Page 71 of The Thug And His Doll

Her legs begin to tremble, her hands clenching my head, pressing me further into her. I don’t give a fuck about breathing right now, all I care about is making her come. Slipping my finger inside of her, I search for that spot I know no one else has ever bothered to find. She shudders as I press against the tender flesh, moving my finger in a come hither motion, before dragging my teeth lightly over her clit, flicking it with my tongue over and over again until her breath comes quickly, and she soaks my face and hand.

“Come for me. Come all over my face, doll.”

And she does.

She comes.

Jerking, writhing, fucking calling my name, she comes.

It’s a sound I’ll never forget. Music to my damn ears.

A sound that is drowned out by Toby screaming for his mama.

TWENTY

LIA

“Toby? Toby!” I call, kicking off my shoes and running up the stairs towards our bedroom, adjusting my dress as I go. Drix follows close behind me, our moment of passion overshadowed with concern.

“Mama!” he cries.

I find him standing in the middle of the bedroom, the light from the hallway cutting across him as he blinks up at me. I notice the wet patch on his pyjama bottoms right away, and I rush towards him.

“Shhh, it’s okay, I’m here now. I’m here, Toby,” I murmur, dragging him into my arms as Drix hovers behind me.

“He was hurting you, Mama,” Toby cries, sobbing against me, his small fists gripping my coat.

“Who was hurting me?” I choke out, fear rushing through my blood.

“Papa. Papa was hurting you,” he croaks, trembling.

Tears spring to my eyes, and I look up at Drix helplessly. Our eyes meet and he understands what I don’t say. Toby knows. He’s more aware of the abuse I’d endured than I’d thought.

“Is everything okay?” Daisy asks, stepping into the room. Her hair is mussed up from sleep as she looks between us, her bright pink fluffy dressing gown pulled tight around her.

“Go back to bed, Daise. Toby’s had a bad dream, that’s all. We got this, okay?”

“Are you sure? I could get him some hot chocolate or something,” she asks worriedly.

“We’ll be okay,” Drix reassures her, even though I feel far from okay.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and changed, sweetheart,” I murmur, shaking off my coat. I hand it to Drix who takes it wordlessly, placing it with his own coat on the ottoman at the end of the bed.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Toby whispers, tears sliding down his cheeks.

“It’s okay buddy,” Drix says. “Happens to the best of us.”

“You wet the bed too?” Toby asks, eyes wide as he blinks back his tears.

“When I was kid, yeah, I did that a lot,” he replies softly.

My heart aches at the pain on Drix’s face, the honesty of his confession. As a child who grew up in a violent household, he understands only too well what it means to be truly afraid, and the terrible consequences of that fear.

“Can you grab me a fresh set of pyjamas and pants for Toby?” I ask, taking his hand as I lead him into the ensuite bathroom, flicking on the light.

I wordlessly help Toby to remove his clothes, and he just looks at me with such sorrow I can barely hold it together.

“Papa hurt you, Mama,” Toby says as I grab some wet wipes and wipe him down.

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