Brody slides off the side of the bed before hooking his fingers in the elastic of my panties and dragging them down my body. With both hands on my ankles, he hauls me closer to the edge a moment later. His hands land on either side of my hips.
I’m still struggling to make sense of the universe, and he’s on a mission I don’t understand.
“Can I just say that your bare pussy is fucking sexy as hell.”
My cheeks heat. After everything we just did, I’m embarrassed for him to comment on my clean-shaven pussy?
“You need to pee, little pixie. And then I’m going to spank you.”
I’m too limp to lower my arms down to my sides, let alone stand. He’s delusional.
He bends to kiss my sex yet again. A chaste kiss. “If you’re too tired, I can carry you in and hold you over the toilet, baby.”
I stiffen, my eyes going wide. “What? No. I’m good. I don’t need to pee.” Except I should. I know this. I’m aware of all the medical reasons why a woman should flush out her urethra after any type of sexual activity. I always force myself to urinate after I masturbate. The last thing I want is to have to visit Dr. Kinsley with a bladder infection because I was too lazy to pee.
Brody lifts a brow. “Little pixie, my bossy side is strong in the bedroom. And it is not flexible when it comes to your health. Chicks need to pee after sex. You going alone, or do you want help?”
He’s serious. I shove to sitting, feeling less sexy and more self-conscious now that I’m more alert. I’m naked. He stripped my panties off after fucking me with his tongue.
When I don’t move fast enough, he lifts me into his arms, cradles me against his chest, and carries me out of the room and into the bathroom. This cottage only has one bathroom. It’s in the hall.
I squeal, stunned by his insistence and mortified to think he might go through with watching while I use the toilet. “Brody… Put me down. I can do it on my own.”
He finally sets me on my feet in the middle of the bathroom. It’s not a huge room. Far too small for both of us. My legs are wobbly as I point toward the door. “Out.”
He chuckles. “Fine, but next time, I won’t give you this option. Whatever modesty you had before you met me is about to be obliterated. I’m a hovering sort of guy. You won’t be peeing alone.”
I gasp. “Brody…”
“I mean it, baby. Nothing as ridiculous as dealing with bodily functions is going to separate us. If you can take my tongue, my fingers, and eventually my cock into your cunt, then you can pee while I’m in the room. When you get pregnant, I’ll hold the fucking stick between your legs myself. Got it?”
I’m so stunned I might faint. If he realizes that, he’ll sit me on the fucking toilet himself and watch. I’m not ready for that, so I nod and shove him toward the hallway.
He’s built like a brick wall, though, so he doesn’t budge. Instead, he lifts my chin with two fingers and leans down so we’re eye-to-eye. “Words, naughty girl.”
I swallow as I hold his stare. He’s so fucking intense. Most women would probably tell him to fuck off and kick him out of their house. But I’m absurdly turned on by his bossy behavior. The thought of him squatting in front of me, forcing me to spread my legs, and holding a pregnancy stick between them makes my heart rate pick up. It’s filthy. And I want what he’s offering. Every last bit of it. Because apparently, I’m fucking filthy.
“Yes, Sir.” The words come out of my mouth far more naturally than I expected. I’ve never in my life considered myself to be submissive. I get the allure. I write it. It’s sexy as fuck. But living it? Not a chance. Because I knew without a shadow of a doubt I would never meet a man who was dominant enough to top me. I’m as sassy as Brody has insinuated. I’m hardworking. I run my own self-publishing business. I have employees. I take care of every damn thing, including getting my car repaired when it breaks down.
But then Brody shows up and tears up everything I thought I knew about myself.
He kisses me. “Good girl.” And then he backs out of the bathroom, leaving me staring at the door. I don’t even remember how to pee. I’m shaking and in shock. I’m not sure why I dug my heels in and made him leave. Why do I care? If the man wants to watch while I urinate, let him. At least he would be here now, guiding me. I don’t seem to have the brain function to do much on my own.
I’m wrecked. He made me come. Twice. Without penetration. My pussy is still pulsing. If it could speak, it would be shouting, “Hey! You forgot me!”
Somehow, I manage to sit on the toilet and release my bladder, but all I keep picturing is him with a fucking pregnancy stick. I’m never going to get that out of my head. It’s so intimate. So invasive. So very Wilde. I bet every one of those Wilde men did the same thing when their wives got pregnant. Probably started hovering and testing them two days after they got married. They make some pretty amazing early tests now.
Pregnant? Do I want that?
I wipe and lift my limp body to walk toward the sink. While I wash my hands, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t even know this woman. My hair is a wild mess of frizzy curls. The barrette I used to hold it up is askew, so I remove it before finger-combing through the tangled locks.
I’m not surprised when Brody knocks on the door. “Melody?”
I open it and lean into him. “You stole my energy.”
He chuckles and picks me up by the hips to carry me into the bedroom. “I’m about to steal more of it with my palm on your sexy bottom. It’s a blank slate waiting for attention.”
I grin over his shoulder, suddenly feeling more energetic. I think my sassy side is back, too. “Maybe next time you make me come, you’ll consider filling my pussy. It was clenching around nothing. I could hear it complaining.”
