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The coffee had soaked through more than just the singlet.

When Veronica stood up, I could see the dark patch had spread down the front of her track pants as well, the fabric clinging to her thighs. She made a face and plucked at the material.

“Great,” she muttered. “I’m basically wearing coffee now.”

I stepped in without thinking and reached for the hem of the singlet.

“Let me help,” I said quietly.

She lifted her arms without hesitation. I peeled the wet fabric up and over her head, slow and careful. The singlet came away with a soft sound, leaving her topless in the middle of the kitchen. Her skin was still a little flushed from the hot liquid, and small droplets of coffee traced paths down the curve of her breasts and stomach.

She didn’t try to cover herself. She just stood there, small and curvy and completely at ease with me seeing her like this.

I dropped the singlet on the counter and hooked my fingers into the waistband of her track pants.

“These too,” I said.

She nodded. I pushed them down her hips and she stepped out of them, leaving her in just a pair of simple black underwear that were also slightly damp at the front. She kicked the pants aside and looked up at me.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

I grabbed a clean tea towel and gently wiped the remaining coffee from her skin, moving the cloth over her stomach, the underside of her breasts, and down her sides. She stayed still and let me do it. The moment felt strangely intimate — not rushed, not purely sexual, just… careful.

When I was done, I handed her one of my hoodies from the back of a chair. She pulled it on without complaint. It swallowed her frame completely, the sleeves hanging past her hands, but at least it was dry and warm.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go find out what we’re actually dealing with.”

We moved to the couch. Veronica grabbed her laptop from the coffee table and opened it while I sat beside her. She didn’t bother putting on more clothes underneath the hoodie. She just tucked her bare legs under herself and pulled the laptop onto her thighs.

It didn’t take long to find.

Someone had clipped a section of the stream — not the full thing, but enough. The part where she was riding me in the chair, hoodie pushed up, talking to the camera. The audio was clear. Her voice, my hands on her body, the wet sounds, everything.

We watched it in silence.

Seeing it from the outside was different. More raw. More real. I could see the way her body moved, the way she looked at me when she wasn’t performing for the lens. I could see myself gripping her hips, thrusting up into her. The angle made it obvious it was me — my build, my hands, even part of my face when I leaned in to kiss her.

Veronica didn’t flinch. She just watched it once, then closed the tab.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “So it’s out there. Not the whole thing, but enough.”

My phone buzzed on the table again. HR. I stared at Sarah’s name on the screen.

“I need to call them,” I said.

Veronica nodded. She reached over and squeezed my hand once, then picked up her own phone.

“I need to call the platform back too,” she said. “They’ve probably got questions about policy violations or whatever.”

We sat there for a second, both of us holding our phones like they were live grenades.

She looked at me.

“Want to do it at the same time?” she asked. “Or one after the other?”

I let out a slow breath.

“Same time,” I said. “Might as well get it over with.”

She gave me a small, tired smile and unlocked her phone.

I did the same.

We sat side by side on the couch — her in my hoodie and nothing else underneath, me still in yesterday’s clothes — and made the calls that were going to decide how bad this was about to get.

Neither of us knew what was going to happen on the other end of those lines.

But at least we weren’t doing it alone.