Page 28 of Toy Shop

As does Alistair. His thrusts start slow and considerate. He picks up the pace and intensity, pummels into me, relentless and rough. I gaze back, and there’s no cruelty in them. He doesn’t slip out of the guardian character, even as sadistic as he is.

Words are one thing, actions another, eyes—they never lie.

“This fucking ass.” He spanks it, his bare hand jolting my bruised behind. “I could fuck it for eternity. So tight, milking my cock like that.”

My world capsizes, a haze subduing me. My head drops, eyes gazing at the carpet as Alistair and I move in unison.

“Not there, baby, I want to see you.” Alistair’s fingers wind around my long hair, pulling me to him harshly. “Want these large, soulful eyes on me when I shoot my load in your ass.”

The last sentence, along with everything else going on, ruins me. I clamp my fingers onto the window, screaming like my lungs are on fire and my heart gallops in my chest.

“More.” He chokes out. “Louder.”

I grant this compassionate sadist what he asks for over and over.

“Yes,” he lets out the grunt to end all other groans, guttural and primal and everything.

Alistair’s hot sperm unloads in my ass in three final brutal thrusts. Some of it pours out, mixing with my own cum.

“Come here.” He pulls out of me, not letting me wobble for a second by circling my waist with his firm arm. Alistair releases the vibrator out of my hold, drops it to the carpet, and scoops me in his arms.

His firm body has no trouble traversing the living room while carrying me, an unwavering balance like I suspect he reigns over every aspect of his life.

“Where are we going?”

“You took everything so well, Nola.” He gazes at me as he takes a turn into a narrow corridor. “I’ll reward you a second time this evening. How do you like warm baths?”

My eyes widen. And what a scary thought it is to think, my heart does, too. “A lot.”

His signature smirk appears, demolishing my remaining neurons. “Then, sweetheart, you’re gonna love this.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Alistair

“There you go.” I extend my hand out for Nola to hold, helping her into a chair around the dining room table.

We’re both clean, the scent of lavender floating in the air around us after the bath we shared in the air massage tub. Nola left her hair in the bun I pinned up for her, tying the ribbon in the same knot Mom had done for my sisters during our childhood in Mississippi.

The memories pained me a notch, but then Nola’s smile erupted at my caring gesture and the pain evaporated altogether. The permission she gave freely to take care of her was like the soft fall wind, blowing the fallen red and orange leaves to the ground, clearing space to create something better. A new beginning.

“Thank you.” Nola steps in, sitting elegantly. Her toned legs are bare under a lilac-colored T-shirt I lent her, the faintest hint of her breasts outlined beneath it.

She gazes at the two full platters on the table. Since Nola and I haven’t discussed her food preferences, I jogged to the kitchen and set up some light and some warm choices for her to select by herself while she was getting dressed.

Her eyes gleam like her smile does when she looks at the table. It’s like she can’t decide whether she’d taste from the platter of fruit, biscuits, and cheese, or from the second one with the chocolate chip cookies and muffins I warmed in the oven.

“Alistair, everything looks great.”

I descend to the adjacent chair, without relinquishing my hold on her hand, and grin. Telling myself that this is another form of aftercare would be easy, but it’d be a lie. I ran her a bath, hugged and caressed her, saw her through this. It should be enough to send her home. It’d also be the complete opposite of what I want.

I want her to stay.

“Which would you prefer?” One of my hands drifts to Nola’s back, rubbing it in soothing circles, the other sliding the steaming ginger tea to her.

“I don’t feel like choosing.” She lowers her chin, glancing at me behind her long eyelashes. “Will you choose for us?”

“For us?” Another line I’ve never crossed during aftercare, or ever, is joining them. With Nola though, it requires less than a second of her sweet gaze to rope me into having this late-night dinner together. “Okay, okay. I’m thinking I might be in the mood for grapes.”

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