Chapter 34: New Experiences
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The morning light in the Monte Carlo penthouse is particularly golden today, slanting through the floor-to-ceiling windows at such an angle that it turns the eucalyptus-scented air into something almost honeyed. Violet pads across the plush bedroom carpet, her bare feet sinking into the thick fibres with each careful step, the coolness beneath her soles a pleasant contrast to the warmth still lingering in her skin from the previous night.
She pauses at the edge of the bed, fingers brushing over the rumpled sheets where Sascha and Andrey had carried her only hours before.
The indentations are still there—pressing softly into the eucalyptus-scented cotton like ghostly echoes of their bodies.
The bedroom is quiet except for the distant hum of Monte Carlo waking up below. The open terrace doors still let the salt breeze wander in freely, carrying the faintest note of jasmine from the garden below. Andrey steps out onto the balcony, his silhouette framed against the golden Mediterranean light as he leans against the railing, watching the waves far below.
Sascha remains where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed—still shirtless, his chest catching the sunlight in sharp relief.
He watches her, dark eyes scanning her face like he’s memorising every blush, every flicker of her eyelashes. “You’re thinking too hard again,” he murmurs, his voice rough but lightly amused.
Violet exhales softly, her thumb still idly tracing the indent in the sheets. The eucalyptus-scented air settles around her, woven with the citrus-salt musk that clings to Sascha’s bare chest and the faint peppermint freshness of Andrey’s cologne drifting in from the balcony. “I was just… wondering what time it is,” she admits, her voice quiet.
Not a lie. Not the whole truth, either.
Sascha’s lips twitch as he shifts on the bed, the citrus-salt musk of his cologne deepening where it clings to his still-damp skin. “Eleven-fifteen,” he says, glancing toward the floor-to-ceiling windows where the sun has climbed higher, gilding the Mediterranean in molten gold. “Perfect timing, actually.”
Violet’s eyebrows lift in quiet curiosity, her green eyes flicking from him to the terrace beyond, where Andrey’s lean silhouette is silhouetted against the glowing sea.
The golden sunlight catches the reddish stubble along his jaw, turning it into flecks of copper fire. His broad shoulders are bare under the morning light, the muscles moving with unconscious grace as he lifts a mug—probably coffee, judging by the steam curling around his wrist.
“Perfect timing for what?” Violet asks, her voice still soft, still carrying that faint trace of Melbourne morning lilt that betrays her roots even after all her travels.
Sascha’s dark eyes warm as they track hers, the citrus tones of his cologne deepening in the warm air around them.
His fingers flex once against the cotton sheets before he pushes to his feet in one fluid motion. The muscles along his bare torso shift under the golden light, each contour sharp enough that Violet’s pulse quickens just watching him.
“Andrey ordered breakfast,” he finally answers, stepping closer until the eucalyptus-scented sheets rustle beneath him. The citrus-salt musk of his skin mixes with the peppermint undertone of Andrey’s cologne drifting in from the balcony, creating something heady and intoxicating.
Violet’s breath hitches as Sascha steps closer, the eucalyptus-scented air between them becoming charged with anticipation.
The golden Mediterranean light spills across his bare torso, illuminating each defined muscle and scar—each a testament to a life spent pushing boundaries, both on and off the court. The citrus-salt musk of his cologne deepens where it clings to his skin, wrapping around her like an invisible promise. His dark eyes hold hers with an intensity that makes her fingers tremble against the sheets.
Behind him, Andrey’s silhouette shifts on the balcony, the reddish-gold stubble along his jaw catching the sunlight as he turns to face the room. The peppermint sharpness of his breath mingles with the citrus-salt musk in the air, creating a heady cocktail that makes her stomach flutter.
Violet's fingers tighten against the sheets, her knuckles whitening as she watches Sascha’s muscles shift beneath sun-kissed skin. The golden Mediterranean light catches the scars running across his ribs—thin white lines that tell stories she longs to hear.
Andrey steps back inside, his blue eyes scanning the room before landing on Violet with an intensity that makes her breath catch. The reddish-gold stubble along his jaw glints in the sunlight as he tilts his head slightly, the faintest smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs, his voice rough but warm.
The peppermint freshness of his breath mingles with the citrus-salt musk clinging to the morning air as he crosses the room in confident strides.
Violet swallows hard, her pulse kicking up a notch beneath the silk robe Sascha draped over her shoulders earlier. The fabric smells faintly of eucalyptus and the two men—something that now feels like home. “I was just admiring the view,” she admits, her voice steadier than she feels.
Sascha’s deep chuckle rumbles through the quiet room, sending a shiver down her spine.
The citrus-salt musk clinging to his bare skin deepens as he takes another step closer, his dark eyes darkening with something intimate and knowing. The golden Mediterranean light carves deep shadows between the ridges of his stomach muscles, and Violet can’t help but follow the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his low-slung trousers.
“Then let us give you a better one,” he murmurs, his voice rough but teasing.
Behind them, Andrey sets his coffee mug down on the bedside table with a soft *clink*, his forearm flexing as he leans against the wall beside the open terrace doors.
The reddish-gold stubble along his jaw glints in the morning sun, and when he tilts his head slightly, the faintest smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. The peppermint-sharp note of his breath mingles with the citrus-salt musk still clinging to the air, thickening the atmosphere between them.
Violet’s throat tightens as Andrey’s blue eyes lock onto hers, the morning light catching the reddish stubble along his jaw and turning it into flecks of copper fire. He pushes off from the wall, moving with that same controlled grace she’s only seen on the court—but now it’s directed entirely at her.
“Breakfast is served,” he murmurs, his voice rough but warm, the Russian accent wrapping around the words like a caress. The peppermint of his breath mingles with the citrus-salt musk clinging to her skin, making her stomach flutter in anticipation.
Violet's fingers tighten on the silk robe where it gapes slightly at her collarbone, the fabric slipping just enough to expose the swell of her breasts to the golden Mediterranean light streaming through the terrace doors.
The Mediterranean glows beyond the windows, an endless expanse of blue that somehow feels smaller with Sascha and Andrey standing so close on either side of her, their presence pressing in like a promise.
Sascha’s dark eyes drop to where the silk parts, his gaze lingering just a second too long before meeting hers again.
The citrus-salt musk of his cologne deepens as he steps closer, the golden light carving shadows along the hard planes of his chest. His rough fingers lift, hesitating for a breath, before he traces the neckline of the robe with a featherlight touch, drawing it higher over her shoulders with deliberate slowness. The fabric whispers against her damp skin, the eucalyptus scent mingling with the heat between them.
Andrey exhales sharply through his nose, the reddish-gold stubble along his jaw flexing as he watches Sascha’s fingers trace the robe’s edge.
His blue eyes darken with quiet intensity, the peppermint sharpness of his breath mingling with the citrus-salt musk clinging to the air. He steps closer, his forearm brushing against Violet’s as Sascha finishes adjusting the robe, the movement sending a shiver down her spine. The sunlight catches the freckles dusted across the tops of his shoulders—tiny constellations Violet suddenly wants to memorize.
“You’re overthinking again,” Andrey murmurs, his voice rough but soft. The Russian accent wraps around the words like a caress, the peppermint-sharp note of his breath warming her flushed skin as he tilts his head down just enough to meet her gaze.
The reddish-gold stubble along his jaw scrapes against her temple when he leans in — a deliberate brush that sends shivers down her spine. The silk robe has slipped further off her shoulders now, the morning light catching the freckles across her collarbones like scattered constellations. Each one seems like a secret only he’s allowed to discover.
Sascha’s rough fingers trace idle patterns along the exposed skin of her shoulder, the citrus-salt musk of his cologne deepening where it clings to her damp skin. “Let Andrey take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice rough but tender, his thumb brushing against the delicate hollow of her throat in slow, soothing circles.
"We've got breakfast and then something to talk about with you," Sascha adds, his dark eyes lingering on her flushed face before they drop to the silk robe that has slipped even lower, exposing the swell of her breasts to the golden morning light. The citrus-salt musk of his cologne deepens where it clings to her skin, wrapping around them like an invisible promise.
Violet’s breath catches as Andrey’s calloused palm slides up to cradle her jaw, his thumb brushing against her lower lip in a gesture so tender it makes her chest tighten. The reddish-gold stubble along his jaw scrapes against her temple, sending a fresh wave of shivers down her spine.
Violet’s breath hitches as Andrey’s blue eyes darken with quiet intensity, his calloused palm cradling her jaw with unexpected gentleness. The peppermint sharpness of his breath mingles with the citrus-salt musk clinging to the air, creating something heady and intoxicating as it wraps around them.
“We’re not rushing you,” Andrey murmurs, his voice rough but warm, his thumb tracing the line of her lower lip in slow, deliberate strokes that make her stomach flutter. The reddish-gold stubble along his jaw catches the golden Mediterranean light, turning it into flecks of copper fire that dance across his sharp cheekbones.
Violet’s pulse stutters as his thumb presses gently against her lower lip—just enough pressure to part them slightly, inviting and teasing all at once.
“But we do want you comfortable,” Sascha adds, his voice a rough purr as he steps closer, the citrus-salt musk of his cologne wrapping around them like an invisible embrace. The golden light carves deep shadows along the hard planes of his chest, each contour sharp enough to make her breath catch.
Violet swallows hard, her fingers tightening on the silk robe where it has slipped precariously low, the fabric barely clinging to her damp skin.
The Mediterranean light spills across her collarbones, catching each freckle like a tiny constellation that seems to pulse with her heartbeat. "I'm already comfortable," she says, her voice steadier than she feels, the Melbourne lilt softening the words just enough to keep them honest.
Andrey's thumb pauses against her lower lip, his blue eyes darkening as they track the way her lips part just slightly at the invitation. The peppermint sharpness of his breath warms her lips, and for a heartbeat, Violet wonders if he'll finally close the distance between them. Instead, his hand drops, his rough palm sliding down to trace idle patterns along the exposed skin of her shoulder where the silk has slipped.
His touch is impossibly gentle considering the controlled strength she’s seen him wield on the court—the same rough hands that have gripped tennis rackets with enough force to send serves screaming past opponents now cradling her with infinite care.
The citrus-salt musk clinging to Sascha’s skin mixes with the peppermint sharpness of Andrey’s breath, creating something sweet and dangerous between them.
Sascha exhales sharply through his nose, his dark eyes burning as he watches her. "You're shaking," he murmurs, his voice rough with concern that doesn’t quite mask the undercurrent of something else—something hungry. The citrus tones of his cologne deepen where it clings to his bare chest.
Sascha’s rough fingers flex against the silk robe’s fabric, the material warm from her skin. The eucalyptus-scented air between them thickens as Andrey’s palm continues tracing slow circles along her shoulder, each pass sending fresh shivers down her spine that make her breath hitch.
Behind her, Andrey exhales softly, the reddish-gold stubble along his jaw catching the golden Mediterranean light as he tilts his head down just enough for his breath to warm the shell of her ear. “Then let us show you how comfortable we can make you,” he murmurs, his voice rough but warm with promise, the Russian accent wrapping around the words like a velvet glove.
His thumb traces the delicate hinge of her jaw before slipping down to stroke the rapid pulse beneath her ear—each pass sending fresh shivers skating down her spine.
Sascha’s citrus-salt musk deepens as he steps closer, the golden Mediterranean light carving sharp shadows along the ridged planes of his torso. His rough fingers lift, hesitating only a breath before tracing the neckline of the robe higher over her shoulders with deliberate slowness. The silk fabric whispers against her damp skin, the eucalyptus lingering in the folds mixing with the heat of their bodies until the room smells like them—like citrus and peppermint and something uniquely Violet.
The Mediterranean breeze drifting through the terrace doors carries the faintest hint of salt and jasmine, wrapping around them like a living thing as Sascha adjusts the robe with painstaking care.
Violet’s pulse drums against Andrey’s fingertip where it rests against her throat, the steady rhythm betraying everything she tries to hide. The reddish-gold stubble along his jaw scrapes against her temple each time he exhales, sending fresh waves of sensation cascading down her spine. The sheets beneath her bare thighs feel impossibly soft, yet the rest of the world beyond this room has narrowed to the rough callouses on Andrey’s palm tracing idle patterns against her collarbone.
They lead Violet to the table for breakfast. The dining table is positioned so that it overlooks the Mediterranean sea, framed by the open terrace that offers a panoramic view of the glittering water below. The table is set with a white linen cloth, gleaming silverware, and delicate china cups and saucers. On the table is an assortment of fresh fruit, pastries, cheeses, and a large platter of eggs Benedict. The morning sunlight glints off the polished silver and the crystal glasses, casting tiny rainbows onto the tablecloth.
Sascha pulls out Violet's chair, his citrus-warm hands brushing against her bare shoulders as she sits down.
The silk robe slips further down her arms, pooling at her waist like liquid gold in the morning light. The citrus-salt musk of his cologne deepens where it clings to her damp skin as he steps behind her, his rough fingers lingering against the back of the chair just a second too long.
Andrey watches the exchange from across the table, his blue eyes darkening as Violet sits with the robe barely clinging to her bare shoulders. The reddish-gold stubble along his jaw catches the golden Mediterranean light as he takes his seat across from her, the peppermint sharpness of his breath mingling with the citrus-salt musk clinging to the air between them.
The warm morning breeze drifting through the terrace carries the faintest notes of jasmine and salt, wrapping around them like an invisible embrace as he lifts his coffee mug to his lips.
Violet watches the steam curl upward from her own cup, her fingers tightening around the delicate china handle as if it’s the only thing grounding her in this surreal moment. The morning sun paints her bare collarbones in molten gold, catching the freckles scattered across her skin like constellations she’s never noticed before. Every breath she takes feels too loud, too deliberate, like the Mediterranean itself has stilled to listen.
Sascha’s dark eyes meet hers across the table, his gaze warm but knowing.
"You’re staring at your eggs Benedict like it might bite you back."
The citrus-salt musk clinging to his skin deepens as he leans back in his chair, the golden Mediterranean light catching the ridges of his stomach muscles when he shifts. His dark hair is still damp from the shower, the ends curling slightly against the nape of his neck where it meets the citrus-warm expanse of his shoulders.
Violet exhales softly, her thumb tracing idle patterns along the rim of her delicate china cup.
A faint raspberry-pink flush has climbed up her throat, painting the freckles near her collarbone in sharp relief beneath the Mediterranean sunlight. The warm morning air carries the scent of salt and jasmine through the open terrace, mingling with the citrus-salt musk clinging to Sascha’s bare skin and the peppermint sharpness drifting from Andrey’s breath.
“I was just wondering how long it takes to cook perfect eggs Benedict,” she admits quietly, her Melbourne lilt softening the words just enough to keep them honest. Her fingers tighten slightly on the cup handle as Sascha’s lips curl into a slow, knowing smile.
The citrus-salt musk of his cologne deepens where it clings to his bare chest on the other side of the table, his forearms flexing as he reaches for his own coffee cup. The golden sunlight catches the faint sheen of sweat still lingering on his skin from the morning gym session he mentioned—something about adjusting to the Monte Carlo humidity.
Across from her, Andrey sets down his coffee mug with a quiet *clink*, his blue eyes tracking the way her throat works when she swallows. The reddish-gold stubble along his jaw catches the light as he tilts his head slightly, studying her with that same quiet intensity he reserves for match analysis.
"Three minutes in simmering water," he says, his voice rough but warm, the Russian accent wrapping around the syllables like silk over steel. "Fresh hollandaise is the difference between decent and dangerous."
His thumb taps against the rim of his mug, the sound rhythmic and deliberate. The peppermint sharpness of his breath lingers between them as he watches her process this, those blue eyes darkening when her lips part slightly in surprise.
Violet's breath catches. She wasn't expecting that kind of detail from a player known more for his aggressive serve than his kitchen skills. The realization makes her voice soften, the Melbourne lilt more pronounced.
“You cook, too?”
Andrey’s smirk deepens, the reddish stubble catching the sunlight as he leans back slightly in his chair, his forearm flexing when he shifts. “My mother would disown me if I didn’t know how to make a proper eggs Benedict. Tennis is my job, but cuisine is my mother’s love language.”
The citrus-salt musk clinging to Sascha’s skin deepens as he chuckles, the sound rich and warm, vibrating through the space between them. His dark eyes crinkle at the corners when he meets Violet’s gaze again. “Andrey’s right about the hollandaise.
You have to time it perfectly,” Sascha adds, reaching for a croissant from the basket between them. His fingers brush against Andrey’s as he plucks it, the citrus-warm contact sending a spark through the air. The golden light catches the faint sheen of sweat still lingering on his torso from their earlier workout, the citrus-salt musk of his skin deepening where it clings. “But the real secret is making it feel like something special. Like you’re worth the effort.”
Violet’s breath hitches at the implication, her fingers tightening around the delicate china handle of her teacup. The thin porcelain trembles slightly in her grip, betraying the way her heart is suddenly racing.
The steam rising from her Earl Grey curls between them like a ribbon, catching the Mediterranean light in shifting patterns of gold and mist. Andrey watches the way her throat works when she swallows, the reddish stubble along his jaw flexing as he leans forward just enough to make the timber of his voice drop to a rough purr.
“You’re blushing again, Violet.”
His words are soft, almost a question, but the rasp of his accent wraps around them like the first slow drag of velvet over skin. The citrus-salt still clinging to Sascha’s skin interlaces with the peppermint freshness of Andrey’s breath, and for a moment, the air between them feels thick enough to taste.
Violet’s lips part, her tongue darting out to moisten her lower lip without thinking. The motion draws their eyes in unison, dark irises tracking the subtle movement like predators who’ve just spotted prey.
Andrey’s thumb taps against the rim of his coffee cup again—once, twice—a deliberate rhythm that syncs with the rapid pulse hammering beneath Violet’s collarbone. The reddish stubble along his jaw catches the Mediterranean sunlight, turning his sharp features into something almost mythic, something carved from marble and sinew and the kind of quiet intensity that makes her stomach twist.
Sascha watches the exchange with the kind of patience that only comes from knowing he’s already won.
Violet has a few bites of her eggs. Then Sascha and Andrey want to talk to her about something.
They'd like to try out some sex toys with her.
Violet is nervous at first, considering the intimacy of the topic, but Sascha and Andrey's patient, gentle approach slowly helps her relax.
They explain that they simply want to explore with her, and that there's no pressure. Violet becomes more intrigued, and the three of them look at some online.
"Show me, I'm new to this," Violet says softly. "I want to learn."
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The dining table has become their temporary command center. Sascha’s laptop sits open between them, the screen casting a soft blue glow over Violet’s face as she leans in. The golden morning light still spills through the terrace doors, but now it competes with the digital glow, painting everything in layers of liquid gold and electric blue.
Across from her, Andrey stretches an arm along the back of her chair, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck in idle, rhythmic patterns. The reddish stubble along his jaw catches the Mediterranean light as he leans forward slightly, his blue eyes scanning the screen with quiet intensity.
“Start with a classic,” he murmurs, his voice rough but warm, the Russian accent wrapping around the words like a caress. The peppermint freshness of his breath mingles with the citrus-salt musk still clinging to the morning air between them.
Sascha’s dark eyes flick between the screen and Violet as he clicks on a recommended product. The citrus tones of his cologne deepen where it clings to his bare chest, each movement sending fresh waves of scent through the air. His fingers hover over the trackpad, hesitant to make the final click.
The citrus-salt musk clinging to his skin deepens as he watches Violet exhale slowly through parted lips, her green eyes scanning the screen with quiet curiosity. The golden Mediterranean sunlight catches the freckles dusted across her collarbones, making them wink in and out of shadow like stars being born.
Andrey’s calloused fingertip traces slow circles against the nape of Violet’s neck, each pass sending fresh shivers down her spine that make the silk robe slip another fraction lower. The reddish stubble along his jaw scratches against her temple when he leans closer, his voice dropping to a rough purr. “Trust us, beautiful.
See how it looks,” Sascha murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the space between them as he adjusts the laptop angle slightly, angling the screen so the golden Mediterranean light catches every detail of the sleek, rose-gold vibrator displayed. The citrus-salt musk of his cologne deepens where it clings to his bare torso, each shift of muscle releasing more of its warm, spicy fragrance into the air.
Violet swallows hard, her pulse drumming against the delicate hollow of her throat as her gaze traces the smooth lines of the toy.
She is so new to this.
But the way they look at her—like she’s something precious, something to be worshipped rather than rushed—makes her feel brave in a way she never thought possible. The golden sunlight streams through the open terrace doors, painting the room in shimmering layers of liquid gold and Mediterranean Sea-blue. The scent of citrus-warm skin and peppermint-sweet breath wraps around her like an invisible embrace, thick with promise. Violet’s breath catches as Sascha’s rough fingertip traces the curve of her bare shoulder, the silk robe sliding lower with each deliberate stroke until it pools at her waist.
“What does it actually do?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, her green eyes flicking between the sleek rose-gold vibrator on the screen and the intensity of their gaze.
The citrus-salt musk clinging to Sascha’s skin deepens as he leans forward, the golden Mediterranean light catching the planes of his torso. “It vibrates,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through her chest as much as the air between them. His dark eyes darken with something raw and wanting. “At different speeds, different patterns. It learns what you like.”
Andrey’s rough palm still rests against the nape of her neck, his thumb tracing slow, hypnotic circles that send fresh shivers down her spine. The reddish-gold stubble along his jaw catches the sunlight as he tilts his head closer, his peppermint-sharp breath warm against her ear.
"It learns what *we* like," he corrects softly, the Russian accent wrapping around the words like velvet. His calloused fingers flex against her shoulder, the rough skin of his fingertips rasping against her overheated flesh in a way that makes her stomach clench.
Violet's breath hitches as the silk robe slips further down her arms, leaving her upper chest completely bare to their gaze. The Mediterranean air feels suddenly charged, carrying the salt breeze and the citrus-salt musk of Sascha's skin with it. The golden light streaks across her collarbone in molten strips, catching the constellation of freckles that suddenly seem to pulse with her heartbeat.
Violet’s fingers hover over the laptop’s keyboard, her green eyes wide but determined as she glances up at them. “Are there others?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, the Melbourne lilt softening the words just enough to keep them honest. “What else should I know about?”
Sascha’s citrus-salt musk deepens as he leans forward, the tip of one rough finger tracing the edge of the laptop screen where a new category flickers into view. The glow of the screen paints half his face in electric blue, the other half left in golden Mediterranean light that makes the ridges of his stomach muscles stand out in sharp relief. His dark eyes darken with something raw and wanting as he meets her gaze. “There are plugs,” he murmurs, his voice rough but tender. “And restraints.
And—”
Andrey cuts Sascha off with a low chuckle, the reddish-gold stubble along his jaw catching the morning light like embers. His blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he leans forward, the peppermint freshness of his breath warm against Violet’s ear as he murmurs, “And plugs can also come in *other* forms.”
Violet’s breath catches, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table as the silk robe slips further, exposing more of her skin to the golden Mediterranean light streaming through the terrace doors.
"*other forms*?" Violet questions Andrey softly, her eyebrows lifting just slightly in quiet surprise, her green eyes flickering back and forth between the two men—her lashes casting delicate shadows across her flushed cheeks.
Andrey explains what he means.
The reddish stubble along his jaw glints in the morning light as he tilts his head slightly, his blue eyes flicking to Violet’s with that quiet, intense focus that makes her pulse stutter. The peppermint sharpness of his breath lingers for a heartbeat before he leans in, his voice dropping to a rough purr.
“Some are for *oral play*. Others—” He pauses, letting the word hang in the air like something suspended between promise and danger, his gaze flicking from the laptop screen to her lips. “—others are designed to be worn during *other* activities.”
Violet’s throat tightens.
The citrus-salt musk of Sascha’s skin is thick in the heat between them, and the peppermint freshness of Andrey’s breath is warm against her ear when he leans closer. She can feel the rise and fall of his chest behind her, the rough cotton of his shirt brushing against her bare shoulders.
“Like this,” Andrey murmurs, lifting one hand to the laptop screen, scrolling with deliberate slowness across categories labeled *Oral Enhancers*, *Clitoral Suction*, *Dual Stimulation*, and finally resting on a tab titled *Rimming Toys*.
Violet’s breath hitches.
Her fingers tremble against the edge of the table, the porcelain cup of Earl Grey forgotten beside her elbow. The golden Mediterranean light spills across the laptop screen, turning the words *Rimming Toys* into liquid gold that seems to pulse with her heartbeat.
The citrus-salt musk of Sascha’s skin deepens where it clings to his bare chest as he shifts slightly in his chair, the golden sunlight carving new shadows across the ridges of his torso. His dark eyes darken with something raw and wanting as they flick from the screen to her flushed face.
“You don’t have to—” he begins, his voice rough but tender, the German accent wrapping around the words like velvet.
“It’s just an idea.”
Violet swallows hard, her pulse drumming in her throat. The silk robe has slipped lower now, pooling at her waist like liquid gold in the morning light. The Mediterranean breeze carries the faintest notes of jasmine and salt through the open terrace doors, wrapping around them like an invisible embrace. The citrus-salt musk of Sascha’s skin mixes with the peppermint freshness of Andrey’s breath, creating something heady and intoxicating in the space between them.
Andrey’s calloused fingertips trace slow, hypnotic circles against the nape of her neck, each pass sending fresh shivers down her spine.
"We can try anything you're comfortable with. We want to enhance things not for the toys to take over." Sascha says, leaning forward. The citrus-salt musk clinging to his bare chest deepens as he does so, the morning sunlight catching the faint sheen of sweat still lingering from their earlier workout. His dark eyes remain fixed on Violet, watching for any sign of hesitation or withdrawal.
Violet's breath catches in her throat as she watches their expressions soften further, the raw intensity giving way to something gentle and encouraging. The golden Mediterranean light streams through the terrace doors, painting the room in shimmering layers of liquid gold and electric blue from the laptop screen. The silk robe now slips precariously low around her waist, exposing the upper curve of her breasts to their gaze.
The golden Mediterranean sunlight catches the freckles scattered there, turning them into tiny constellations that pulse with every rapid breath.
Andrey’s rough thumbnail traces slow circles against the nape of her neck, his peppermint-fresh breath warm against her ear.
“Vibrators we’d use between your legs while you’re on your stomach, the plug would press against your G-spot through the thin wall—” He pauses, letting the suggestion hang in the air like something tangible. His blue eyes flick to hers, dark with quiet promise. “And if we used a dildo on you together, one could fill your pussy while the other stretches your ass.
Slow and deep.” Sascha’s voice is low, rough with controlled promise. The citrus-salt musk of his cologne deepens as he leans forward, the golden Mediterranean light catching the ridges of his stomach muscles when he shifts. His dark eyes darken with something raw and wanting as they trace the way Violet’s breath catches. The silk robe has slipped further down her arms, pooling at her waist, and the golden sunlight spills across her bare chest in molten stripes.
Violet exhales softly, her green eyes wide but not with fear—with curiosity, with something hungry flickering beneath the hesitation. She wants to try it.
She wants to try everything.
But Violet swallows thickly, her fingers curling against the edge of the table. "I've never... I mean, I've never even seen—" Her voice trails off, the Melbourne lilt softening the confession into something vulnerable and honest. The silk robe has slipped so low now that the golden Mediterranean light spills across her collarbone in molten strips, catching the constellation of freckles that pulse with every rapid breath.
Sascha’s dark eyes soften at the hesitation, the citrus-salt musk of his cologne deepening where it clings to his bare torso. His rough fingers lift, hesitating only a breath before brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
The gesture is so tender it steals the air from her lungs.
“That’s why we’re here,” he murmurs. “To show you. Not just the toys, but the way it can feel.”
The citrus-salt musk clinging to his skin intensifies where they sit close, his thigh pressing against hers beneath the table. The golden Mediterranean light slides across his torso, catching the ridges of his stomach muscles as he leans in. His dark eyes never leave hers, warm and patient and entirely focused on her reaction.
Andrey watches the exchange with quiet intensity, his blue eyes scanning her face like a match striking against dry tinder.
The reddish stubble along his jaw catches the morning light as he tilts his head slightly, his voice dropping to a rough purr that vibrates through the charged silence between them. "We can start slow," he murmurs, his accent wrapping around the words like velvet. "A little toy here, a little toy there. Nothing overwhelming."
Violet's breath hitches as his thumb traces slow, deliberate circles against the nape of her neck, each pass sending fresh shivers down her spine that make the silk robe slip another fraction lower. The Mediterranean breeze drifting through the terrace carries the faintest notes of jasmine and salt, wrapping around them like an invisible caress.
Violet’s mind drifts unbidden to the image of Sascha and Andrey’s rough hands guiding sleek, rose-gold toys over her bare skin, their dark eyes darkening as they explore every trembling inch of her.
The citrus-salt musk of Sascha’s skin deepens where it clings to his bare torso as he leans back in his chair, his dark eyes flicking between the laptop screen and Violet’s flushed face. "We can begin with something simple," he murmurs, his voice rough but gentle, the German accent wrapping around the words like velvet. His rough fingers brush against the nape of her neck, where Andrey’s calloused palm still rests, their touch sending fresh shivers down her spine that make the silk robe slip lower still.
Andrey watches the way Violet’s green eyes darken with something hungry—and something shy—her gaze flickering between the screen and their faces like a match striking against dry tinder.
He suggests cock rings as they are wearable during sex. He was just looking at one online that has a vibrator attached.
Sascha watches Violet’s reaction carefully, his citrus-salt musk deepening as he watches her pupils dilate slightly at the suggestion. The golden Mediterranean light catches the ridges of his stomach muscles when he shifts, the silk robe pooling low on her waist offering tantalizing glimpses of her overheated skin. His rough fingertips trail idle patterns along the exposed skin of her shoulder, each pass making the silk slip another fraction lower.
Andrey’s peppermint-fresh breath is warm against Violet’s temple as he leans in, his blue eyes darkening with quiet intensity. "Imagine it," he murmurs, his Russian accent wrapping around the words like silk.
"Me inside you, stretching you open, while Sascha attaches this small vibrator to your clit. The cock ring keeps him hard longer, makes every thrust feel deeper, more intense." He points to the screen where a sleek black device with a vibrating bullet nestled against a silicone band glows in the scattered light. The faintest rasp of peppermint lingers as he exhales, his reddish stubble catching the morning light like embers.
Violet's breath catches, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
"That... that sounds intense," she admits softly, the Melbourne lilt making the confession sound more adorable than insecure. The golden Mediterranean light streams between them, catching the freckles dusted across her collarbone in molten gold. Each seems to pulse with her heartbeat.
Sascha's citrus-salt musk deepens as he reaches out, his rough fingertip tracing the curve of her bare shoulder where the silk has slipped. The touch sends fresh shivers down her spine that make the robe slip another fraction lower. "It can be," he murmurs, his voice rough but gentle.
"But it can also be gentle." His dark eyes hold hers, steady and unafraid. "The vibrator's intensity is adjustable. We’d go as slow or fast as you want."
The citrus-salt musk of his skin deepens as he shifts slightly, the golden Mediterranean light sliding across the ridges of his torso. His rough fingertips continue their idle patterns along her shoulder, each pass making the silk slip another fraction lower until the robe barely covers her breasts.
Andrey watches the exchange with quiet intensity, his blue eyes scanning Violet’s face like a match striking against dry tinder.
"Start slow," he murmurs, his accent wrapping around the words like velvet. "The first toy doesn’t need to be anything extreme. Just something to get you used to the feel of us exploring together." His calloused thumb traces slow, deliberate circles against the nape of her neck, each pass sending fresh shivers down her spine that make the silk robe slip another fraction lower.
The laptop screen still glows between them, casting shifting patterns of electric blue and liquid gold across the table.
Violet swallows hard, her green eyes wide but not with fear—with curiosity, with something hungry flickering beneath the hesitation.
The citrus-salt musk clinging to Sascha’s bare chest deepens as he leans forward, his rough fingertips lifting to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear with painstaking tenderness. The gesture is so gentle it steals the air from her lungs, and when he speaks, his voice is a low rumble that vibrates through the charged silence between them.
“What if we started with something small?” Sascha suggests, his dark eyes never leaving hers as his thumb traces idle patterns along the exposed skin of her shoulder.
"We can build up to more," he murmurs, his voice rough but gentle.
“Like?”
Violet’s question comes out softer than she intends, the Melbourne lilt making it sound more shy than demanding. The silk robe has slipped so far down now that the golden Mediterranean sunlight catches the freckles scattered across her collarbones like tiny constellations. Each seems to pulse with every rapid breath she takes, the silk now clinging precariously to her hips.
Andrey’s breath is warm against her temple, the peppermint sharpness mingling with the citrus-salt musk clinging to the air between them.
His calloused thumb still traces slow, hypnotic circles against the nape of her neck, each pass sending fresh shivers down her spine that make the silk robe slip another fraction lower. The golden Mediterranean light spills across the laptop screen, casting shifting patterns of liquid gold and electric blue over Violet’s flushed face as she leans in closer, her green eyes scanning the screen with quiet curiosity.
“A small bullet,” Andrey murmurs, his voice a rough purr that vibrates through the charged silence between them. The Russian accent wraps around the words like velvet, the peppermint freshness of his breath warm against her ear.
Violet’s breath hitches as his calloused thumb traces slow, hypnotic circles against the nape of her neck, each pass sending fresh shivers cascading down her spine that make the silk robe slip another fraction lower. The golden Mediterranean sunlight spills across the laptop screen between them, painting shifting patterns of liquid gold and electric blue across her flushed face as she leans in closer, her green eyes scanning the screen with quiet curiosity.
“Something that fits in your palm,” Sascha murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the thick air between them.
"Then we try other toys when you're comfortable," Andrey adds, his thumb still tracing slow, hypnotic circles against the nape of her neck. The reddish stubble along his jaw catches the morning sun, turning his sharp features into something almost mythic.
They decide on a small, egg-shaped vibrator that looks like a smooth, rose quartz teardrop. Violet holds it in her palm, feeling its subtle weight and the cool, smooth surface.
Violet turns the toy over in her palm, feeling its weight, the cool smoothness of the rose quartz teardrop against her skin. The surface is unnervingly smooth, almost organic. She can feel the faintest vibration when she presses a finger to it—just enough to make her stomach clench.
The egg seems to pulse in her palm, warm from her skin, as if it’s already attuned to her. The golden Mediterranean light catches the rose quartz surface, turning it into something almost alive, something that hums with quiet promise.
Sascha watches the way her green eyes darken with fascination, his citrus-salt musk deepening as he leans closer. The golden sunlight carves new shadows across the ridges of his torso, each muscle flexing slightly when he shifts. His rough fingers brush against hers as he takes the egg from her palm, his touch sending fresh shivers down her spine that make the silk robe slip another fraction lower.
The citrus-salt musk of his cologne deepens where it clings to his bare torso, each movement sending fresh waves of scent through the charged air between them. The reddish stubble along his jaw catches the morning light like embers as he leans forward just enough for his peppermint-fresh breath to warm the shell of her ear.
“Turn it on,” he murmurs, his voice a rough purr that vibrates through the silence. The Russian accent wraps around the words like velvet, the tone making her stomach clench.
The egg vibrates faintly against her palm, the sensation too subtle to be overwhelming but insistent enough to make her breath hitch.
Violet swallows hard, the silken robe slipping lower on her shoulders as she flicks the tiny switch with her thumb. The vibration sharpens instantly, thrumming against her skin in a low, rhythmic pulse that seems to sync with the erratic beat of her heart. The rose quartz surface hums warmly in her grip, the vibration traveling up her arm in waves that make her thighs press together instinctively.
“Like that,” Andrey murmurs, his blue eyes darkening as he watches the way her lips part slightly, her breath catching.
The reddish stubble along his jaw catches the golden Mediterranean light, turning it to molten copper as he leans in, his voice dropping to a rough purr. “But we’ll turn the setting down when it’s on you. Just enough to tease, not enough to overwhelm.” The citrus-salt musk clinging to Sascha’s skin deepens where he shifts closer, his thigh pressing against hers beneath the table, the golden sunlight catching the ridges of his torso as he watches her reaction with quiet intensity.
Violet swallows hard, the silk robe slipping another fraction lower on her arms as she nods slowly, her green eyes fixed on the egg in her palm.
Andrey guides Violet to try it on her breasts.
He kneels beside her, his reddish stubble catching the filtered morning light as he positions her lap beneath the raised laptop screen. The golden Mediterranean breeze drifts through the open terrace, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and salt.
Sascha turns the laptop so its soft blue glow carves sharp shadows across Violet’s flushed throat and over her collarbone. The rose quartz egg hums faintly in her palm like a trapped heartbeat, its vibration pulsing against her skin with each shallow breath.
Andrey’s calloused fingertips trail slow, deliberate circles along the inside of her wrist—distracting, disarming-before his palm slides upward to cradle the heavy weight of her breast.
The red-gold stubble along his jaw catches the Mediterranean light, turning his sharp features into something almost mythic as he bends his head, peppermint-fresh breath ghosting over her peaked nipple through the thin silk of her robe. The fabric clings to her skin, translucent under the morning sun that spills across the terrace in molten gold.
Sascha’s citrus-salt musk deepens as he shifts closer, his rough thigh pressing against hers beneath the table. The golden light carves sharp ridges along his torso, catching the faint sheen of sweat still lingering from their earlier workout.
Sascha exhales slowly, his citrus-salt cologne deepening as he watches Violet and Andrey through half-lidded eyes. The rose quartz egg hums faintly in Violet’s palm, its vibration syncing with the erratic rhythm of her heartbeat.
Andrey’s rough palm cups the full weight of Violet’s breast through the thin silk, the fabric doing nothing to conceal the way her nipple hardens against his calloused skin. The reddish stubble along his jaw scratches against the satin as he bends lower, his peppermint-fresh breath ghosting over her nipple through the fragile barrier of silk.
"Do you want to try it on you?" Andrey asks as he directs Violet to use it on her breasts.
He kneels beside her and guides her hand, positioning the rose quartz egg against one of her sensitive nipples, pressing down lightly through the silk of her robe.
Violet's breath hitches, her hips lifting slightly off the chair as the vibrations pulse through the thin fabric directly to her already tight nipple. The rose quartz hums against her skin, the subtle warmth and vibration making her stomach clench.
Andrey watches as she trembles, his blue eyes dark with quiet intensity as he observes her every reaction. He reaches out and gently moves the silk of her robe aside, exposing her bare breast to the morning light. The rose quartz egg thrums against her nipple, the vibrations matching the rhythm of her racing heartbeat.
Each pulse sends a jolt through her chest and down between her thighs, making her thighs press together instinctively beneath the silk robe.
Andrey’s rough palm still cradles the weight of her breast, the calloused pads of his finger tracing slow circles around the areola as the vibrations pulse against her sensitive skin. The reddish stubble along his jaw catches the morning light, making it seem like embers glowing in the Mediterranean glow streaming through the terrace doors.
Violet’s breath hitches as she watches the way he looks at her—like she’s something precious that he wants to worship rather than claim.
The rose quartz egg thrums against her nipple in steady pulses, each one sending fresh waves of heat cascading through her chest and lower. Her thighs press together instinctively beneath the silk robe, the friction making her gasp softly.
Andrey’s calloused thumb traces slow, deliberate circles around her areola, each pass sending shivers down her spine that make the silk robe slip another fraction lower. The reddish stubble along his jaw catches the morning light, turning his sharp features into something almost mythic as he leans in closer, his peppermint-fresh breath warm against her ear. “Does that feel good?” he murmurs, his voice rough but tender.
The Russian accent wraps around the word like velvet, the peppermint sharpness of his breath warm against the shell of her ear. His calloused fingertips continue their slow, hypnotic circles around her areola, each pass sending fresh shivers cascading down her spine that make the silk robe slip another fraction lower. The rose quartz egg thrums against her nipple in steady pulses, each vibration syncing with the erratic rhythm of her heartbeat.
Violet exhales softly, her green eyes fluttering shut for just a second before she forces them open again, her gaze flicking between the two men who watch her with such quiet intensity.
The rose quartz egg continues to thrum against her sensitive nipple, the vibrations traveling straight to the aching heat between her thighs. She can feel herself growing wetter by the second, the silk robe slipping lower along her arms and pooling at her waist. The Mediterranean breeze drifts through the open terrace, carrying the scent of salt and jasmine that mingles with the citrus-salt musk of Sascha’s skin and the peppermint freshness of Andrey’s breath. The golden morning light spills across the terrace in molten stripes, catching the constellation of freckles dusted along her collarbones in shifting patterns of gold and shadow.
"Imagine how good it will feel when we use it lower," Sascha murmurs, his voice rough with promise. The citrus-salt musk clinging to his bare torso deepens as he leans forward, his rough fingers brushing the silk robe down her arms until it slithers to the ground in a silken whisper. The golden Mediterranean light carves new shadows across the ridges of his torso, each muscle flexing when he shifts closer.
Andrey's rough palm still cradles the heavy weight of her breast, his calloused thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles around her areola as the rose quartz egg continues its steady, hypnotic pulse against her sensitive skin.
The peppermint freshness of his breath warms the shell of her ear when he murmurs, "Do you like that, beautiful?"
The vibration from the egg syncs with the erratic rhythm of Violet's heartbeat, each pulse sending fresh waves of heat cascading through her chest and lower. The golden Mediterranean sunlight spills across the terrace in molten stripes, catching the constellation of freckles dusted across her collarbones in shifting patterns of gold and shadow. The citrus-salt musk of Sascha's skin deepens where it clings to his bare torso as he shifts closer, his rough thigh pressing against hers beneath where the silk robe is now off completely.
Andrey takes the egg vibrator from Violet and slowly moves it between her thighs.
The silk robe is completely discarded now, leaving her bare in the golden Mediterranean morning light.
“Should we stop? We can take this as slow as you need,” Sascha says, his voice a low rasp that sends a new wave of heat pooling between Violet’s thighs.
Violet shakes her head, her green eyes wide but determined. “No. Don’t stop.”
Andrey positions himself between her legs, his broad shoulders pressing her thighs wider as he lifts one of her legs to rest on the back of the chair. His reddish stubble grazes the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, his breath warm and peppermint-fresh as he exhales slowly against her entrance.
The toy drifts Violet's clit.
The rose quartz glides wetly against her entrance.
Andrey feels the heat of her before he even touches her. His breath is warm and peppermint-fresh against her skin as he exhales slowly, the citrus-salt musk of Sascha’s skin deepening where the German leans closer, his rough thigh pressing against hers beneath the table. The golden Mediterranean sunlight spills across the terrace in molten stripes, catching the constellation of freckles dusted across Violet’s collarbones in shifting patterns of gold and shadow.
Andrey’s rough fingertips part her soft folds with deliberate slowness, exposing the flushed pink flesh beneath.
The rose quartz vibrates against her entrance—just a whisper of pressure, a tease rather than an invasion. The morning light catches the moisture already gathering there, turning it into liquid gold that drips down his calloused knuckles. He watches her reaction with unblinking intensity, the reddish stubble along his jaw tense with restraint.
Sascha’s citrus musk deepens as he shifts impossibly closer, the ridges of his torso pressing against Violet’s side. His rough palm slides along her thigh, thumb tracing idle patterns as he leans in to press a slow kiss to the shell of her ear.
“You’re dripping for us,” he murmurs, voice rough with approval.
Andrey moves vibrating egg to Violet's entrance. He tells her it can be used internally too.
They all agree Violet should try that.
Violet's breath catches at the suggestion, her thighs pressing tighter together despite the warmth that floods between them. The citrus-salt musk of Sascha’s skin deepens where it clings to his bare chest as he shifts closer, his rough thigh pressing against hers beneath the table.
The rose quartz egg still vibrates faintly against her entrance, the wet tip pressing just inside the threshold of her body.
Andrey’s blue eyes never waver from hers as he slowly increases the pressure—just a bare inch at first, then another, the motion deliberate, controlled.
Violet’s breath hitches, her hips rocking forward instinctively against the subtle invasion. The Mediterranean breeze drifting through the terrace carries the scent of salt and jasmine, mingling with the citrus-salt musk of Sascha’s skin and the peppermint sharpness of Andrey’s breath. The golden sunlight spills across the terrace in molten stripes, catching the freckles dusted along her collarbones in shifting patterns of gold and shadow.
Each seems to pulse in time with the steady vibration of the rose quartz egg as it presses deeper inside her.
Violet’s breath comes in shallow gasps, her hips lifting slightly in silent invitation. The silk robe lies forgotten on the tiled floor, and the cool morning air does nothing to calm the heat that radiates from her bare skin. The citrus-salt musk of Sascha’s body deepens where his thigh presses against hers, each flex of muscle sending fresh waves of scent to mingle with the salt breeze drifting in from the sea.
Sascha’s rough fingers brush against her cheek, tilting her face toward him.
"It looks perfect inside you," he murmurs, his voice rough but tender as he watches the rose quartz egg sink deeper with each slow rock of her hips. The citrus-salt musk clinging to his torso deepens where he shifts closer, the golden Mediterranean light carving sharp planes along his stomach. His dark eyes darken with raw hunger as he traces idle patterns along her thigh, each pass making her pulse with fresh anticipation.
Andrey’s peppermint-fresh breath is warm against her ear when he whispers, "Imagine when it's not just one of us inside you—not just something small and sleek. When it’s both of us.
Stretching you. Filling you.” His rough palm slides higher along her inner thigh, calloused fingertips brushing dangerously close to where the rose quartz egg pulses deep inside her. The citrus-salt musk of Sascha’s skin deepens where his thigh presses against hers as he shifts closer, the Mediterranean morning light catching the ridges of his torso in sharp relief. The golden glow spills across Violet’s bare skin in molten stripes, catching the freckles dusted across her collarbones like tiny constellations.
Violet’s breath hitches, her hips rocking forward instinctively against the subtle invasion, the rose quartz egg slick with her arousal as it pulses deeper inside her.
Sascha finds Violet's clit and his mouth descends. The sensation is intense with the vibrating egg inside her.
Sascha’s hot breath dances over the sensitive bundle of nerves before his mouth descends in a slow, wet caress from just below her navel upward. Violet’s gasp is sharp and immediate, her back arching off the chair as the first deliberate swipe of Sascha’s tongue passes over her clit in a lingering, swirling motion. The citrus-salt musk of his skin ascends with him, mingling with the salt breeze from the sea, the peppermint sharpness of Andrey’s breath still warm against her ear.
“Oh—fuck,” Violet breathes, her fingers flying to Sascha’s hair, the rose-gold strands thick and soft beneath her palms.
The citrus-salt musk of his skin deepens as he settles between her thighs, the tip of his tongue pressing in slow, deliberate circles around her clit—just where it aches most—while the rose quartz egg pulses deep inside her, each vibration syncing with the rhythm of his tongue.
Andrey watches from his kneeling position between her spread legs, his blue eyes dark with hunger as he grips her thigh, the reddish stubble along his jaw catching the morning light like embers. His calloused thumb traces slow, teasing circles near where Sascha’s mouth works, his peppermint-fresh breath warm against her skin when he whispers, “Look at you, beautiful.
Taking it so well.”
The vibrations from the rose quartz egg deep inside her pulse in time with Sascha’s swirling tongue, each pulse sending fresh waves of heat cascading through her chest and lower. The citrus-salt musk of Sascha’s skin deepens where it clings to his bare torso as he shifts slightly, his rough thigh pressing against hers beneath where the silk robe is now forgotten on the tiled floor.
The golden Mediterranean sunlight spills across the terrace in molten stripes, catching the constellation of freckles dusted along her collarbones in shifting patterns of gold and shadow.
Violet’s breath comes in shallow gasps, her hips lifting slightly off the chair, rocking instinctively against the vibrating egg deep inside her as Sascha’s tongue continues its swirling motion over her clit. Her fingers tighten in his hair, the wet strands cool against her overheated palms.
Chapter excerpt truncated at the edge.