‘That’s more like it.’ He glances up through eyelashes that are far too thick and pretty for a bloke. ‘You are exceedingly beautiful when you’re nervous, you know. All quivery and… mmm.’ He leans in and uses his finger and thumb to spread me open for him, and oh my—Jesus, that’s⁠—

I stare down, my breath coming more quickly now, transfixed by how quickly his expression has gone from cheeky to rapt and astounded by how different having a man’s fingers on my flesh feels from having them on my skin.

He tuts. ‘Oh, Marlowe, Marlowe. All this pretending to be such a good, nervy, innocent little thing, when you’re fucking soaked already.’

I’m not. I can’t be. Except that I can feel how slick it is when he slides his fingers through me, burrowing deeper back until he finds my entrance, and then, God, the ease with which he pushes two fingers in is almost embarrassing. There’s a stretch, a burn, of course, but there is definite, undeniable lubrication going on, and I don’t know if it’s that my brain is in denial about how fun it is having a Very Bad Man do Very Bad Things to me or my body is a traitorous little slut.

It’s probably both.

‘Oh God,’ I say, as mortified that he’s called me out as I am happy about this latest development, because that sensation of fullness is really something else, and I have a horrible feeling that if he⁠—

Jesus. His thumb finds my clit, stroking over it far too lightly, and I let out a low, shuddering sound that’s downright pitiful.

Brendan tears his gaze from his handiwork and stares up at me. ‘Looks like we’re unravelling the mysteries of what you like pretty fucking quickly. I feel like Miss Marple.’

I snort at that, but it turns into a groan, because he’s sliding his fingers out and then back in in a fashion that’s as entitled as it is leisurely, his thumb swirling over my clit with not nearly enough pressure.

‘Just found my new favourite fidget toy,’ he tells me. ‘Zoom meetings will never be the same again.’ With that proclamation, he tilts his head to one side, licks his lips so salaciously it’s positively illegal, and leans in to taste me, pulling his fingers out enough to hold me open for him. I mouth a silent holy fuck and screw my eyes shut, because the feeling of him using his mouth on me is sinful and shameful and depraved and so perfectly, disgustingly good that I will actually die if I have to watch it.