Page 62 of Temptation at Randy's

Claude was still in control of every inch of my body.

They knew what to do with it, too—not that I’d doubted it.

“Do you want to come?”

That was something new, too, something that had started when I admitted that I didn’t always come, or want to, that sometimes sex was about comfort and validating my body, and little else. It was about the mental aspects more than the physical ones. The physical aspect could detract from an experience, sometimes. Something about it had resonated with Claude that day.

They didn’t question it, either, when I shook my head. I just wanted to bask in the way my skin tingled with need, to vibrate with the need to be theirs.

And I wanted to go to them in an hour, or a few hours, completely desperate and at their mercy because I couldn’t hold everything inside anymore.

“Good girl,” Claude purred the words. “You’re so good for me. So fucking pliant and obedient and desperate to please.”

I really was. I’d stopped wondering what it meant for me, too. Well, I still did sometimes, when I was on my own, and I didn’t have anyone or anything to center me, to ground me.

It didn’t matter, though.

The vibrations stopped first.

My body jerked in response, in shock at the way the sudden absence felt. It almost felt like something had misfired, like an intrinsic part of me was missing. It didn’t matter that I’d tried to run away from its intensity at one point.

The dildo pulled out next. I whimpered, biting on my lip. Its absence was more familiar, less shocking. I still mourned it, still shifted my hips around as if I could entice it back.

“That’s it. It’s okay.”

I didn’t know that it was. I didn’t know that it mattered, but then Claude was pulling my sweaty hair off my face, and they were kissing down my neck. And then it really didn’t matter. Only they did, only they managed to matter.

“I need…”

Air.

A second.

Them.

Too many things to put into words, to make sense of.

“I know,” Claude breathed.

I chose to believe that they really did.

SIXTEEN

Claude

“These muffins are so fucking good.”

I hadn’t even known mint chocolate muffins were a thing, but they apparently were. Arlene had looked at me so funny that first day she’d mentioned one of her flavor combinations, I didn’t dare to question them again. At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter.

My stomach was happy, so I was happy to let Arlene run around the kitchen talking about things that were supposedly obvious but really were anything but.

“The mint tea makes all the difference.”

“Wait, what?”

I frowned. I thought it would just be chocolate and mint extract and food coloring. Not the healthiest, but I wasn’t one to complain about that stuff. Since when could muffins have tea in them?

Oops.

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