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I snap the laptop shut like I've just buried evidence. It's fine. Anonymous. Just me, a silent room, and a toy designed for letting go.
Friday takes forever to arrive.
By 8:40, the building is nearly empty. The guys are in Vegas for a last-minute vendor expo, and somehow my heart is still racing like they're going to jump from around the corner at any moment.
Floor Five is darker than the executive levels, the carpet swallowing my heels as I follow discreet signs toward Testing Suites A–E.
A woman in a black lab coat greets me at the end of the corridor, tablet in hand. Her smile is warm but efficient. “ID Zero-Four-Five?”
I nod, my throat dry.
“Perfect. Follow me.”
The suite she leads me into feels like a secret. There is minimal furniture, and ambient lighting glows soft and golden in the room.
She gestures to a small wardrobe cabinet. “You may leave your belongings here once you have disrobed and we'll get started.”
My cheeks heat. “So I’m supposed to lie back and—”
“Experience it,” the woman supplies.
Then she leaves, the door sealing behind her.
I strip, thanking God for yesterday's wax appointment, and pull on the robe. Beyond the changing area, a crimson velvet chaise waits in the center of the testing room, its seat covered with a protective sheet while the plush backrest remains exposed. Beside it sits a small table with lubricant, a towel, water, and a card stamped with one word:
RELAX.
My heart declines the suggestion.
The console’s indicator light steadies, and a soft chime sounds from the ceiling.
“Test Subject ID zero-four-five, welcome. For this evaluation, the device will begin with a brief automated calibration before transitioning to live operation,” the woman explains through the intercom. “A certified technician will monitor your physiological feedback and control the device throughout the remainder of the session. You may end the test at any time using the emergency stop control beside the chaise. Do you understand and consent to proceed?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. You may begin whenever you're ready. Please open the case and apply the lubricant to the curved head. Insert until the gold ring seats comfortably at the entrance.”
Taking a breath, I release the latch, and the case clicks open. To my utter shock, the BRÉVÉ Étreinte sits nestled inside, matte gray with a brushed-gold ring at the base. Beside it rests a compact mounting attachment designed to connect with the adjustable cradle built into the chaise.
Well, I'll be damned.
Of all the unreleased toys in this building, they assigned me the one I'd told Elias how to fix.
My hands tremble as I fit the mounting attachment into the cradle. The soft click echoes in the quiet room. I adjust the support, my fingers lingering on the cool metal, until everything is secure. A green light glows.
Connection confirmed.
I settle back against the velvet, shifting my hips to find the right angle. The first inch steals my breath; the second unfolds me with a delicious warmth. I rock into it, slow and deliberate, letting the curved head find that spot until the gold ring rests flush against me. A smaller device unfolds from the base with a whisper-soft click, settling against my clit with a gentle, insistent pressure.
“Beginning baseline,” the woman’s voice floats through the intercom. “Calibration will take approximately fifteen minutes. Please relax.”
The first minutes are methodical—shallow thrusts, varying rhythms, pauses for adjustment. I try to focus and catalog each sensation, but my body is already humming, anticipation coiling low in my belly.
A particularly deep setting hits just right, and a soft gasp escapes me. I bite my lip, trying to stay detached, but my thoughts scatter like beads from a broken string. The machine pauses, and I catch myself rocking up into nothing, chasing the sensation.
Okay. So these men definitely know what they’re doing.
By the time her voice returns—“Baseline complete. Transferring control to the operator.”—I've stopped counting the minutes. The device goes still, and I find myself impatient for it to start again.
