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Tanya felt her throat working as she swallowed the desire that pooled all around her tongue. She bit her lip to keep any of it from spilling out. Once she was sure she was back in control, she ticked off more tasks for him to follow. "Efficiency isn't the only measure of success. It needs... layers."
"Layers?" Vigo echoed, his pen poised over the notepad, ready to dissect her every word.
Her hand went to her chest. She should probably button up the top of her shirt. Her nipples were as sharp as the nib on that pen where he was writing down her every desire like he was actually going to follow her orders to a T.
"Think textures, rhythms, a crescendo of sensations." She leaned forward, her voice dipping in conviction. "You've built a rocket when what we need is a symphony."
"Symphony. Interesting metaphor." Vigo's brow furrowed behind his glasses. "And how would you suggest we compose this opus?"
"Start with subtlety. A tease of vibration here, a hint of pressure there. Build it up slowly." Tanya watched him scribble fervently. Her own pulse still thrummed from the encounter, reminding her of the task at hand.
"Slowly," he repeated, as if the concept were foreign. "Then crescendo."
"Think of it as an art, not a race."
"Art..." he mused. "A masterpiece it shall be."
She exhaled sharply, collecting her scattered thoughts as she prepared to leave the room. The walls, once closing in with clinical whiteness, now seemed to recede, giving way to possibility. In the recliner, a world away from ledger lines and market strategies, Tanya had surrendered to an experience pure in its intensity. For those breathless minutes, her relentless pursuit of perfection had melted into irrelevance.
She'd given herself over to Vigo's care. Though he hadn't done a perfect job, it was clear he wouldn't rest until he gave her exactly what she wanted. It was one less thing she had to worry about. She let the door to the lab close behind her with a smile on her face.
CHAPTER4
VIGO
The echo of the door clicking shut behind Tanya reverberated like a ghostly whisper. Vigo turned to the discarded prototype on the side table—a sleek, metallic device that held within its circuits the key to pleasure beyond measure, or so he hoped. He picked it up, surveying it with an engineer's critical eye. But then, he brought it close, and the scent of Tanya—pure musk with a hint of floral—assaulted his senses, sending a jolt through him that was anything but professional. His body responded with immediate urgency.
The memories came unbidden, flashing across his mind like lightning—Tanya with her long wavy hair cascading over the recliner, her slender form arching toward the ecstasy that was meant to be delivered by his creation. The whimpers that escaped her lips, each one a note in a melody he'd inadvertently composed but hadn't quite mastered.
She wanted a symphony.
She'dbeena symphony.
Vigo had been the conductor, the vibrator his baton, and Tanya had moved like music. The song had started in her fingertips, where sensations danced with electric fervor, trailing up her arm and igniting every nerve ending along the way. Vigo had watched, captivated, as her body swayed to the rhythm only they could hear—a harmony of pleasure and desire.
He could have watched her for hours. Listened to her moans and gasps for days.
But she was right. It hadn't been a symphony. It had been a quick interlude. He needed to slow the tempo down to make the experience last longer... and to make her body soar to a higher key.
He needed to compose the masterpiece she wanted. It wasn't just for professional pride. Vigo had the sense that she needed the song for herself. He wanted to be the man to gift it to her.
He paced the length of the room, hands shoved into the pockets of his lab coat, the image of her blissful yet brief surrender taunting him. Vigo stopped at his desk, glancing at the array of tools and components spread out before him.
It wasn't just about the technical challenge anymore. It was personal. He wanted to see her lose that composed control, to make her feel something profound.
The thought spurred him into action. He grabbed a pencil and began sketching furiously. The lead danced across the paper as he plotted the next iteration.
His mind spun with possibilities as he considered adding another dimension to the prototype. His sketches grew more detailed, more intricate, driven by a passion that was equal parts engineering aptitude and carnal interest in Tanya's satisfaction.
His gaze flickered back to the doorway where Tanya had disappeared moments earlier. The thought of her marching out as composed as she'd entered gnawed at him. Her confidence was a taunt, a challenge he couldn't ignore. He wanted to see that poise crack, to witness the aftermath of his genius etched into her gait.
What he'd created had been a spark that had fizzled too fast. It had been a firework when what they needed was a slow-burning flame that led to an explosion. Vigo leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight as a plan began to form.
He was alone, but his mind was a bustling hive of activity, buzzing with calculations, physics, and the intricate dance of gears and circuits. The motor he envisioned was a delicate balance of strength and subtlety, a mechanical symphony of movement—starting with a whisper, growing steadily, and culminating in a crescendo of power.
His eyes narrowed as he pondered the initial quietude of the motor. It needed to be unassuming, almost stealthy, belying the energy it was quietly gathering. The gears had to engage seamlessly, the energy transfer smooth and unobtrusive. He sketched, erased, and re-sketched, each iteration bringing him closer to the solution, his fingers smudging the graphite in his fervor.
As his thoughts progressed, the design evolved. The motor's momentum would build a gradual yet deliberate accumulation of speed and force. Vigo's pencil moved faster now, his brain calculating the necessary torque, the resistance, the escalating power. It was a delicate balancing act—too much too soon and the motor would burn out; too little and it would never reach its full potential. Finally, the climax of the design approached—the explosive burst of speed that would mark the motor's peak performance.
