He pulls his fingers out.
Not for long.
Something nudges at my ass. Something firm. Narrow at the tip, wider at the center.
“Oh God,” I gasp. “No. I don’t think?—”
He pauses, leans in, kisses the back of my neck. “I’m bigger than this, Marlowe. But this is your first toy. So relax.”
I try. Really.
But I fail.
He starts pressing again, slow, relentless. I stretch around the plug, the burn intense, teetering on too much, and then suddenly itpopsinside, settling with a narrower stem that my body clenches around instinctively.
“Your ass just closed over the plug,” he whispers, voice rough. “Fucking gorgeous sight. That’s our first toy. We’re going to have so much fun with it.”
“Youare,” I snap, still shaking.
“We,” he corrects, turning me to face him.
At some point, he’s freed his cock. It’s hard, thick, and already lined up, and before I can say a single thing, he lifts me and thrusts into my pussy with one deep, heavy stroke.
I gasp. Panic and arousal collide.
Two things. Inside me.
Him. The plug.
My body trembles around both, my nerves screaming, the climax tearing through me so violently I bite his shoulder.
He presses me against the mirror, holding still as I convulse.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You just had a fucking huge orgasm that wasn’t only from this sweet cunt. Ride it.”
His voice is ragged. I feel his control shaking, too.
“So tight,” I gasp.
“Sofuckingtight,” he agrees. “Jesus, Molly.”
He licks my ear, then kisses me, tongue greedy against mine. Then he starts to move. Hard, fast, dragging moans from me I’d deny in court.
I come again.
But he doesn’t.
When he’s done torturing us both, he pulls out, lowers my feet back to the floor, and grabs his cock in a tight fist until the erection eases enough for him to tuck himself away.
I reach between my legs, hand shaking, to pull out the plug, but he stops me.
“No. Leave it in.” His eyes glitter with devious intent. “Pull up your panties.”
Face burning, ass full, muscles tender and weak, I do as I’m told.
We step out of the curtained-off area. Astra gives us a knowing look that says she’s seen—and heard—everything. There are discreet bags stacked on the counter, waiting just for us.
Declan drops the empty plug box next to them. “This one, too,” he says, paying with his phone.
