You hadn’t meant to provoke him. Not really.
But Sunday had leaned in while you were talking — just close enough to brush your arm when reaching for a glass, just amused enough when you said something clever. And you? You smiled. Maybe even laughed — soft, a little too warm. And when you caught Aventurine’s eye across the lounge, his expression hadn’t changed. Not visibly. But you knew better.
He said nothing as the two of you left the crowd. Not even when his hand pressed against the small of your back, guiding you toward a quieter hall. Not even when he pulled you into an unused room and locked the door behind him.
Then his hands were on your hips, turning you around. The remote was already in his pocket.
“You smiled at the man who geased me,” he said softly, like it wasn’t a threat. “You touched his arm.”
You started to respond — but he pressed two fingers between your thighs, and just like that, the slick, buzzing plug slid into place. The click was quiet. The implication wasn’t.
A sharp, perfect pulse buzzed inside you. He adjusted it once. Then again. Slow.
“And you laughed.”
Now, you’re seated beside him at a sleek black dining table with other IPC executives — and Sunday, seated across, still wearing that faint, superior smile. You try to focus on conversation, on appearances, but the soft, building vibrations inside you make it nearly impossible to breathe evenly, let alone speak.
Every time Sunday looks at you?
Click. Another pulse.
Every time you respond?
Harder. Longer.
Aventurine keeps one arm on the table, his other relaxed across the back of your chair. Anyone watching would think he’s perfectly composed — maybe even protective.
But his voice, low and private against your ear, cuts through the static in your nerves.
“You want to laugh for him?” he murmurs, tilting the remote slightly. “Then I want to watch you fall apart for me.”
You flinch, thighs pressed tight beneath the tablecloth. He notices. Smiles faintly.
“Come while he’s looking,” he adds, teeth grazing your earlobe now. “And I’ll decide whether you deserve to sit the rest of the night... or kneel.”