Though I'm starting to suspect he's always watching somehow.
The security cameras I've noticed in hallways and common areas.
The way he knows things he shouldn't know.
The feeling of being observed even when I'm alone.
But that night, I pushed those thoughts away.
I took the vibrator from the nightstand and turned it on.
The gentle hum filled the quiet room, and my heart immediately started racing.
Just the sound of it made me remember, made my body tense.
I pressed it against my palm the way he showed me, feeling the gentle vibration against my skin, remembering how it felt when he moved it lower, when he showed me what my body could do.
Then I lay back on the bed. Closed my eyes. Tried to recreate what he did.
Started with my collarbone, just like he had.
The vibration through my silk pajamas felt pleasant.
Soothing, almost.
Moved it lower.
Over my chest, my stomach, feeling the gentle buzz against my skin through the thin fabric.
Nothing.
Just vibration.
Just sensation without meaning.
No building heat.
No mounting pressure.
No pleasure that made me forget my own name and the Sanctuary and everything except the feeling.
I tried to remember exactly what he did.
The angle he held it.
The pressure he used.
The circles he drew.
Moved it lower, over my pajama pants, to the place where he'd shown me.
Where he'd made me feel things I didn't know were possible.
And—
Nothing.
Not nothing, exactly.
