I drag my eyes open to see big brown eyes. Christopher is lying on his side and leaning up onto his elbow, watching me.
I frown. “What are you doing?”
“Admiring the view.” He smiles and leans over and kisses me. “Good morning.”
“Hmm, morning,” I grumble with my eyes closed. Why is he so perky this early?
I begin to doze again, and I can feel he’s still watching me, and I open one eye. Yep . . . sure enough, still staring. “Go back to sleep.”
“I’m hungry.”
It’s too early for this shit. I roll over and put my back to him. “Raid the minibar.”
“No.”
I ignore him.
“Let’s go out to breakfast.” He taps me on the shoulder with his finger.
I shrug him off. “Don’t.”
He does it again and again until he’s doing it continually.
“Why are you so annoying?”
“I’m fucking starving over here.”
“You are not starving, Christopher. We ate last night.”
“I didn’t eat much.”
“Well, that’s your stupid fault.” I try to continue sleeping.
“No, it’s your fault,” he replies.
“How is it my fault?”
“I didn’t eat much all day yesterday because I was nervous.”
I smile into my pillow. He leans over me and pulls me back into his arms, his lips on my temple. “Feed me.”
“Let me sleep for half an hour.”
“No.” He rolls me over onto my back and pulls my top leg over his body, and he gently runs his fingertips over the lips of my sex. “How are your particulars this morning?”
I smirk. “Particulars?”
“At my service”—he taps my sex—“and ready for duty?”
“Absolutely not.” I close my legs. “My particulars are annihilated and in no shape for war.”
He chuckles. “Wimp.” He bends and kisses me there. “What if I kiss it better?”
I smile. “No.”
“Okay, I’ll settle for second prize.”
“What’s second prize?”
“A breakfast date.”
“Hmm.” My eyes are still closed. “Why don’t you go and practice your wanking in the shower like a good boy?”
“No more wanking.” He bends and bites me on the behind. “I have my very own sex doll now.” He bites me again. “And she fucks like a demon.”
“You’re about to see how demonic she can be,” I reply dryly.
He rolls me over onto my back and holds my arms over my head and looks down at me. “After we eat, we can do whatever you want for the rest of the day.”
His dark hair hangs over his face. His big brown eyes are playful and full of fun.
I smile up at him. “I had a wonderful night last night.”
He kisses me softly, and I feel him harden up against me. “Me too.”
“Does that thing ever go down?”
“Occasionally.” He smiles as he kisses me again.
I can’t have sex. I’m seriously sore.
“Aren’t we going out for breakfast?” I ask.
“Yes, but now I’m hungry for something else.” He licks my lips, and I feel it all the way down there.
“How often do you like to have sex?” I ask.
“In this situation”—he pumps me with his hips—“I imagine twice a day.”
“You’re a sex maniac.” I smirk. “What is this situation?”
“Like . . . my very own fuck doll.”
I smile goofily. Who would have ever thought I would like to be called his fuck doll? Three months ago, I would have died at the mere thought. Now I see it as a term of endearment.
“You mean girlfriend?”
He chuckles. “Girlfriend is so last year. I prefer the term fuck doll. Much more diverse.”
I giggle. “And what are the terms and conditions that come with your fuck doll?”
He frowns as if contemplating his answer. “Well . . . I’ll keep her well fed . . . with cock, of course.” He pumps me with his hips.
“Didn’t see that answer coming.” I smile.
He chuckles. “And I’ll wash her clothes.”
“Wank on her bed?” I act serious.
“Of course.”
“Lecture her about being messy?” I ask.
“On the hour.”
I giggle. “Looks like nothing is changing, then.”
He kisses me softly, his lips lingering over mine, and I begin to feel a rush of arousal building.
“And what about other fuck dolls?” I ask.
“What about them?” His eyes hold mine.
“You tell me.”
“There’ll be no other fuck dolls, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I smile up at my man.
“Unless . . . we could have a threesome sometime. That’s okay if you’re there, though, right?”
My eyes widen in horror.
He pokes me in the ribs. “Got you,” he teases.
“That’s not remotely funny,” I snap.
“Although, we are going to the sex shop today,” he says as he pulls me by the hand out of bed.
“What for?”
“I need to buy you a vibrator.”
“What?” I gasp. “You have more than enough dick for the both of us.”
He chuckles as he pulls me into the bathroom. “That’s the problem. I need a warm-up toolbox.”
I stare at him as he turns on the shower.
“What’s a warm-up toolbox?” I ask.
“Toys for us to play with to stretch you out when I’m not lost in the moment.” He pulls me in under the water and soaps up his hands and begins to wash my back.
What the hell?
“What’s wrong with being lost in the moment?” I ask as he massages my shoulders from behind.
He kisses my ear. “See how sore you are today?”
“Yes.”
“I was using about five percent of the tank.”
My eyes widen. That was 5 percent . . . what the actual fuck?
He chuckles and pulls me back toward his body. I feel his hard cock up against my back. “Can’t wait to give you one hundred percent, baby,” he breathes into my ear. Goose bumps scatter up my arms.
His fingers slide down, and he runs them over my back entrance, gently probing me where he shouldn’t. “All barrels, both tanks.” He pushes the tip of his pinkie finger in, and I jump forward and grab onto the tiled wall as my senses go into overdrive. “It’s going to be so fucking hot, Grumps,” he whispers darkly as he massages me there. “I can’t fucking wait.”
Jeez.
I swallow the nervous lump in my throat as I grip the tiles for dear life.
Fuck . . . I’m a real-life sex doll for a perverted deviant.
Let the training begin.
I watch him sip his coffee casually as he reads the morning paper . . . as if he hasn’t just had the world completely rocked to its core.
Or maybe that’s just me . . .
The café we are having breakfast in is busy and bustling. Christopher had an omelet, and I had pancakes. And while he’s completely calm and sated, on the other side of the table is a completely different story. I’m flushed, heated, sated, shocked that I like his depravity, and damn it . . . even a little embarrassed.
We didn’t have sex this morning. We didn’t need to.
He came listening to me moan while he showed me what I’ve been missing in the shower.
I came while being horrified that I liked it.
He sips his coffee, and his dark eyes rise to mine, and I feel myself flush in the face.
He raises an eyebrow in question. “What?”
“Nothing.” I smile bashfully.
He smiles knowingly and goes back to his paper, totally unfazed and utterly gorgeous.
I glance around at the people sitting at the tables in the restaurant. Can they tell what we’ve been doing?
I feel like a teenager again, experiencing everything for the first time.
Sex with Christopher Miles isn’t just sex . . . it’s an apocalyptic event in history.
A revelation for womankind.
Who knew . . .
“What are we doing today, Grumps?” he asks casually.
I smile goofily. More of that . . . please. “I don’t know. We have another night in heaven, so I will need to collect some clothes from the hostel, and then”—I shrug—“what do you want to do?”
“Maybe a swim at the beach.” He twists his lips. “I need a new book to read, and I want to find a sex shop.”
“Shh,” I whisper as I look around guiltily. “Keep your voice down.”
He smirks at my embarrassment. “Sex shop,” he mouths.
“What book do you want to get?” I ask to change the subject.
“Don’t know yet. I’ll see what grabs me.” His phone buzzes on the table, and the name Elliot lights up the screen. He answers it. “Hi.” He chuckles and traces his finger in a circle on the table as he listens. “Perfect.”
I listen intently.
“No, it was good.” He smiles. “Thanks for organizing it.”
They’re talking about the hotel room.
“Hayden”—his eyes rise to meet mine—“she was fucking incredible.” He gives me the best come-fuck-me look in all of history.
I feel myself blush.
Jeez. Does he have to tell his brother everything?
“Uh-huh,” he answers, and then he laughs out loud once more. What’s so damn funny?
The waitress comes over to collect our plates. She leans over Christopher, and her eyes linger on him a little too long. She wipes the table down and smiles playfully as she waits for him to notice.
Huh?
I’m sitting right here, bitch.
He continues to chat, completely unaware of her.
The thing is, I know how much female attention Christopher receives, and I get it—he’s utterly gorgeous. It annoyed me before how brazen these women who flirt with him are, but now that I am actually sleeping with him, it’s downright infuriating.
She lingers and lingers, waiting for him to make eye contact with her.
What the hell?
She leans over him again, and he glances up. She gives him a sexy smile, and his brow furrows. He’s noticed it too.
Right, that’s it.
“Are you taking your time on purpose so you can ogle my boyfriend?” I ask her.
She turns to me, startled.
Christopher smirks and nods behind her back.
“I just . . .”
“Our table is clean,” I reply, unimpressed.
“Of course.” She scurries back to the kitchen. “Sorry.”
Sorry she did it or sorry she got busted?
Stupid idiot.
“Go, Grumps.” Christopher smiles. He listens to Elliot, who must be asking what’s happening. “Hayden’s going all caveman over here and waving girls along,” he tells his brother before he laughs again.
“What the hell?” I whisper angrily. “Don’t tell him that.”
“I’ve got to go,” he says. “I’m about to get dragged back to the room by my balls.” He laughs. “I can only hope.” He hangs up.
“Don’t tell your brother I’m waving girls along. He’s going to think I’m a psychopath.”
“Were you waving her along?” he asks.
“That’s not the point,” I snap. “And why did you tell your brother I’m dragging you home by the balls?”
“Because I’m hoping you are, right before you suck on them and slap them up against your ass cheeks.” He gives me a playful wink.
“Will you be serious for one minute?” I whisper angrily. “There will be no ball sucking . . . or slapping, for that matter.”
He exhales heavily as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I guess you want to go and buy a book instead?”
I smirk, feeling embarrassed by my little jealous and antifun outburst. “No,” I announce. “I thought you were taking me to the sex shop?”
His eyes light up, and he rubs his hands together in glee. “Now we’re talking.”
Five hours later we walk out of our hotel lobby hand in hand. We’re on our way to the hostel to pick up some more clothes for tonight.
And . . . just as Christopher predicted, we went to the sex shop, came back to our room, and spent the last two hours in bed. I can confirm there was both sucking and slapping. I can also confirm that the man is an animal. I’m feeling pretty animalistic myself, actually.
I feel flushed, excited, and utterly well fucked.
“Good afternoon,” Christopher says to the doormen.
“Good afternoon, sir,” they all reply.
He looks around. “You want to walk, Grumps?”
“It’s a bit far, isn’t it?”
“It is a nice day.” He twists his lips. “Uber then?”
“I guess.”
“We do have bicycles, sir,” one of the doormen replies.
“You do?”
“Yes, sir. At the other entrance on the side street, we have bicycles you can use.”
Christopher’s eyes meet mine. “Want to ride a bike?”
I smirk. I have been riding all day.
“Sure.”
“Great, thanks.” We walk around to the other door, and the bikes are all lined up.
They are bright yellow and vintage-style with the big loopy handlebars.
“Can we have two bikes, please?” he asks the attendant.
“Sure thing.” The attendant unhooks two bikes, and we put on our helmets and climb on.
I wobble around as I push off. “I haven’t ridden a bike in years.” I laugh.
“Same,” Christopher replies as he concentrates. “Woo.” He gets the wobbles and crashes into the curb. He has to dive off before he falls.
I laugh so hard I jackknife the handlebars, and I fall off too. I lie on the side street, giggling as he and the attendants help me up.
“Our date tonight might be in the hospital,” Christopher says as he pulls me up by the hand.
“I know.” I giggle. Oh, this is so fun.
The attendant looks worried. “May I call you a cab, sir?”
“No, it’s okay,” Christopher replies happily. “You all right, Grumps?”
“Uh-huh.” I push off again, this time concentrating on keeping the handlebars straight. I stand as I pedal, and he does too. We both laugh out loud like little kids riding bikes for the first time. We get to the intersection and look both ways. To the right is full-on traffic chaos, and to the left it’s deserted.
We glance at each other. “Left,” we say together. We push off, and with huge goofy smiles on our faces, we ride off into the sunset . . . only there is no sunset.
The backpackers’ hostel is packed to the rafters with new travelers. The sound of laughter is echoing down the halls, and the distinct smell of body odor lingers in the air.
I’m in my room collecting a few things, and Christopher is holding the door open as he waits for me. “This place is a fucking hole,” he murmurs as he looks down the corridor.
A guy walks down the hall toward the bathroom and looks Christopher up and down. “What’s your fucking problem?” Christopher says.
The guy grunts and keeps walking past.
“Rude prick,” Christopher huffs.
I smile and quickly make my bed.
“Seriously, our days of backpacking are nearly over,” he says to me.
“Yeah, well . . .” I pull the sheet up. “Where else can we afford?”
He rolls his lips, unimpressed. “Somewhere better than this, I’m fucking sure of it.”
The sound of drunk men screaming laughter from the bar echoes down the hall, and Christopher shakes his head, disgusted. “I hate that Eddie has to work here.”
“Eddie loves his job,” I reply, distracted.
“But does he? He’s fourteen and being forced to work to support his grandmother; that’s not a childhood.”
“Also . . . not for you to judge.”
“Hmm.” He glances at his watch. “He starts in two hours. Hopefully those drunk fuckers are gone by then.”
“If not, we can hang around until they leave,” I reply, knowing he’ll be worried all night if we don’t.
“Okay.” He nods.
“Why don’t you call him and ask him to come to the beach with us?” I say.
“Yeah?” He smiles, surprised. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Why would I mind? I love Eddie too.”
“Okay.” He walks out into the corridor to call him, and I look around the shitty room. Christopher is right. I think it is nearly time for a change in scenery.
We wait on the curb, sitting on our bikes. “Here he comes.” Christopher waves excitedly.
Eddie laughs and walks down to meet us, his NY cap firmly in place. “The fuck you doing, man?”
“Language,” Christopher says. He takes off his helmet and passes it to Eddie. “Get on.”
“Huh?” Eddie hangs on to the helmet as he looks the bike over. “What do you mean?”
“Get on my handlebars. I’m driving us to the beach.”
Eddie’s eyes flick to meet mine. “Can he drive this thing?”
“Not really. I suggest the helmet.”
Eddie chuckles and puts the helmet on over the top of his cap. He sits on top of Christopher’s handlebars. His skinny legs are bunched up.
Christopher pushes off and wobbles at the extra weight, and Eddie laughs. “Faster,” he cries.
“I’m not a fucking donkey,” Christopher calls.
“I beg to differ,” I call.
Christopher’s eyes flick over to me at the double meaning.
“You’re a weak donkey,” Eddie cries into the wind. “Faster. Go faster.”
“I’ll give you a weak donkey.” Christopher stands and starts to power pedal. Eddie laughs out loud, and I pedal hard and try to keep up.
This is the most fun I’ve had in forever.
We stagger down the street arm in arm. It’s past midnight, and we are on our way to our hotel. We’ve had the best day. We went to the beach with Eddie this afternoon, and Christopher threw us around in the sea for hours.
We went back to our hotel and then went out to dinner and had another night of drinking fancy drinks in exotic bars.
“Oh my god, we have spent so much money,” I say as we walk.
“Who cares,” Christopher replies. “Stop worrying about fucking money.”
“You’ll be worrying about money in the morning,” I remind him.
“I’m doing this bar course, and then I’m going to get a great job, and then we can afford somewhere better to stay.” He frowns and then mouths the word we.
I hold him in my arm just that little bit tighter. He’s done so well since he came back.
Not one freak-out. He’s ready for this . . . for us.
It’s obvious.
We turn the corner, and there’s a bunch of buskers on the street. There’s a band with drums and a saxophone. Such a cool vibe. People are gathering around, and as we walk up, Christopher takes me into his arms and begins to dance. He twirls me around, and I hold my arm up in a dramatic fashion. He tips his head back and laughs out loud.
The band gets excited that we are dancing and begins to play louder dance music, and a few other couples begin to dance. Christopher is throwing me around, and we are laughing and having the best time. He pushes me out and pulls me back to him with a thud. He spins me and spins me and then holds me close. I look up at his beautiful face, so handsome and carefree.
“Today was the best day I’ve ever had,” he says softly.
My eyes search his, and I kiss his big perfect lips. I want to blurt out that it was my best day, and that every day in his arms is like a dream come true.
That . . . I love him.
But I won’t, because then . . . he will freak out.
“Can we go home now?” I whisper. I want to show him what he means to me, even if I can’t say it out loud.
“And miss out on this amazing dance floor?” He gasps as he tips me back. I laugh as I see the upside-down road come dangerously close to my face. “No way.” He keeps dancing, having the time of his life.
“No way?” I laugh.
“Grumps, this is the only entertainment we can actually afford. Tomorrow it’s back to stale bread and water. We have to live it up while we can.” He spins me out and snaps me back.
I smile goofily up at my man. “I love being broke with you.”
He laughs out loud. “Don’t get used to it.”
