“I think,” I tell him honestly, “I could get used to this very fast.”
Then, I stop thinking. I just grab the moment.
“G. Dance with me.”
“No.”
“Come on,” I coax, leaning in. “Just one song. I’ll be gentle.”
He gives me the flattest look known to man.
“Fine,” I say, standing up. “I’ll go alone, but I’m going to look tragically hot out there and you’ll have to live with that.”
I head for the dance floor. The music wraps around me, warm and inviting. I don’t go far, just enough to move with the beat and feel the energy. Another man dances near me, friendly and smiling, but he doesn’t touch me. No one does. I keep glancing back at George the whole time.
He’s watching me, and the look on his face makes my entire focus stutter for a second. I dance for another minute, feeling bold and a little giddy, before I make my way back to the table.
George hasn’t moved. His expression is the same grumpy-neutral it always is, but his eyes are darker.
I slide back onto my stool, a little breathless. Then George reaches into his pocket.
The first pulse hits me without warning.
A deep, rolling vibration blooms inside me, right against my prostate. A low, helpless moan slips out before I can cover my mouth. My knees nearly buckle. I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles go white.
“Fuck—” The word escapes. My drink sloshes dangerously in my glass.
Here’s the thing: I know. And I fucking know I was being stupid.
Earlier tonight George sent me one single growled text telling me to put the anal vibrator in before we left. I’d actually been planning to wear the plug instead—something to keep me nice and prepped for him when we got home, like the eager idiot I apparently am. And I had to be a helpful little slut and left the remote sitting right on the console of his truck, like it was my phone or sunglasses.
Now this evil, smug mechanic is remotely bullying my prostate in public, as if it’s his new favorite stress toy.
George takes a calm sip of his whiskey, acting perfectly innocent. The corner of his mouth tugs as if he’s fighting a smile.
The vibration deepens into a steady, rhythmic thrum. Heat floods straight to my cock. I lean forward, elbows braced on the table, trying desperately to look normal while pleasure rolls through me in heavy waves.
A guy walking past gives a double take, then tosses me a knowing little smile. Another man at the bar glances over, eyebrows raised in clear amusement. They know. They absolutely know.
“George,” I hiss, voice cracking. My breath is coming faster. “You—fuck, that’s—”
George leans in slightly. “Just testing if it works.”
He pulls the remote from his pocket and with his thumb, lazily turns the intensity up another notch.
The setting kicks higher. Stronger, pulsing bursts that make my hole grip greedily around the toy. A tiny whimper escapes me. I try to cover it with a cough and fail.
“Guess it does,” he says, eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. “And it’s got so many fucking buttons. I’d love to push every single one.”
I give him the eye. My tongue feels too heavy in my mouth. I’m almost drooling. My body wants to bend over the table right here, pants down and ass up. I’m pulsing, aching to be spread open and exposed for him—to let everyone see how greedy I am for this fucking toy he’s controlling.
“Mother. Fucker.” I breathe, voice barely holding together.
He just keeps his eyes on me, stubborn.
“It’s fascinating,” he leans further toward me, murmuring against my ear, “how fucking responsive you are. Can’t even hold back with a whole bar full of people. You can barely sit still. You like this, don’t you? Knowing they might see exactly how much your hole is twitching for me right now.”
He pushes another button. The ruthless vibrations intensify. My vision goes fuzzy and I’m fighting with everything I have not to moan out loud. I press my forehead against my fist, trying to breathe through it.
