“Jacob,” she practically shrieked, “say something.”

He dragged his gaze away from the toy and back to her. “Does it vibrate?”

“What? I think I’ve broken you. You’re broken. Admit it.” She sounded genuinely worried. Looked it, too. She’d sunk her teeth into the plump pillow of her lower lip, and Jacob, still drowning beneath the murky waters of sudden lust, wanted to know if she bit her lip just like that when she came.

“I am so sorry,” she was saying. “I have no idea how I—um, I completely forgot to—Jacob, you should probably put that down.” But her voice wavered on the last word, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

He met her gaze. Arched an eyebrow. Asked calmly, “Why?” And was gratified when she sucked on that bottom lip rather than answering.

He didn’t want to let this thing go. He couldn’t, not right now. He was . . . studying it. Every plastic ridge and vein. Did she feel that, when it was inside her? Did she care about the finer details, or was she just chasing the thick stretch, the snug fullness a toy like this must give? And she’d never told him if it vibrated or not. He hadn’t heard anything through their shared wall—but God only knew when she’d been using it.

Christ, what if she’d been using it next fucking door while he’d been staring at the ceiling, determinedly thinking of anything but Eve’s arse in her jeans and Eve’s hands as she sliced tomatoes and Eve’s mouth, smiling at him? He’d spent half of last night wide awake, playing fucking sudoku, trying to ignore the fact that it was her presence keeping him on the edge. And this whole time she’d been over here with this. He hadn’t even stroked himself in the shower, this last week, because he’d known deep down inside he’d think of her.

Maybe that’s why the voice of reason that usually controlled his actions was growing softer and softer, violently muffled by all his want. Maybe this was exactly what people meant when they used the phrase Tipped over the edge.

“You . . . don’t want to touch that,” Eve managed. She sounded like she was reassuring herself, reciting the rules of Usual Jacob in the face of a Jacob who wasn’t behaving usually at all. “You should’ve dropped it five minutes ago. You—you—it’s a foreign object and you don’t know where it’s been.”

“I know where it’s been,” he said, and his voice came out . . . different. Like the smoke and desire in his head was ripping through his throat, too, coloring every word. He thought about exactly where this toy had been and felt his cock press stiff and fat against the zipper of his jeans, the slight bite of pain the only thing bringing him back to his senses. Back to a point resembling cool control. He had to retain control, because only then could he push delicately at Eve’s embarrassment.