Page 42 of Filthy Christmas


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I whistled. “Well, I can’t imagine.”

“Me either. I don’t have a G-spot in the same place as yours.”

That had my mouth dropping open. “Conor?”

“Yes,” he muttered as he fiddled with the doohickey and screwed in the attachment.

“Did you use this toy on yourself?”

“An early prototype,” he dismissed.

“And you didn’t let me watch?!” I shrieked.

He paused in his actions. “I was experimenting?—”

“Yes. And that’s the kind of thing I’d like to see!”

“But it wouldn’t have been a surprise?—”

“Fuck surprises.” I folded my arms under my tits. “Next time, you’ll damn well invite me to the party.”

His lips twitched. “Okay, boss.”

“Like this is news to you,” I derided before biting the inside of my cheek. “Wow, that must have been hot.”

“Blew up like a geyser,” he agreed with a snort.

“Ugh,” I whimpered, reaching down and rubbing my sensitive clit. “Can’t you use it now?!”

“Not really. I changed it too much.” He pointed to some of the toy’s features before rolling it around between his hands. “These weren’t here before. It was a more unisex device.”

“Then, for Christmas, you make that and we can each use one together.”

His nostrils flared. “I can do that.”

“Good. And don’t forget that any experimenting, I want to see. You don’t get to be all Mr. Inventor without showing me the perks too!”

“Noted.” His voice lowered. “Ready?”

“Fuck. No. But also, yes. So, this is better?”

“Not better. Different.”

I quivered. Literally. “Okay.”

My whole body prickled with expectation as he smoothed his fingers over my slick folds. “You fine with me playing?”

“You know it,” I said, almost embarrassed when the words hitched in the middle.

Another shudder wracked me at his careful touch, as if he knew it wouldn’t be hard to take me over the edge again.

I sucked in a breath when the mindblower breached my entrance. It wasn’t like one of those rabbits or a dildo. It had a funny shape that I couldn’t begin to comprehend whathad made him develop it, but it sank into me with pleasing fullness.

“Ohh, it’s warm,” I mewled.

“The material warms up with friction.”

“That’s why you were rubbing it between your hands?”