Page 2 of Ring in the New Year

"Sure," Holden replied dryly, the snark in his tone masking the emptiness clawing at his chest. He caught a towel thrown his way, wiping away the sheen of sweat that served as evidence of their staged bed sport.

As Holden dressed in silence, the fabric of his shirt felt like a barrier he was eager to rebuild between himself and a world that saw him as nothing more than flesh and fantasy. He was ready to leave behind the echo of feigned ecstasy that lingered in the air, ready to chase after the promise of being valued for who he was, not just what he could do in front of a camera.

CHAPTER TWO

Angela Prescott leaned over the silicone mold spread across her lab table. Her long, dark hair threatened to brush against the smooth, flesh-toned surface. A sigh escaped her lips as she scrutinized the latest prototype designed for women's pleasure—a task that had once thrilled her but now elicited nothing but a sense of monotony. The molds were perfect, clinically so. Yet Angela couldn't shake the feeling that perfection could sometimes be the most boring outcome of all.

"Another masterpiece, Angie?" the snarky voice in her head mocked. She rolled her eyes at herself, annoyed by her own cynicism. It wasn’t the product itself she resented; rather, it was the lack of challenge in crafting yet another iteration of the same old design.

"Masterpiece? Hardly," she mumbled under her breath, her fingers tracing the contours of the dildo. There was no denying her talent for creating objects of desire, but lately, each one seemed like a whispered repetition of the last—a sensual echo that had lost its original thrill.

The soft chime of her computer pulled her from her reverie. She glanced at the screen to see an email notification pop up with the subject lineNew Assignment. Interest piqued, sheclicked open the message, her pulse quickening as she read the words that promised a departure from the tedium.

Congratulations, Angela. You've been selected to design our new line of vibrating cock rings for men—your first solo project.

A jolt of excitement surged through her, her mind already racing with ideas. This was her chance—to step out of the well-trodden path, to innovate, to prove that she was more than just the sum of her successful designs for women. Men were an often neglected demographic in the pleasure industry, and Angela was determined to give them something extraordinary.

She'd put in a request with her bosses at Kringle Knotty or Nice Intimates to revitalize the neglected men's toy line. And after a lot of nagging of the lead lab tech, who just happened to be sleeping with the boss, Angela finally got the go-ahead. She would've thanked Maya herself, expect the woman was on a sexy weekend with the company's co-CEO, and she was sure Troy Kringle had turned the brilliant engineer's phone off so that they couldn't be disturbed.

Angela stood up, her mind already dissecting the mechanics of male arousal, the interplay of sensation and sensitivity that she would harness in her design. She would create not just a toy, but an adagio of pleasure, a crescendo of satisfaction that would redefine the boundaries of erotic fulfillment for men.

This new assignment would shift her career, elevating it to the heights she had always wanted to go. Acting on impulse, she reached for her phone. But as she brought up the number in her contacts, her thumb paused before hitting dial.

The thrill of her new assignment still pirouetted through her veins. Yet it was a dance marred by a familiar partner—doubt. She paused before her desk, the sterile surface scattered with sketches and prototypes, evidence of a mind that could alchemize the mundane into the erotic.

Mom & Dadread the name of the contact on her phone. Her parents, traditionalists at heart, had always envisioned their daughter in a white coat curing diseases, not engineering climaxes. How could she tell them she was about to revolutionize pleasure for men when they couldn't even acknowledge her previous successes without averted gazes?

Her fingers hovered over her phone, as if it were an artifact from a forbidden excavation, something precious yet laden with curses. With a deep breath that did little to steady her racing heart, Angela tapped the screen, listening to the dial tone that echoed through the void between expectation and reality.

"Angela?" Her mother's voice sounded hollow. It was because Dr. Jeana Prescott had put her only daughter on speaker.

"Hey, Mom, Dad... It's me." Her voice was a careful blend of casual and rehearsed, a mask worn so often it almost felt genuine. "Just wanted to check in and, uh, share some news..."

The line crackled with her parents' attentive silence. She could hear jazz music in the background.

"Work's good," she deflected, the familiar lie sliding out with ease. "Busy as usual. You know how it is."

"Angela, dear, was there something you wanted?" Her father's voice held that tone—the one that searched for cracks in her carefully constructed façade. "Roaming charges can get quite expensive. Is there something the matter?"

"Everything's perfect, Dad. Really. I just—" Angela's eyes darted to the sketches of her latest creation, her vision blurring the lines between anatomy and art. "Just wanted to check in. Didn't want to be one of those kids that never called. So I'm calling. And now I've got to run. Deadline looming. Love you."

Without waiting for their response, she ended the call, her finger lingering on the disconnect button, as if trying to severmore than just the conversation. The phone clattered onto the desk, a testament to her defeat.

She let out a huff of air to mask the longing that clung to her like the scent of unspoken dreams. Angela Prescott, the woman who dared to delve into the depths of desire, was left standing in the shadows of disapproval, craving a validation that seemed as elusive as the perfect orgasm.

She turned back to the sanctuary of her lab. The cool, sterile air was a stark contrast to the heat of her emotions, but it was here, among silicon molds and sketches, that she sought refuge from the sting of family judgment. Work had always been her anchor, her private rebellion against a world that tried to shackle her with shame.

She turned her attention to the array of vibrating mechanisms spread out before her like an offering to the gods of pleasure. Her task: to create not just a tool, but a masterpiece of intimate delight—a vibrating cock ring that would set the standard for masculine satisfaction.

CHAPTER THREE

Holden pushed open the door to Knotty or Nice's laboratory, his broad shoulders momentarily shadowing the threshold as he stepped inside. The room was a curious blend of sterile precision and creative chaos, with equipment that seemed to Holden like it belonged both in a medical facility and an artist’s studio. His gaze swept over the benches strewn with schematics and prototypes, each tool a mystery to his untrained eye but evidence to the intricate nature of the craft of the engineers who worked here.

"Mr. Tighe, I presume?"

He turned to find the assistant tech standing by a workbench, her dark hair cascading over her lab coat like a waterfall at midnight. Holden had worked with the other engineer, Dr. Turr, before. But his gaze had always drifted to the dark-haired woman standing just off to the side.

"Call me Holden," he offered, a half-grin tugging at his lips as he extended a hand.

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