Page 8 of Thirst Trap

The city was quiet, wrapped in frost. The kind of late winter night where even the stars seemed to hold their breath. Lucas Creams sat alone in his penthouse, lights off, shadows stretching across marble floors. His tie was loose. His sleeves rolled. A half empty glass of bourbon sat untouched on the table beside him. He’d just returned from another boardroom soaked in bullshit.

Everyone talked to him like he was power, like he was danger, like he was legacy.

No one looked at him like he was Lucas.

So he opened the app.

@helmetdaddy_xo.

Still anonymous. Still new.

His third shirtless video had just gone up hood over his eyes, the flex of his jaw lit only by a flickering candle. He’d whispered into the mic like a confession:

“Some of us were built to be watched.”

A hundred likes. Twenty DMs.

Most of them are thirsty. All of them empty.

Then he saw it.

@booklover69.

“So, you’re the problem my vibrator warned me about.”

Lucas choked on his drink.

He opened her profile.

No real name. Just a cartoon avatar and a bio that read:

‘Size 16, big mouth, bigger imagination. I write things that could get me arrested.’ Her first photo was a cleavage shot. The second was a book next to a wine glass with the caption: “This wine tastes like bad decisions. Like texting you.”

He stared at it too long.

And then

Ping.

“I’m not usually into mystery men. But you’ve got villain origin story energy. I’m into that.”

Lucas leaned back in his chair.

And for the first time in what felt like forever…

He smiled.

He typed back, hesitated , then hit send.

“You should be scared of what I’d do to you.”

Within sixty seconds:

“Oh, I am. I’m also extremely turned on. So, what now?”

He didn’t sleep that night.

He stayed up rereading her messages, watching her stories, stalking every word she’d ever posted. It wasn’t just the way she flirted, it was the way she saw him. Like he wasn’t just some empty rich boy with a body and blood on his hands.