Surely not. But reality doesn’t stop me from imagining it did, from thinking that maybe watching me open that box would have made something in him tighten, the way it did for me. Watching me see the contents could have led him to imagine me doing something with them.
Running my hands over the toy, I find a tiny indent that must be a button, and I press it. It doesn’t start vibrating immediately; instead, it seems to glow slightly in my hand, warming, the vibration coming on in gentle, lapping waves.
Face hot, entire body pulsing with a mixture of excitement and need, I climb under the covers and keep my pajamas on, slipping my hand with the toy under the elastic of my cotton underwear.
It’s not like Aunt Ruby is going to come barging in here. It’s not like she would care about what I was doing anyway. But being under the blanket and still being dressed, makes me feel more secure.
At first, I have no idea what to do. Slowly, I inch the buzzing toy lower and lower until it sparks something, and I close my eyes, letting out a shaky breath.
Sothat’swhat the vibration is for.
My exhalations come quicker as I settle the toy over myself, marveling at the way it seems to respond to everything… the pressure of my hold, my breathing, even my pulse.
With my eyes shut, the pleasure needs something, some sort of conduit, and I find it in thinking about Dane Rourke.
I definitely shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not professional, and it's not going to make things any easier when I have to see him tomorrow.
And yet, I’m imagining his cutting stare, his deep, commanding voice.
Your desk is on this floor. See to it that you’re present there tomorrow.
So, I picture it—me arriving at my desk, finding him waiting for me. His hands are rough on my hips, pushing me up against the wall. His fingers on my chin, forcing me to look at him, his leg between my thighs, his erection pressing into my hip.
“I need you,” my imaginary Rourke says, and when I gasp, he kisses me, sliding his tongue into my mouth like it’s his to take.I’mhis to take.
“I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I know.”
I gasp, writhing against the vibrations, the waves of pleasure slotting inside me and building up into something more intense. My fantasy spirals into a series of flashes, his hands sliding up the skirt of my dress, turning me around, bending me over my desk.
Or, better yet,hisdesk, in his office, the city gloomy and dark outside, my cheek pressed to the wood as he kicks my heels apart and slides his hand along me, finding me wet and ready for him.
The orgasm crashes over me like a surprise invasion, releasing the fantasy before I’ve even gotten to the good part, not that I would quite know how to imagine it. What would the pressure feel like, of him fucking me from behind?
Even as I come down, hands shaking, an unsteady laugh puffing out of me, I can’t deny the insistent, pressing curiosity inside me. The distant, aching feeling of wanting more. Of notquitebeing satisfied, despite the way the toy made me orgasm.
It’s my desire to knowexactlywhat it feels like to have Dane Rourke like that. It must be what drug addicts feel, craving a hit. It’s like waking up in the middle of the night, bleary andsothirsty, reaching for the water at your bedside like it’s holy.
And I have the sinking feeling that I’ll never be able to satisfy this particular itch, no matter how many of Ember’scompanionsI try out.
Chapter 4
Dane
Sweat drips down my face. Leaning back on the bike, I remove my hands from the grips and grab my towel, wiping before the sweat can slide off my jaw and onto the floor.
My view of the city glitters before me, all shining yellow windows and flashing neon lights from the streets below. Even without the soundproofed windows, I wouldn’t be able to hear the road noise, this far up.
And that’s how I like it—cherry-picking the parts of the city I want for myself. The views, but not the noise. The bustle, but not the filth.
It’s what my parents did, after all, raising me in Manhattan while carefully avoiding streets with garbage, cheap tourist spots, and the unhoused population.
That’s the benefit of privilege, of wealth.
Forcing my thoughts away from my parents before that spiral begins, I lean back into the workout. My thighs are burning, and my lungs are aching with the exertion, while I sweep my gaze over the streets, wondering where Lucy is at this moment.
And how much she’s charged to my credit card.
