When I return to the bathroom, Charlie has shifted in the tub, sitting up straighter, the water lapping at her breasts. Her nipples are hard—from the cooling water or anticipation, I’m not sure. Probably both.
I hand her the toy and settle back against the wall, making myself comfortable. “Show me.”
She takes a breath, then another, working up her courage. Her fingers find the button, and The Detonator hums to life with a low vibration that I can hear even from here. She starts slow, tracing the toy along her collarbone, down between her breasts, circling each nipple until she gasps.
“Lower,” I tell her.
She obeys, dragging the vibrator down her stomach, beneath the water’s surface. I can’t see what she’s doing anymore, but I can see her face—the way her lips part, the way her eyes flutter closed, the way her head tips back against the porcelain tub.
“That’s it.” My voice has gone rough. “Just like that.”
Her hips shift beneath the water, chasing the sensation. A soft moan escapes her throat, and my cock throbs in response. I palm myself through my sweatpants, not hiding it, letting her see what she’s doing to me.
She opens her eyes and looks at me, pupils pried wide with panic and anticipation. “Do you want me to put it in?” Her voice is almost apologetic, as if she’s bad for wanting to be watched.
“Yes,” I say. I want her greedy, I want her ruined.
“Do you want me to use both?” The Detonator is two-pronged, a joke and a challenge, both ends curved like a cartoon villain’s mustache. I can’t believe she’s asking, and I can’t believe how badly I want to see.
“I want you to do what you like, baby.”
Charlie’s hand trembles a little. “I want to try. I don’t know if I can,” she says. “How?”
I grab the bath oil sitting on the tub ledge and pour it into my hand. Understanding where I’m going, she lifts The Detonator out of the water, and I thoroughly coat both heads. I bring my mouth to her ear. “Turn over.”
She blinks at me, skin already slicked with sweat and steam. “What, like?—”
I nod. “Hands and knees. We’ll go slow, okay?”
There’s a beat where I see her hesitate, considering the strangeness of the position, the exposure, but then her eyes flick to my face, and she does it—knees tucked under her, elbows braced on the white porcelain, head bowed. Her ass breaks the surface, bubbles sluicing off and making rivers down the small of her back. I stare openly, shameless, at the way her body curves, the twinge of muscle in her thigh as she steadies herself.
“Beautiful,” I tell her, and she laughs, a nervous edge to it.
“You’re a pervert.”
“You love it,” I answer, and swirl the bath oil between my fingers, warming it. Tightening my fist, I let it drip slowly down her ass crack, and she twitches, a little giggle escaping. “That tickles,” she mutters, but it doesn’t sound like a protest.
I knead the oil in, circling her rim with the pad of my thumb, and she makes a strangled little sound, burying her face in her crossed arms. I keep going, slow and easy, letting her get used to it. When her breath evens out—when I can see the tension start to melt away from her shoulders—I position the toy.
The tip of The Detonator glides between her folds, bumping gently against the swelling flesh there. I watch her back arch, see her knees spread wider for leverage. Charlie’s legs look almost too long for the tub, like she’s trying to outrun her own nervousness. I guide her hand so the toy is right where she wants it, the soft silicone nosing forward.
“Breathe,” I remind her, and she does, a shuddering inhale that echoes off the tile. The first slick inch slides in, and she gasps, her spine flexing like an animal startled in the woods. I steady her hip with one hand, not to restrain, just to show her I’m here.
“It’s intense,” she says, muffled by her arms.
“You’re doing so good, baby. When you’re ready.”
She pushes back on the toy, tentative at first, then with a little more force. The curve of it disappears into her, and she whimpers, head turning to the side so she can see my reaction. I hold her gaze, daring her to keep going.
The second prong hovers above her ass. She bites her lip, uncertain, and for a moment I think she’s going to stop. But then she shifts, lifting her hips, exposing herself to me without any pretense of shame.
“Try it,” she mouths. Barely audible.
I oil the second end again, fingers shaking because I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want her right now, and I can’t afford to lose control. I press it to her, applying the barest pressure, just enough that she knows what’s coming.
Charlie shudders at the sensation, a tremor running the length of her spine. I watch her hands flex on the porcelain—knuckles white, fingers spread, gripping the tub for dear life. There’s no sound but the quiet slosh of water and the hiss of her breath, then a small, startled giggle that surprises both of us.
“Too much?” I ask, already easing off the pressure, but she shakes her head, forehead against her arms.
