“Didn’t know sexy gangsters got to rest. Don’t you count as wicked?”
My teasing takes a slight battering as his marks a trail across my shoulder, taking small nips before he alters course and heads down to my breasts, palming one while he takes the opposite bud into his mouth, grazing his teeth against the underside.
I arch into him, reaching down to grab his arse so I can pull him against me. “You must’ve slept wrong,” I whisper, enjoying the stubborn length of his erection against my naked body. “It appears you’ve got some morning stiffness. Would you like me to massage that better?”
Ignoring my offer, Baxter changes sides, and I forget what I was about to say as his tongue flicks over my nipple, sending a joyous message from my chest to my crotch. Then he moves his attention down, down, down until he’s sprinkling kisses over my inner thighs and all thoughts of a lazy morning snooze are forgotten.
Then he rolls me onto my belly again and kisses his way back up, paying special attention to the marks still present from our midnight session. When he reaches my upper back, his weight moves to cover me, and I feel the head of his prick nudging between my thighs.
“Are you going to let me in?” he asks in a low murmur as I squeeze my legs together just so he’ll be forced to thrust his hand between them to spread them apart.
“You’ll have to ask nicely.”
“Pretty, please?” He threads one hand into my hair and gives it a gentle tug, barely enough to shake loose the remaining cobwebs of sleep.
“Aren’t you meant to be ordering me about?”
“Damned straight.” He gives me a paddle on my left butt cheek. “Open those legs or we’ll lose a day to correction.
I wriggle my behind, pretending to consider the offer, then part like the red sea as his nudges grow more insistent.
His hand in my hair twists another quarter turn, putting an increased strain on my scalp just above my neck, a low hum of pain. When he enters me, he steadily winds his fist tighter until I moan deep in my throat, attention caught between the increasing heat on my scalp and the fire growing between my legs.
The plug vibrates again, this time without needing Baxter to touch his fingers to it. Instead, it reacts to his thrusts, sending the quivers deep inside my flesh and heightening every stroke. When I try to reach for him, wanting to caress his body with my fingertips, he traps my wrists, holding them in his one free hand like I’m nothing more than a doll.
An explicitly detailed, anatomically accurate doll.
When he pushes me over the top and I tumble headlong into a crashing wave of pleasure, Baxter withdraws, flips me over, and plunges back into my body as his tongue thrusts into my gaping mouth.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him as deep as I can with each new stroke, halfway towards another orgasm before he finally spills himself inside me with a guttural cry.
The weight as he collapses on top of me feels incredible. The crush on my chest is like the world’s gentlest mammogram. I give a small whine of protest when, all too soon, he moves to the side and spins me around to spoon against him.
“To think I was using alarm clocks all these years when I could have been waking to this.”
He chuckles against the back of my neck, stroking his fingers through my hair as he restores it to its previous state. “I’m sorry to love you and leave you, but…”
My heart gives an extra-large thump. “I don’t like where this is heading.”
“There are things I need to do.”
“Pfft. Things. They’re well overrated.”
Still, when he stirs a few minutes later, I leave the comfort of the bed to join him in the shower. His bathroom is tiled with a mix of onyx and marble instead of the whitewash in mine. No chandelier, either. Whatever Baxter’s reasons for choosing this room, it wasn’t to grab the biggest or the most luxurious space for himself.
He takes his leave after towelling me dry, and when I venture from the confines of his bathroom, butt plug finally removed to leave me feeling strangely empty, I find a new outfit laid on the bed.
“The never-ending wardrobe,” I sing under my breath as I dress and pull my hair back with the fancy silver clip. I can’t remember the last time I felt so content.
I’m still buzzing when Yuri tracks me down in the study. “Sophia’s asking about you,” he says. “Would you like to visit her before lunch?”
“Sure,” I say, feeling agreeable. “That sounds lovely.”
Sophia is on a lower energy setting today and curls into my lap as I read her stories rather than directing the toy shop worth of dolls in her collection. Knowing that the author didn’t reach an untimely demise at Baxter’s hands makes the handcrafted books more interesting.
I scan the pages, sometimes spending so long looking at the illustrations that the girl nudges me to continue. Even with my extra helping of interest, I don’t glean any new salient facts from the inspection, and eventually put them aside so Baxter’s daughter can choose a new set of books to read.
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask following one particularly elongated sigh. I press my wrist against her forehead, and she doesn’t feel too hot but there could be a thousand other things wrong I can’t diagnose so easily.
