She’d said she’d think about it.

Was she thinking about it with battery-powered help?

Still half asleep but waking up as fast as his dick was hardening, he peeked out into the dark hallway toward Chelle’s bedroom. A narrow strip of light escaped the pug-sized opening between her door and the frame. Holding his breath, he listened to the steady buzzing and tried to convince himself that she was brushing her teeth with an electric toothbrush. That’s all the buzzing was. Dental hygiene was important, and maybe she’d woken up and realized she’d forgotten to brush after their night out.

Then a quiet, needy moan came from her room, and that theory went straight to hell.

Chelle was getting off with a vibrator.

Fuck.

He gripped his doorframe, white knuckling the shit out of that wood rather than his own, because jaysus f’ing christ the mental images flying through his head were basically life-altering.

Her long fingers, nails painted cherry red, wrapped around a shiny silver vibe slipping between her thick thighs.

The arch of her back when she hit that spot—the one that turned her on so much she didn’t even realize her pugs had pulled a Houdini.

The way her lips would part as her breath sped up, then she’d use the tip of her tongue to wet her bottom lip before biting down on it in an effort not to make any noise.

But it would be hard, so fucking hard, because the metal had warmed to the overheated temperature of her wet slit.

Then, she’d slide it inside, lift her hips to meet her thrusts, fuck herself for a while, cupping her tits, rolling her nipples, her eyes closed, her dark hair slipping free of the messy bun she’d had it pulled up in for the night, and just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, she’d dial up the intensity pulses and pull it out. She’d drag it around her swollen clit, dip it back inside, and keep that on repeat, getting herself so close to coming again and again that her nipples would be red and tender from her twisting them as she rode that almost-but-not-quite wave.

And that’s why, according to his very vivid fantasy, she’d lost her control enough for that moan to escape.

But what was she picturing while she played with herself?

Lust, flame hot and as tangible as a fist to the face, blasted through him, knocking the last vestiges of sleep out of his brain. Hell, he might never sleep again, and he was more than okay with that.

There were so many possibilities.

Was it a faceless lover, there to do exactly what she wanted the second she told him?

Was it a group? Male? Female? Nonbinary? All of the above?