“So you plan to get me pregnant, even if that’s not what I want.”
“I don’t plan to stop filling your cunt with my cum at every chance I get with the intention of putting my baby in you, no,” I admit.
“You don’t care what I think?”
“I believe that once my baby is growing inside of you, you’ll be happy.”
Instead of anger or skepticism, Doll looks pensive, slumping back into my chest as she taps the iPad and continues to shop.
“Can you show me where my boxes are?” she asks after we’ve finished cleaning up from dinner.
“Of course,” I agree, placing the last plate back into the cabinet before taking her hand and leading her out of the kitchen and toward the garage.
After her things were delivered, I stacked them in the corner of the garage, then pushed them to the back of my mind, more interested in claiming my wife over and over than thinking about unpacking. But when I lead her over to them, I’m surprised by how few there are.
“Does this look like everything?” I ask her.
“I forgot there were this many. I can’t even remember what’s in them all,” she says, stepping away from me to bend over and check out the label on the one on the top of the stack.
My dick twitches again as several inches of her creamy ass are exposed when the fabric of her shorts rides up her butt. Reaching down, I adjust myself in my boxers, then step forward to help. “I’ll carry them all into the living room, and we can unpack them.”
“God, do we have to? I just want my sketch pad and my pens. The rest can wait until my pussy stops pulsing.”
“Pulsing? Should I call a doctor?” I ask, feeling all of my muscles tense as my body goes on high alert.
“God, no. I’m just sore and tired and cranky. I think I labeled the boxes with all my tattoo equipment, so we can just take them, because I’ll need them tomorrow anyway. We can leave the rest for another day.”
Nodding, I start to separate the ones she points out from the stack, then carry them into the living room, placing them onto the kitchen counter.
Walking into the kitchen, Doll finds a pair of scissors in the drawer and starts to slice through the tape keeping each box closed. After rooting through the first box, she sighs, then moves onto the next, letting out a celebratory hoot when she pulls out a large sketch pad and a massive black zipped case, which I’m assuming is the pens she wanted.
“All of these are going to the studio?” I ask, pointing to the boxes.
“Yep,” she answers, but she’s already distracted with the pad, carrying it and the pens over to the couch and sinking down onto it.
“I’ll put them in the trunk of the car,” I tell her.
Nodding absently, she lifts her hand into the air and throws me a thumbs-up sign, but her attention is on the black case, which she’s opened and is attentively staring at, running her finger over the pens until she selects the one she wants and pulls it out.
Leaving the garage door propped open so I can see her, I stack the four boxes into the trunk of my car before returning to the sofa and sinking down beside Doll. Instead of the paper being blank, it’s now an abstract—but clearly identifiable—landscape of the mountain we live on, with our house in the foreground.
Not wanting to interrupt, I quietly watch as she rips the sheet of paper she’s working on off the pad, then just as quickly does another drawing, using the pens like watercolor paints, before picking out details with a black fine liner.
With each picture she draws, then discards, her tense body starts to relax, and by the time six pictures sit in a pile on the makeshift coffee table, her muscles are liquid, her entire body melted into the curve of mine.
A yawn overtakes her mouth, and she lowers her pen to cover her lips.
“Let’s go to bed,” I say, taking the pen from her hand and putting the lid on. Replacing it in the designated spot in the case, I zip the top closed, then pick up her pictures, place the closed pad on the table, then place the pictures on top of it.
Easing her to the side, I push out of the sofa and stand up, while she follows my movements with her eyes, looking young and sexy, and so perfect that I have to mentally remind my dick that sex isn’t going to be happening again tonight. When I reach down and lift her off the sofa, she instinctively wraps her arms and legs around me, clearly more than happy to be carried, as I check the locks, activate the alarm, then turn off the lights and carry her to bed.
As my eyes snap open, I glance down at my wife nestled comfortably in my arms, and exhale. From almost the moment I realized she was my mate—my wife—I’ve craved this. This intimacy, this instinctual feeling that she was mine and I was hers, and the reality is more than I ever imagined it would be.
Before Octavia came into my world, I intended to spend the rest of my life alone. My entire adult life, I’ve been on my own and perfectly content with it. I enjoyed my own company, sought out sexual release when I required it, and had a fulfilling job with a team I consider family. But I never pictured a woman being a permanent part of my life. Now I wonder how I existed without her. I understand my desire and need for her is probably extreme, but if I didn’t want her so strongly, then surely that would mean she wasn’t the person I was intended to devote myself to.
Glancing at the clock, I wait for the second hand to count down to 0500, then silently untangle myself from Octavia and slip from the bed. Finding my workout shorts from the dresser, I carefully wrap my doll in a blanket and carry her down to the gym with me.
Pulling back the comforter, I place her into the bed, then cover her over, making sure she’s warm and comfortable before I turn on the treadmill and start to run. I do my best to make as little noise as possible, and Doll sleeps through my entire workout, her eyes only blinking open as I lift her into my arms to carry her back to our bedroom.
