"Good."
I slipped my hand into my own jeans. The friction was immediate, a spark jumping the gap. I was still sensitive from Kit’s session, the nerves raw and humming.
"Watch me," I murmured. I started a slow rhythm.
Euan watched. He watched with a focus that felt like being scanned by a laser grid. He didn't blink. He tracked the movement of my wrist, the shift of my hips, the way my breath caught.
"Describe the input," I said. "Tell me what you see."
"Friction coefficient... high," Euan choked out, his voice dropping into a rough growl. "Respiration increasing. Flush spreading across the chest... Orange-red."
"You see the color?" I asked, speeding up my hand.
"I see the heat map," he confessed. "You are... radiating."
"You can touch now," I granted. "Left hand only. The glans. Use your thumb. Circular motion. Match my tempo."
He groaned, his hand flying to himself. He synced with me instantly. When I sped up, he sped up. When I slowed down to tease the edge, he mirrored me, his hips snapping up involuntarily.
"Too fast," I corrected. "Reduce velocity by 30%. I want to see you suffer."
"Zia," he pleaded, sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Input is... overwhelmingly high."
"Suppress it," I ordered. "30% less. Look at me. Don't break eye contact."
He slowed down. I could see the physical strain it took, the tendons in his neck standing out like cables. He was fighting his own biology to follow my spec sheet.
"That's it," I whispered, finding my own rhythm again. "Efficiency. Precision."
I watched him unravel. The systems engineer, the man who labeled cables with poetry, was shaking apart. His lips parted, panting short, shallow breaths.
"Pause," I snapped.
He froze. His hand stopped moving. His hips hovered.
"Breathe," I said. "Reset the buffer."
We stared at each other. The air between us was electric, a feedback loop of control and surrender. I saw the moment his intellect ceded control to his instinct, but his instinct was wired to obey me.
"Again," I whispered. "Full speed. No limiter."
He broke.
His hand blurred. He threw his head back, a guttural sound tearing from his throat—something primal and completely devoid of math.
I chased him. I ground against the seam of my jeans, letting the visual of his surrender push me over the edge.
"Euan," I called out, my voice high and tight. "Now."
He came with a shout, his body bowing violently in the chair, releasing in thick, heavy pulses. I followed him a second later, the orgasm rolling through me like a warm, dark wave, less shattering than Kit’s but deeper, vibrating through my bones.
I slumped back against Alfie’s legs. Alfie let out a long, shaky exhale and rested his hand on top of my head, grounding me.
Euan slumped in the chair, chest heaving, legs splayed. He looked wrecked. He looked liberated.
"Status?" I asked after a long minute, catching my breath.
Euan slowly lowered his head, looking at me through his messy bangs. A slow, crooked smile spread across his face—rare and devastating.
