This was hell. Kagome was out of her depth. She hadn’t been in a relationship for two years, and not once in that time had she ever considered using a sex toy to get off. When she had a partner, she relied on them to satisfy her needs—though, in hindsight, they weren’t always successful. But solo pleasure? That was an entirely new frontier. And she had no map. No compass. No guiding star. So, she did what any self-respecting journalist would do when faced with unfamiliar territory—research. For the next two days, Kagome went deep. She read up on the company behind the Moan-a Lisa, studied their mission statement like she was preparing for a final exam, and scrutinized every detail of its shape, texture, and vibration settings. What exactly made this toy better than all the others on the market? Why did its creators describe it as "a marriage of fine art and unparalleled pleasure"? Did anyone actually buy into that, or was it just fancy marketing? Then came the reviews. Why did ShyGirl21 claim this toy was handcrafted by the gods to bless womankind? Was BirdLady98 just a chronic pessimist, or was the Moan-a Lisa truly a disappointment? Did HotMommyOf3 really call it "a religious experience" and recommend it over therapy?! Kagome was left with more questions than answers. Which led to the final—and most daunting—step of her research: video demonstrations. She told herself it was purely professional, but nothing could have prepared her for the enthusiastic product influencer. Sure, the girl in the video was merely demonstrating the power of the vibrations and thrusts on water, but the moment she uttered, "I think my soul just left my body," Kagome slammed her laptop shut and went to take a very cold shower. Armed with everything she needed—except personal experience, which she refused to gather—she poured herself into writing the best damn article she could. When she was finally done, Kagome sat back, exhaled deeply, and hit send. It was over. The nightmare was over. She was free. Or so she thought. Thwack. A freshly printed stack of papers landed on her desk. “Do it again,” Kagura said flatly, crossing her arms as she stared down at her. Kagome gaped. “Excuse me?” Kagura tapped a perfectly manicured claw against the pages. “It’s dry. Reads like a clinical report. I need something with passion, Kagome.” “Passion?” she repeated, horrified. “That’s right. Readers don’t want facts—they want to feel something.” She leaned in. “They want to be seduced.”