The cabinet door was still attached when Omar arrived, although attached was doing generous work.
It hung low on one corner beneath the kitchen sink, twisted just enough that the top edge no longer lined up with its neighbor. Cassidy had solved the slamming problem by folding a dish towel into a thick square and wedging it between the door and the face frame.
Omar looked at the cabinet. Then at Cassidy.
"It works," she said.
"It's a towel."
"It stops the murder noise."
"That isn't the same as working."
"Agree to disagree."
He set his tool bag beside the sink.
The apartment smelled stronger than he remembered—not different, just stronger.
Cassidy's place had always carried its own atmosphere: food, laundry, warm fabric, skin, old sex, the accumulated bodily smell of someone who had no interest in making her home smell artificially clean. Today all of it seemed to have thickened.
The afternoon was warm. The windows were open without accomplishing much. Sweat sat closer to the surface of everything.
Omar inhaled once before realizing he had done it deliberately.
Cassidy noticed.
"I know."
He glanced at her. "Know what?"
"That I smell insane."
"I didn't say anything."
"You did with your face."
"I didn't make a face."
"You absolutely made a face."
She sounded pleased rather than embarrassed.
Her clothes made pretending not to notice her nearly impossible.
The top had once been a T-shirt. Cassidy had cut it so short that the ragged hem stopped above the lower curve of her breasts. Underboob showed even while she stood normally, with no bra and no effort to make the exposure happen.
It simply did. Her shorts had the opposite problem: they were enormous.
Old athletic shorts several sizes too large, cinched just enough at the waist to remain technically attached to her. The leg openings hung wide enough that every movement changed what they covered.
She shifted against the counter. A dark thong strap appeared. Another shift showed pale hip.
When she turned toward the sink, the loose fabric opened at her inner thigh and exposed a patch of dark natural hair.
Cassidy followed his eyes downward.
"I started doing laundry."
Omar waited.
"And?"
"I got distracted."
"You're wearing shorts."
"They were on top of the laundry."
"That explains everything."
"Thank you."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I'm taking it as one."
He crouched in front of the cabinet before his attention found somewhere less defensible to settle.
The door slammed the moment he pulled the towel free.
Cassidy pointed.
"Murder noise."
"Yes."
The upper concealed hinge had almost no damping resistance left. Omar opened the door, released it, and watched the soft-close mechanism catch for half a second before giving up.
The lower hinge still had some resistance but too much play at the cup and mounting plate.
He rocked the door gently.
"These are both getting replaced."
"Both?"
"If I replace one, they'll behave differently."
"That's bad?"
"It'll annoy you every time you close it."
"I'm incredibly tolerant of annoying things."
Omar looked around the apartment. Cassidy followed his eyes.
"Rude."
He smiled.
The mounting screws were still holding. Some old swelling remained in the cabinet side from the earlier leak, but there was enough sound material for new hardware.
Omar crouched lower. His shirt rode upward. His work pants shifted with him. Cassidy stopped talking.
He stayed focused on the hinge for another second before the silence became too specific.
Then he looked over his shoulder. She wasn't looking at his face.
A narrow V of lace had risen above the back of his work pants. The thong straps climbed his hips before disappearing beneath the waistband.
Cassidy's gaze stayed there half a second too long. Then she looked up. Omar recognized the maneuver immediately.
He had been performing versions of it around her for several visits.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That was definitely something."
Cassidy reached for the faucet as if she had spent the entire conversation intending to turn it on.
"The cabinet still smells."
Omar watched her another beat. Then let her escape.
"What smells?"
"The mildew thing."
"That should've faded."
"It didn't."
The lingering smell mattered more than the hinge.
"Move the stuff out."
Cassidy crouched beside him and started unloading the cabinet. Trash bags. Dishwasher tablets. Two cleaner bottles. A hardened sponge. A grocery bag filled with other grocery bags. Omar pointed at it.
"Essential equipment."
"Extremely."
Once the cabinet was mostly clear, he ran the faucet.
No drip. He opened both taps harder. Still dry.
He filled the basin halfway, pulled the stopper, and watched a full load of water rush through the disposal and trap.
Nothing. He ran the disposal. The motor came up smoothly. Every repaired joint stayed dry.
He wiped the fittings with a rag and checked again.
"Plumbing's good."
Cassidy leaned closer.
"You sound smug."
"I'm allowed to be smug when my repair is still working."
"How long does the smugness warranty last?"
"Ninety days."
"That feels short."
"It's transferable."
She laughed. Omar pressed his thumb against the cabinet floor. The particleboard moved. Barely. Enough. He pushed harder.
It yielded with the unmistakable softness of material that had absorbed too much water and never recovered.
He scraped the surface with the end of his screwdriver.
A chunk flaked loose. Cassidy recoiled.
"Oh. Ew."
"There's your smell."
"That?"
"The leak got fixed. The board didn't."
Another scrape exposed darker, deteriorated material beneath. The mildew odor sharpened. Cassidy wrinkled her nose.
"Get rid of it."
"I need to see how bad it is."
"Show me."
She dropped onto her knees before he could answer. Then onto her hands. The shorts failed immediately.
One wide leg opening climbed upward. The waistband shifted lower. Her thong showed fully across her hips, and dark hair escaped around the narrow fabric at both sides.
Cassidy pushed her head and shoulders beneath the sink. Omar looked away. For perhaps two seconds. Then he looked back. Her ass filled the opening beneath the cabinet. Something dark flashed beneath the thong. Omar stopped. Purple. A jewel.
But not the little purple plug he had seen lying on her floor during that first repair.
This was something else entirely.
The visible face alone looked close to three inches across.
The thong crossed part of it, but the faceted edges extended beyond the narrow fabric on either side.
Cassidy reached farther beneath the sink. Her hips moved. The oversized shorts slipped farther across one cheek. The entire jeweled base came into view.
Omar became abruptly conscious of the much smaller plug inside his own body.
The comparison was almost absurd: his was familiar enough that he could sometimes forget it was there, while Cassidy's looked like something requiring an entirely different level of preparation and experience.
"Where?" she called from beneath the sink.
Omar blinked.
"What?"
"The bad spot."
"Back left."
She shifted farther. The jewel moved with her.
Omar's attention followed before he dragged it back toward the cabinet.
Cassidy pressed the damaged floor.
"Oh."
"Feel that?"
"That is disgusting."
"Yes."
She pushed again. Her hips rocked slightly with the motion. Omar looked.
He was looking, and there was no point pretending otherwise.
Someday.
The thought arrived before he could stop it. Then another followed close behind: Maybe she could teach me.
That one landed harder. Cassidy knowing how far to push. How slowly.
How to work him toward something larger without crossing the point where challenge became too much.
Omar stared at the deteriorated cabinet floor until the image lost some of its force.
"The bottom panel needs replaced."
Cassidy backed out. Her shorts remained mostly useless.
"The whole thing?"
"Yes."
"Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"Then do it."
"I need material."
Her expression fell.
"You have to leave again?"
"I came here for hinges."
"And found surprise cabinet surgery."
"Basically."
Omar pulled out his tape. Interior width. Depth. Pipe locations. Disposal feed. Supply penetrations.
The old floor would have to come out in pieces. The new one would need to go in as two sections around the existing plumbing.
He saved the measurements. Then removed one hinge for matching.
"Two hinges. Exterior plywood. Support cleats. Screws. Sealant."
Cassidy nodded as if he were reading ingredients.
"Will it make the smell go away?"
"If that floor is the source."
"It is."
"You seem confident."
"I hate that smell."
Omar glanced at her. Cassidy scratched one thigh. Then sniffed herself.
"Seriously. It's insulting."
"What is?"
"The mildew."
She looked toward the cabinet.
"I haven't even showered since before that custom."
Omar paused.
"What custom?"
She stared at him.
"The insane one. Before you ever came here."
He mentally counted backward. Stopped.
"That was..."
"Yeah."
"You haven't showered since then?"
"No."
She offered no apology or dramatic confession. It was simply a fact.
"I've washed parts."
"That is not a shower."
"I know what a shower is."
"Checking."
"I don't want one yet."
She shrugged.
"I like the way the apartment smells when it smells like me. Mildew is ruining the composition."
"The composition."
"Exactly."
Omar bagged the old hinge.
"I'm going to the store."
"If I don't answer, knock twice."
"You said that before."
"I'm saying it again because I'm probably putting headphones on."
"Door unlocked?"
"Yep."
He headed for the door.
"Take your time," Cassidy called.
Omar looked back.
"Normal amount of time," she amended. "Not six hours."
"I know how hardware stores work."
"Famous last words."
The hinges took less than ten minutes. Same thirty-five-millimeter cup, overlay, opening angle, and mounting pattern. The plywood was another problem.
The lumber aisle was blocked by yellow barriers while an employee operated a lift overhead.
Omar waited. Checked the time. Walked off for sealant. Picked up screws. Found narrow stock he could rip into cleats. Returned. Still blocked. An employee told him ten minutes. It was closer to twenty-five.
Omar leaned against a rack of baseboard while customers detoured around the closure.
His mind became increasingly unhelpful. Cassidy looking at the lace above his waistband.
The way she had been just slightly too slow to look away, the sensation of being studied, then the giant purple jewel beneath her thong and the impossible difference in scale.
Someday. Maybe she could teach me. He didn't argue with either thought.
His sexuality, the plug, and the underwear all predated Cassidy.
What was new was being noticed—being looked at. That kept returning to him.
When the aisle finally opened, he chose half-inch exterior-grade plywood and waited again at the cutting station.
By the time he loaded the cut material into his van, the simple parts run had consumed most of an hour.
He closed the rear doors. Stood in the parking-lot heat.
Allowed himself one last memory of Cassidy beneath the sink.
Then drove back. Music was thudding through her apartment door. Omar knocked twice. Nothing. He waited. Knocked again. Still nothing. The door was unlocked exactly as promised.
"Cass?"
No response. He stepped inside. The smell hit him immediately. Fresh sweat now sat on top of everything else.
Her already powerful bodily scent had deepened through exercise and heat.
Omar set the plywood against the wall and followed the music.
Cassidy had moved the coffee table. A yoga mat lay crooked across the living-room floor. She was folded forward over it. Headphones on. Still wearing the same clothes. The tiny cutoff had ridden higher during the movement.
The oversized shorts had migrated almost completely onto one hip.
The thong showed. Natural hair escaped around it.
And every time the shorts shifted, Omar caught a flash of the same enormous purple jewel he had seen beneath the sink.
Cassidy rolled slowly out of the fold and transitioned into another stretch.
The shorts moved. Purple flashed again. He remembered her bedroom.
The ring light, the camera, and the abrupt change when Cassidy had shut everything off and the room had become ordinary again.
This was even further from performance than that: no camera, no audience, no reason for her to care what anybody thought she looked like.
Just Cassidy moving through her own apartment because she had gotten bored.
Somehow that made watching harder to stop. Omar stood there. He knew he was watching. He let himself. Eventually Cassidy opened her eyes. Saw him. Pulled one headphone aside.
"You're back."
"Yes."
"You took forever."
"Lumber aisle."
"The whole aisle?"
"Lift."
She rolled onto one side.
"How long were you standing there?"
Omar paused.
"Not long."
Cassidy smiled.
"You liar."
"I knocked."
"I had headphones."
"You told me to come in."
"I know."
She sat upright. The shorts remained crooked. The jewel flashed again. Cassidy noticed where his eyes went. She looked over her shoulder.
"Oh."
Then did absolutely nothing to fix it. Instead she stood.
"Did you get my stuff?"
"I got your stuff."
"My hero."
"I bought plywood."
"My plywood hero."
Omar picked up the materials.
"I'm making noise now."
Cassidy gestured around the apartment.
"Improve the ambiance."
Demolition came first. Drop cloth. Oscillating tool. Fresh wood blade. Safe cut lines marked well clear of the plumbing.
The first section of old cabinet floor came out mostly intact.
The second crumbled at the edges.
As soon as the interior opened, the mildew smell intensified.
Cassidy returned from the living room.
"Oh my God."
"That answers the question."
"Kill it."
"Working on it."
He carefully cut around the drain, supply penetrations, and disposal feed.
Removed the final sections. Vacuumed. Scraped loose fiber. Inspected the framing beneath. Stained, but sound. Good.
He cleaned what remained and cut narrow support cleats for the perimeter.
Cassidy stood in the doorway drinking water.
"I like this."
"The demolition?"
"The part where something broken gets progressively less broken."
"That's usually the objective."
"You say that like it isn't magic."
"It's screws."
"Magic screws."
He ignored her. Measured. Marked. Cut. Dry fit. Remove. Trim. Fit again.
Because of the plumbing, he divided the new cabinet bottom into two sections.
The first settled into place. The rear needed another adjustment. Omar trimmed it. Dry-fit again. Good.
He sealed the exposed edges and positioned both sections over the new cleats.
The rear piece required an awkward reach. Knees first. One hand. Then both. His upper body disappeared beneath the cabinet. His work pants tightened across his hips. His shirt rose. He knew what that probably meant. Then Cassidy went quiet. He recognized that silence immediately now. Omar drove one screw. Reached for another.
"Okay," Cassidy said.
He stopped.
"Weird question."
Omar backed out far enough to turn. She held her water with both hands.
"What?"
Her eyes dropped toward his pants. Not the waistband this time. Lower.
"Are you wearing a butt plug?"
Omar stared at her.
"Yes."
Cassidy nodded.
"I thought so."
"You thought so."
"The shape."
She gestured toward him.
"Earlier I saw the thong. Now I can see something else through the fabric."
Omar sat back on his heels.
Now that she had named it, he became acutely aware of the small hard pressure inside him and exactly where the base must sit beneath his work pants.
Cassidy looked again. She didn't pretend otherwise.
"What color?"
"Purple."
Her smile came immediately.
"Of course."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing."
"You said it like it meant something."
"Purple makes sense."
"That is not an explanation."
"I'm comfortable with that."
Omar shook his head. He started turning back.
"So the underwear."
He paused.
"What about it?"
"Thong?"
"Yes."
Cassidy made a satisfied little noise.
"I knew it."
"You saw two inches."
"I have excellent instincts."
"You apparently study underwear professionally now."
"I contain multitudes."
Omar laughed. Cassidy leaned against the counter.
"So you've been fixing my cabinet in a thong and a butt plug."
"Yes."
"That is genuinely delightful."
He looked back at her. She meant it.
What affected him wasn't approval; he did not need approval. It was the attention.
She had noticed. Remembered. Connected the clues. And now she wanted details.
"How long?" she asked.
"Years."
"The plugs?"
"Yes."
"The underwear?"
"Yes."
"Before me?"
Omar gave her a look.
"I know," Cassidy said. "I'm asking because I want to know."
That killed the sarcastic response forming in his mouth. He finished securing the rear panel.
Cassidy waited without nervously filling the silence or demanding an answer. Just curiosity.
Omar backed out and wiped the sawdust from his hands.
"There isn't some big story."
"I didn't ask for one."
"I know."
He looked at her.
"I like them."
"The plugs."
"And the underwear."
"Other stuff?"
"Yes."
Her eyebrows lifted.
"How much?"
Omar considered.
"There's a drawer."
Cassidy froze.
"A drawer."
"Yes."
"A whole drawer?"
"Yes."
"Of what?"
"Things."
Her eyes narrowed.
"That is an infuriating answer."
"It is also accurate."
"I hate accurate answers."
"You hired a handyman."
"That's fair."
She studied him. Omar let her. Her gaze moved across his face. Down. Back up.
There was something disorienting about suddenly being the subject of her attention after spending so much time managing his own.
He discovered that he liked being the subject of her attention—specifically hers, a distinction that mattered.
"You realize I have questions now."
"I assumed."
"Many."
"I also assumed that."
She grinned.
"Can I test the cabinet door?"
"It doesn't have hinges."
"Oh."
"Important component."
"Debatable."
The hinges were faster. Omar installed the matching pair. Rehung the door. Adjusted height. Depth. Side-to-side alignment. Cassidy crouched beside him.
Close enough that the heat from her body reached him.
Close enough that her scent became immediate again. He kept one hand on the adjustment screw. Quarter turn. Check. Another. Open. Release.
The hinge caught the door through the final few inches.
Silent close. Cassidy opened it. Released. Again. Omar looked at her. She opened it a third time.
"Don't judge me."
"I didn't say anything."
"You did with your face."
"Apparently my face is a separate person."
"It has concerns."
The door settled silently.
"Satisfying."
"The bottom needs one more check."
He ran the sink. Filled it. Drained it. Ran the disposal. Every connection remained dry. The new floor stayed solid. Cassidy dropped onto her knees.
"Move."
"What?"
"I want to smell it."
Omar shifted aside. Cassidy crawled forward. Her shorts slid almost immediately.
One loose leg opening caught against the damp skin high on her thigh, clung there for a second, then slipped farther up as she moved. The fabric on the other side sagged away from her completely.
The thong showed. So did the huge purple jewel.
Omar looked. This time he did not bother pretending he was checking the plumbing.
Up close, the plug no longer looked decorative in the clean, staged way it had from across the room. She had been wearing it for hours. Through heat. Through yoga. Through crawling around her kitchen. The facets were still purple, but the surface had gone slightly dull beneath a film of sweat and skin oil. A faint greasy sheen of lubricant caught along the edge of the base. One dark strand of body hair had stuck against the damp skin beside it. Where the jewel met her body, a thin line of brownish cream had worked its way up around the base, staining the fabric of her thong where it crossed the plug. Along the lower edge, darker tacky residue had collected where the base rested against damp skin.
Cassidy's lower back shone with sweat. The crease beneath her ass was damp. The backs of her thighs looked tacky where skin had been pressing against skin, and some of the hair along the edges of her thong had flattened into darker little curls. The thong itself had twisted sideways from yoga, the narrow band riding up on one side so that the fabric dug into her flesh at an angle. A dark patch of moisture stained the fabric where it pressed against her.
The sight hit Omar harder than the cleaner first glimpse had. He knew what hours of wear looked like. He knew the dull film on the jewel, the greasy lubricant, the way the body's heat worked everything into a lived-in mess. He had felt that same slickness against his own skin, that same gradual softening of the seal between plug and body. Seeing it on her, knowing exactly what she was feeling right now, made the recognition intimate in a way that tightened his chest.
Nothing about it looked freshly arranged for him. It looked worn-in, lived-in.
Like Cassidy had been moving through an ordinary hot afternoon with that enormous plug in her body and had never once considered making herself presentable before letting him see her. The smell reached him even from where he stood—not just the apartment's general scent, but something warmer and deeper that came off her skin in waves.
Cassidy stopped moving for half a second. He thought she was inspecting the new plywood. Then her hips rolled. Small. Experimental. A test.
The loose shorts dragged against her sweaty skin and shifted another inch aside. The fabric caught on the damp crease of her thigh, clung for a moment, then slipped. Omar heard the faint wet sound of skin releasing fabric.
Omar kept looking. Cassidy went still again.
Long enough that he understood the pause for what it was.
She was checking whether he would look away. He didn't. Her hips rolled a second time. Slower now. More deliberate.
The shorts slipped almost completely off one cheek, leaving the jewel unobstructed. The fabric sagged away from her hip, caught on the opposite thigh, and stayed there. Cassidy settled into the position and held it there, giving him a long, uninterrupted view. The muscles through her hips tightened, and the jewel shifted slightly against her body, the base pressing outward before settling back. A thin line of brownish lubricant had worked its way down the side of the jewel, staining the skin beneath it.
The close-range smell changed with the movement.
Her apartment always smelled like her. This was different. From where Omar stood behind her, there was no room between the general smell of the apartment and Cassidy herself: fresh sweat over several days of accumulated body scent, hot skin, the heavy musky odor of a body that had gone days without a shower, and the deeper ass-musk that had intensified through hours of plug wear and yoga. The warm scent of prolonged wear—the particular smell of skin, sweat, and lubricant working together—rose off her in a wave that made his mouth go dry.
It was stronger when she moved.
Warm enough that Omar felt as if he could taste it at the back of his throat. He inhaled deliberately, letting it fill him.
He should have stepped away. Instead he inhaled again. Cassidy's spine curved slightly. Not much. Enough to tell him she had noticed that too.
Earlier she had been dirty by accident—or, more accurately, simply by being Cassidy. Now she knew he was seeing all of it: the sweat, the unshowered skin, the natural hair, the thong twisted from yoga, the huge plug with the faint greasy sheen left by a full afternoon of wear, the brownish stain working its way down the jewel.
And he was still staring. Something about realizing that seemed to change her. Her breathing deepened.
She rolled her hips again, this time without any plausible connection to inspecting the cabinet. The movement was slower, more controlled, a deliberate flex of muscle through her pelvic floor that made the jewel shift visibly against her skin.
Then she held still. Waited. Omar's eyes stayed fixed on her. Cassidy gave another slow roll.
Her shoulders relaxed as though she had gotten the answer she wanted. She flexed again, and the jewel pressed outward, the neck of the plug visible for a moment before she released. A fresh smear of brownish cream appeared at the edge of the base, catching the light.
The dirtier and more lived-in the moment became, the less interested Omar was in looking anywhere else.
That realization seemed to turn her on too.
She did not look back at him. She did not have to.
The muscles through her hips and lower body tightened and released in a controlled rhythm, enough to make the jeweled base visibly shift against her body. Each flex pushed the jewel outward, exposing more of the plug's neck, then pulled it back. The movement was slow, almost lazy, but deliberate. Not a camera trick. Not creator choreography. Something quieter and naughtier: Cassidy discovering, in real time, that she could hold his attention with the exact version of herself most people would have tried to clean up first.
Omar became sharply aware of the much smaller plug inside himself.
The contrast struck him all over again. Cassidy wearing something enormous with practiced ease. Cassidy sweaty and unwashed and completely unembarrassed about it.
Cassidy knowing exactly what he was looking at now—and choosing to give him more of it.
His earlier fantasy came back at full force. Someday. And beneath it: Maybe with her. He shifted his stance. Too late.
His arousal had become obvious beneath his work pants. The fabric strained against him, and he could feel the heat of his own body rising. The base of his own much smaller plug was suddenly impossible to ignore, especially with Cassidy's enormous jewel filling his vision. He could feel the small pressure inside him, the familiar weight, and the contrast between what he wore and what she wore made his breath catch.
Cassidy gave him one last slow movement of her hips, then finally backed out from beneath the sink.
Her hair was messy from being under the cabinet. Her face was flushed from the heat and from whatever she had just discovered about herself. Sweat had beaded along her hairline and run down her temples. Her lips were parted, her breathing still deep.
Her eyes dropped immediately, stopped at the front of his work pants, then lifted slowly back to his face.
Neither spoke.
Cassidy glanced over her shoulder at herself—at the shorts still shoved aside, at the purple jewel still completely exposed, at the brownish stain that had spread along the edge of the base—then looked back at Omar.
The connection was unmistakable. She knew exactly what had done that to him. Her smile was small and wicked. Heat climbed Omar's face. Not shame—awareness.
The reversal was complete: she knew he had been watching, he knew she had deliberately kept him watching, and she could see exactly how strongly the sweaty, dirty, private version of her had affected him.
Cassidy finally looked toward the cabinet.
"No mildew."
Omar needed a second. His voice came out rougher than he intended. "Good."
She put one hand on the new floor. "Solid."
"That's generally preferable."
Cassidy sat back on her heels.
Her shorts were still crooked. She left them that way.
Her eyes dropped toward his pants once more. No attempt to hide it. Omar raised an eyebrow. "Questions later."
"I didn't ask one."
"You were about to."
"I was thinking one."
"That's worse."
Cassidy grinned. "You know I'm going to notice now." Omar looked at her. "I'm beginning to understand that." He packed his tools. Saw. Driver. Vacuum. Scraps. Drop cloth.
The kitchen looked mostly unchanged when he finished except where it mattered.
The cabinet door sat square. Fresh sealed plywood filled the base. The plumbing remained dry. The mildew smell was gone. Cassidy pulled out her phone.
"Same rate?"
"Parts plus labor."
"Obviously."
"No attraction discount."
She looked offended.
"I would never ask for an attraction discount."
"You didn't."
"Good."
A beat.
"Because that's tacky."
Omar picked up his bag. Cassidy opened the apartment door.
Her cutoff still exposed the same strip of underboob it had when he arrived.
Her shorts still hung loose around her hips. The apartment smelled unmistakably like her again. Exactly the result she wanted. Omar stepped into the hall.
Cassidy looked at his face, then his waist, then back up, making no attempt to pretend she hadn't.
"See you."
"See you."
He started away.
"Omar."
He turned. Cassidy leaned against the doorway.
"There really is a whole drawer?"
Omar smiled.
"Yes."
She nodded slowly.
"Okay."
That was all, but the word carried enough curiosity to follow him down the hall.
On the drive home, Omar kept returning to two facts.
Cassidy knew there was a drawer, and she wanted to know what was inside it.
What stayed with him wasn't approval. It was attention.
She had paid enough attention to notice: first the thong, then the plug, then him.
And once he caught her looking, she had stopped pretending otherwise.
His mind returned once to the enormous purple jewel beneath her shorts.
Then to the deliberate movement of her hips when she realized she had his full attention.
Someday.
The thought still felt dangerous in the best possible way.
Maybe she could teach me.
Omar let it remain a fantasy. The drawer could wait. Cassidy knew it existed. For now, that was enough. She was watching him back