Page 76 of All Twerk, No Play

“I didn’t see you faking anything.”

“He promises up to 12 hours,” I declared with the enthusiasm of an infomercial telemarketer. “But how much of that is sleeping off his orgasm?”

“Not sleeping if I’m making you come again in the shower.”

My core heated, but I didn’t want to shower. Showering felt like an ending … and since I only got one night, I would damn well make the most of it.

“I think you’re stalling. Pumping up your longevity metrics while we wait out your refractory period.”

“I think you’re stalling because you like my cum on your tits,” he said with a devilish smile. “You’re secretly a dirty girl who needs a break from that squeaky clean image.”

He grabbed my ass, changing his trajectory from the bathroom towards the bed. When the back of my legs hit the blanket and he lowered me down, I expected him to climb on top. But he stayed upright, walking over to my nightstand.

Alarmed, I propped up on my elbows. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting out my refractory period, like you said.”

He opened my top drawer. I held my breath, waiting for his reaction.

Spencer had been offended by my sex toys, insisting he was man enough to take care of me—then blaming me for lying there bored. Alexander ignored my collection, too tired to bother with foreplay.

But not Eric. He lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Is this the kind that syncs to music?” he held up a U-shaped toy.

My cheeks heated. “Yes, but it’s not charged.”

He looked disappointed putting it away, then lifted a long, black vibrating dildo and a bold red bullet. “Which one?”

I stilled. Those were for my private use, not for him. “I don’t—”

“No, you’re right, you don’t have to choose,” he said, dropping both on the bed and adding lube and condoms to the pile.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling your bluff,” he grinned. “You’re being a bratty bottom who won’t ask for what you want, so I’m bringing in backup. I need a few minutes, and watching you will bridge the gap.” He gestured to the pile of toys. “Show me.”

He wanted me to touch myself? while he watched? and he did … nothing?

“Isn’t that your job?”

“You calling me lazy, woman?”

“Cocky bastard.”

“Oooh, that helps.” He stroked himself, stiffening from looking at my naked body. “Do you think about howcockyI am when you touch yourself?”

When I didn’t move or speak, too self-conscious, he poured lube onto his fingers and stroked the dildo, his hand sliding over the black silicon at the same pace that he’d been stroking his cock.

“This isn’t emasculating to you?” I worried out loud.

“Are you kidding? Watching you come is hot, whether it’s on my hand, my face, my dick, your hand, your toys.”

When I didn’t reach for the dildo, he climbed onto the bed with his back on the headboard. He gestured me over between his spread legs, directing me to put my back against his chest. When I opened my legs wide, he groaned over my shoulder at the view. His cock twitched against my back as he lined the lubed dildo up at my entrance, and we both exhaled as he slid it smoothly inside my pussy.

I expected this to feel shameful—I’d always hidden my toys, believing I wouldn’t need them if I had a worthwhile man—but his breath on my neck, the rawness in his voice, his hands on my body, his hard cock against my back … I felt desired. Adored, even.

He pressed the button to turn on the vibrations, a quiet rumbling from deep inside me joining with his moans and my panting breath. My body pulsed in time with his gentle thrusts, reacting to his fingertips on my ribs, caressing my breast, scraping fingernails across my nipple. His lips explored my neck, finding a spot behind my ear that sent me reeling.

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