image that once was a sprawling, exciting world my nephew created out of brilliance and patience was destroyed.

Kids are assholes. And now my sister thinks I’m an asshole too. Damnit.

My cell dings. Bracing for a nasty text from Erin, I swallow the lump in my throat and look down.

Trey: Sorry man. It had to be done.

What the—

Another text comes through just as I’m typing a response back. It’s from an unknown number and when I click on it, my heart stops.

Unknown: Hey Glitch, it’s Ara. Trey gave me your number and said you agreed to look at my computer. Thanks so much for this. I’ll do anything to get this baby up and running again. When and where can we meet?

I read it three times.

I can’t breathe.

Of course, I’ll look at her computer. I was going to offer on our Discord channel privately—because I hate when other people get all in my business—and she’s not paying me a dime for anything I do for her.

Still, I’m pissed at Trey. He’s trying to shove us together when I’d rather do this my own way.

Trey: You can thank me later.

He thinks he’s done me a favor. He has no idea Ara and I chat privately on Discord sometimes, but really, what has that gotten us? Nowhere in months. We’re too cautious, too generic, and safe. Too filtered and buffered. And she’s been too taken by someone else.

Until now.

I keep opening her text to send an answer and closing it before I do.

Open. Close. Open. Close.

This is why my sister started calling me Glitch when I was a kid. If I’m not in control, my wires cross and brain fritzes. I lose all chill. Get stupid really fucking fast. Damn Trey for this.

Popping open the text again, I’m so mad my thumbs fly across the screen.

Glitch: I’m going to wrap my hands around your throat and squeeze until you see God.

I smash the send button, realizing my mistake too late. FUCK!

I sent the message to Ara, not Trey.