He chuckles. “And I’ll wash her clothes.”
“Wank on her bed?” I act serious.
“Of course.”
“Lecture her about being messy?” I ask.
“On the hour.”
I giggle. “Looks like nothing is changing, then.”
He kisses me softly, his lips lingering over mine, and I begin to feel a rush of arousal building.
“And what about other fuck dolls?” I ask.
“What about them?” His eyes hold mine.
“You tell me.”
“There’ll be no other fuck dolls, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I smile up at my man.
“Unless . . . we could have a threesome sometime. That’s okay if you’re there, though, right?”
My eyes widen in horror.
He pokes me in the ribs. “Got you,” he teases.
“That’s not remotely funny,” I snap.
“Although, we are going to the sex shop today,” he says as he pulls me by the hand out of bed.
“What for?”
“I need to buy you a vibrator.”
“What?” I gasp. “You have more than enough dick for the both of us.”
He chuckles as he pulls me into the bathroom. “That’s the problem. I need a warm-up toolbox.”
I stare at him as he turns on the shower.
“What’s a warm-up toolbox?” I ask.
“Toys for us to play with to stretch you out when I’m not lost in the moment.” He pulls me in under the water and soaps up his hands and begins to wash my back.
What the hell?
“What’s wrong with being lost in the moment?” I ask as he massages my shoulders from behind.
He kisses my ear. “See how sore you are today?”
“Yes.”
“I was using about five percent of the tank.”
My eyes widen. That was 5 percent . . . what the actual fuck?
He chuckles and pulls me back toward his body. I feel his hard cock up against my back. “Can’t wait to give you one hundred percent, baby,” he breathes into my ear. Goose bumps scatter up my arms.
His fingers slide down, and he runs them over my back entrance, gently probing me where he shouldn’t. “All barrels, both tanks.” He pushes the tip of his pinkie finger in, and I jump forward and grab onto the tiled wall as my senses go into overdrive. “It’s going to be so fucking hot, Grumps,” he whispers darkly as he massages me there. “I can’t fucking wait.”
Jeez.
I swallow the nervous lump in my throat as I grip the tiles for dear life.
Fuck . . . I’m a real-life sex doll for a perverted deviant.
Let the training begin.
I watch him sip his coffee casually as he reads the morning paper . . . as if he hasn’t just had the world completely rocked to its core.
Or maybe that’s just me . . .
The café we are having breakfast in is busy and bustling. Christopher had an omelet, and I had pancakes. And while he’s completely calm and sated, on the other side of the table is a completely different story. I’m flushed, heated, sated, shocked that I like his depravity, and damn it . . . even a little embarrassed.