The package was small and plain, unremarkable. I carried it inside, pulled at the tape, and drew out a velvet pouch. I loosened the drawstring… and froze.

My face burned.

A vibrator. Sleek. Polished. The kind of thing that looked like it belonged in a boutique store behind glass.

I almost dropped it, but then noticed the folded slip of paper tucked beneath the pouch. My fingers shook as I unfolded it.

“Wear it at these times. Don’t question me.”

Beneath the words, written in clean, sharp lettering:

Tuesday, 8:00 p.m.

Thursday, 10:00 a.m.

Saturday, 9:30 p.m.

A nervous laugh escaped me as I pressed the note flat against the counter. Strange. Bold. Demanding. But it had to be from him. From my boyfriend. Who else would send me something like this? Who else would dare?

The handwriting wasn’t his, not really… but I forced myself to believe. It was him. It had to be. And if this was his game, part of me was thrilled to play.

We’d been together nearly a year, long enough for me to believe I knew him inside and out. He wasn’t always consistent; sometimes he forgot plans, sometimes he got lost in his own world but when he wanted to, he could be the most attentive, magnetic man I’d ever known. He’d surprise me with flowers on random afternoons, kiss me in ways that made my knees weak, and whisper promises about how we were building something real.

It wasn’t perfect. I’d caught him being careless before, texting other girls too late at night, letting his eyes linger on waitresses longer than they should. But each time I confronted him, he’d pull me back in with charm and soft words, reminding me that I was the one he came home to.

So I told myself this had to be his doing. A bold gesture, a new side of him, a step into something daring and unfamiliar.

Saturday night came faster than I expected. I slipped into a strapless denim dress, tugging it nervously at the hem, my secret snug against my body.

The house party was already full when I arrived, music rattling the windows, lights strobing, bodies pressed tight on the dance floor. I let myself laugh, dance, drink, and for a while, I managed to forget.

Until 9:30.

The hum began, low and insistent. My breath hitched. My knees wobbled. I pressed my thighs together, swaying to the music as if dancing could disguise the way the vibration made me ache for release.

It hit me hard and fast, the orgasm ripping through me in the middle of the crowd. My cheeks burned, my body trembling, but no one noticed. The music drowned out my gasp, the lights blurred my flushed face.

When it ended, I stumbled free, searching desperately for him, my boyfriend. Surely, he was watching. Surely, he was near.

But when I spotted him across the room, my chest hollowed.

He was kissing a blonde in a leather skirt, his hand bold against her thigh.

I turned away, choking down the sting in my throat. My stomach twisted as I forced myself to the makeshift bar, grabbing tequila and pouring shots straight down my throat. Each burn numbed me just a little more.

And then I felt him.

Ethan.

Blue jeans and a black shirt, a bottle of beer dangling casually from one hand, he leaned against the wall like he owned the place. His arms were crossed, his stance effortless, his dark eyes pinning me where I stood. For once, he didn’t look smug. His stare was unreadable, like he could see straight through me.

Before I could make sense of it, a drunk stranger pressed up behind me, his hand sliding where it wasn’t welcome.

“Get off me,” I snapped, twisting away. He only laughed, pressing closer.

And then Ethan was there. Fast. Brutal. He shoved the guy back hard, sending him stumbling into the crowd. His hand closed around my arm, steady and commanding, and without a word, he picked me up and carried me out the door.

We reached his car. He opened the passenger side and dropped me into the passenger seat making sure I had my seatbelt on, his silence was louder than the music still pounding behind us.

The silence between us was deafening. My head spun from alcohol, my chest raw from betrayal. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know why he’d stepped in.

And then… 

The vibration started again.

The hum was low, almost bearable. I pressed my thighs together, forcing the vibration against me. It was becoming harder to concentrate as I twisted the stereo knob, praying the music would swallow my moans. The vibration intensified, rough and relentless, not a slow build-up but a sudden onslaught. I bit down hard, fighting it, but my body betrayed me. A moan slipped out, helpless and raw. Another climax was about to tear through me. This one was more intense than what had happened on the dance floor. My hips started moving on their own. My breath was rapid. I was going to come. Right here in the passenger seat of my stepbrother's car. He was glancing at me from the driver’s seat with a wicked smirk on his face. That was when I completely lost control and the juices came flooding out of me in a way I had never experienced before. 

My cheeks burned red. I tried to stutter an apology, but another surge hit me before the words left my lips. Just then Ethan swerved the car to the side of the road and my body moved before my mind could catch up. I climbed into his lap, grinding myself against him, reckless, desperate. His hands slid against my skin, tugging at my dress, desperate to see what was underneath. The smirk was not lost on me, the hunger in his eyes. The lust between my legs I couldn't hide as he cupped my breast and sucked on my nipple. I didn’t know if it was the vibration or the press of him through his jeans, straining against me, and I was desperate to tear them away. He was watching me waiting for me to beg him. I knew he was. But I wasn’t going to give in to that forbidden fantasy tonight. I collapsed against him, trembling. A wild, broken laugh escaped me as I slipped back into the passenger seat, smoothing down my dress. “Drive me home,” I whispered.

He did.

*****

The night stretched dark and endless, but Ethan’s focus was razor sharp. His hands gripped the wheel tightly, his chest still humming with the memory of her trembling in his arms, breaking apart in his lap.

I couldn’t believe she thought it had been her boyfriend. That spoiled cheater never deserved to see her lose control like this.

Because it hadn’t been him.

It had been me. From the very beginning.

The package. The note. The schedule. Every second had been planned perfectly.

Watching her unravel, watching her obey knowing she thought it was for someone else had been intoxicating.

The best gift I'd ever given her.

And summer had only just begun.

I smiled to myself, already planning what was going to come next. I hadn’t taken her tonight… but before the summer ended, I would.