Bonus Chapter: Quality Assurance

The Vibe Curator Bonus Content
by Blair Lennox

This bonus chapter takes place after the events of The Vibe Curator. It contains explicit sexual content and is intended for readers 18+.

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Quality Assurance

A Bonus Chapter from The Vibe Curator

The morning the new product line ships, Lena finds Avery in the Serein lab at seven AM.

Not working. Not reviewing metrics. Sitting on the counter next to a row of boxed prototypes with her reading glasses on and a coffee that has gone cold, turning a matte black vibrator in her hands like she is trying to memorize its weight.

“You’re fondling our merchandise,” Lena says from the doorway.

Avery doesn’t look up. “Quality assurance.”

“At seven in the morning. Before the product has shipped. While sitting on a counter that Camila would kill you for contaminating.”

“Camila isn’t here.” Avery removes her glasses. Folds them. Sets them on the counter with the particular precision that means she has been thinking about something for longer than she will admit. “This is the first product line that launched under both our names. Mine on the business side. Yours on the creative.”

“I’m aware. I designed the packaging.”

“You designed everything.” Avery looks at her. The morning light through the lab windows catches the scar through her eyebrow — the one Lena has kissed approximately four hundred times in six months and will kiss four hundred more. “The campaign, the brand voice, the visual identity, the community model. You rebuilt this company from the inside out and you did it in sixty days.”

“Sixty-three. We went over.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love it.”

Avery’s mouth does the thing it does when she is trying not to smile and failing — the controlled CEO dissolving, one muscle at a time, into the woman underneath. “I do. Unfortunately.”

Lena crosses the lab. Takes the vibrator from Avery’s hand. Sets it on the counter. Steps between her legs where she sits on the edge, puts her hands on Avery’s thighs, and pushes them apart just far enough to fit.

“The product ships today. In approximately four hours, women across the country are going to open a box with our name on it, and the product inside is going to make them feel exactly the way we intended.”

“And how did we intend?”

“Good. Specific. Seen.” Lena’s thumbs trace circles on the inside of Avery’s thighs through the thin fabric of her trousers, pressing into the muscle with the slow deliberation that makes Avery’s breathing change. “The way I intend to make you feel in approximately thirty seconds, if you don’t have any procedural objections.”

Avery’s breath catches. “We’re in the lab.”

“The door locks now. Camila installed a deadbolt after the equipment room incident.”

Avery’s hands come to Lena’s waist. “Lock the door.”

Lena walks to the door. Turns the deadbolt. The click echoes — a sharp, definitive sound that changes the room. Everything that comes after is in motion.

She comes back. Slides her hands up along the outside of Avery’s hips, over the waistband, up her ribs, pushing the silk blouse free. The skin underneath is warm and smooth and familiar.

“We have a conference call at nine,” Avery says. Her voice is already different. Lower. Rougher.

“That’s a hundred and eight minutes.”

“You calculated that very quickly.”

“I’m motivated.” Lena unbuttons Avery’s blouse one button at a time, maintaining eye contact through each one. The fabric parts and she puts her mouth on the exposed skin above Avery’s bra — the flat plane of her sternum where her heartbeat is visible — and Avery’s head drops back.

She pushes the blouse off Avery’s shoulders and it catches at the elbows — the silk trapping Avery’s arms behind her back in a loose bind that is more suggestion than restriction.

Avery registers it. Her eyes darken. “You’re pinning me.”

“I’m suggesting. You can free your arms anytime.” Lena unclasps Avery’s bra with one hand and slides the straps down. Avery’s breasts are bare in the morning lab light, and Lena cups both in her hands — her thumbs circling the nipples slowly, feeling them harden under her touch. Avery moans and her hips shift on the counter.

She lowers her mouth to Avery’s left breast. Sucks — not gently, but with the firm, confident pressure of a woman who knows exactly what her partner responds to. Switches to the right. Uses her teeth — a light graze, then more pressure, then a bite that makes Avery gasp and grip harder.

“Now take these off,” Lena says.

She undoes Avery’s trousers. Hooks her fingers into both the waistband and the underwear — black, simple, already damp — and pulls everything down in one motion. Avery lifts her hips to help. Lena folds the trousers on a stool because Avery cares about folded things.

Then she kneels on the lab floor. Between the CEO’s legs. Looking up.

“Tell me what you want,” Lena says. “In this room. In the specific language we use to talk about pleasure.”

“I want your mouth on me first. Slowly. Make me wait for it. And then I want you to use the rose gold on my clit while your fingers are inside me. And I want you to keep going until I come hard enough to ruin my composure for the nine AM call.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She starts at the inside of Avery’s knee. A kiss so light it barely qualifies. She moves higher — inch at a time, mouth open and warm, trailing a deliberate path toward the center she’s in no rush to reach. She can feel the heat radiating from Avery’s center, can smell her arousal — warm and musky and specific.

“Lena. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Put your mouth on my pussy. Now. Please.”

Lena puts her mouth on her. The first stroke is long and slow and flat — her tongue covering as much surface as possible, tasting her. Avery’s hips jerk and her hand tightens in Lena’s hair and the sound she makes is raw and fills the lab.

She builds a steady rhythm. Circle after circle against Avery’s clit, steady pressure, unhurried pace. Avery’s thighs begin to tremble. Her breathing becomes audible — deep, labored, a woman whose body is climbing toward something her mind hasn’t authorized.

Lena pulls back. Reaches for the compact rose gold. Turns it on. First setting. The hum fills the lab.

“Second setting,” Avery says. “I told you.”

“I’m starting where I want to start.” She presses the vibrator against Avery’s inner thigh. Close. Not close enough. Avery’s hips chase it.

“You are a menace,” Avery breathes.

“You hired me for it.”

She clicks to the second setting and presses the vibrator directly against Avery’s clit.

Avery’s entire body arches. Her hands slam flat on the counter. Her head drops back and the cry she releases is sharp and broken and echoes off the lab walls.

“There. Right there. Don’t move.”

Lena holds the vibrator exactly where Avery needs it. Steady. Precise. She watches the pleasure reorganize Avery’s body — the arch of her spine, the flex of her stomach muscles, the way her thighs open wider. The sounds escalating from moans to something continuous and urgent and wrecked.

Then she slides two fingers inside her.

The sound Avery makes is something deeper and more primal — torn free by the combined sensation. Her internal muscles clamp around Lena’s fingers immediately, tight and rhythmic. Lena curls her fingers upward, finds the swollen spot on the front wall and presses, and Avery nearly comes off the counter.

“I’m going to come,” Avery says. Barely coherent. “Lena — fuck, I’m going to —”

“Come for me. I’ve got you.”

Avery comes with her entire body. Her back bows. Her thighs lock around Lena’s arm. Each contraction visible, audible, unstoppable. The vibrator extends it past the first crest, pulling a second wave, then a third — the sustained combination pushing Avery into the plateau beyond the peaks, the continuous vibration that matches the device in Lena’s hand. Avery’s body is shaking and the sounds she’s making have transcended language entirely.

Lena turns off the vibrator. Withdraws slowly. Gathers Avery against her chest and holds her while the aftershocks pulse through. Avery is trembling — whole-body trembling, the kind that comes from being disassembled.

“Quality assurance,” Lena murmurs against her hair. “Product performs as designed.”

Avery laughs. The real one. Uncontrolled, surprised, joyful.

“Your turn,” Avery says.