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“It’s nothing. Just personal stuff.” She puts her hands on my chest and tries to hold me back. I could move her with two fingers. I still let her try, because watching her scramble is the most entertainment I’ve had since the swab this morning.

“Simon, stop. It’s nothing, just some personal—”

I reach around her, dip a hand into the box, and come up with a bright pink dildo.

My eyebrows hit my hairline.

Her face goes almost as red as the toy.

“That’s just—uh. It’s just…”

“A dildo?” I turn it in my hand, taking my time.

“Put it back.” She lunges for it.

I hold it up out of reach. “Oh, no. I’m curious.”

That’s when I see the rest. Buried under an old sweater like that was going to save her. Two more vibrators. Something small and bullet-shaped. One that looks like it has opinions. Various sizes. Various intentions.

I look at the toys. Then at Blaire.

She’s got her arms folded over her chest, chin up, face so red she could glow in the dark. It’s more entertaining than it has any right to be. It’s also doing absolutely nothing to help the situation in my jeans. I’ve been hard most of the day from her texts. This might actually kill me.

“Sweet girl.” I can’t keep the shock out of my voice. “These are all yours?”

“Well, would you rather I have been out whoring like you were?”

The snap in her voice would usually make me laugh. The thought of her with anyone else still makes my blood go hot in a way I don’t like. I smile anyway, because she’s bristling like a cat and it’s the same mouth that sent me a semicolon about a kitchen counter at 11 a.m.

“No. I would not have.” I mean that. Completely. “I just didn’t see you as the type to try toys. You used to be so shy about this stuff. Even lube made you blush.”

“Well, I grew up.” She reaches for it again.

“Uh-uh.” I shake my head, looking down at her, a wicked idea slotting into place so fast I almost feel bad about it. Almost. “Get on your back.”

I jerk my chin toward the bed.

“What?” She blinks at me like I just asked her to recite the Constitution.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” I cock my head. “Get. On. Your. Back.”

“Simon, you can’t—”

“Fuck you with my cock is what I can’t do.” I hold up the pink one, turning it so the lamplight hits it. “But this isn’t my cock. No chance of passing on anything nasty from my whoring around. Right?”

Her lips part. Just slightly. Shock, heat, that stubborn flash I have been in love with since I was too young to know what to do with it. I ache to put her on her knees and give her something else to do with that mouth. I don’t. Pending is still pending. I can be good. I can be creative.

“Now.” My voice drops. “Do I need to repeat myself a third time? Or are you going to be a sweet girl and get on that bed?”

She stares at me for a long second. Pulse ticking in her throat. She mutters something that sounds a lot like unbelievable and sits on the edge of the mattress like she’s doing me a favor.

I wait. One brow up.

She huffs, scoots back, and lies down. Staring at the ceiling like this is a punishment she’s being forced to endure.

“Good girl.”

The sound she makes is half groan, half whimper. It goes straight to my dick.