Page 73 of Sinful Lord

So why isn’t he here giving it to me?

“Shit,” I grumble, pinching the bridge of my nose. Every muscle in my body still aches from the cascade of orgasms I experienced last night. I’ve never felt so satisfied in my life, yet I can’t stop thinking about what I want to do next.

Everything.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the replica cock. It’s no longer shining with my juices or with lube, but it still taunts me. I want to grab it and put it to good use. I want to see if I’ve loosened up enough to plunge it all the way into my pussy.

But I know it won’t matter how deep I can go on my own. It won’t be as good as what Tytus can do to me.

Hell, all those years of lonely masturbation seem like a complete waste now. I wasn’t preparing myself. Nothing could have prepared me for that.

How did I survive with such a plain, boring sex-life? My fingers won’t do anymore. Not after Tytus replaced them with his own. Not after he led me to ecstasy.

He knew just what I liked…

My brow furrows.

… He also knew where the lube was.

What are the odds?

Turning my gaze from the broken doorway, I look towards the bedside table on the far side of the mattress. Sure, it’s common sense to assume that I’d keep my lube in one of my bedside tables, but why didn’t Tytus reach for the closer one first?

A vine of suspicion starts to grow behind my chest, tightening my pounding pulse into a heavy thump.

Has he been watching me?

Slowly, my cheeks fill with heat.

God, I hope not.

How many times have I masturbated since I returned from the hospital? I can’t count. All I can think of is how Tytus seemed to know exactly where I like my fingers to start when I rub one out. How he led me in just the right direction before taking over and showing me something new.

He warmed me up with a familiar routine so I would be comfortable with what came next. But how did he know what was familiar to me?

My heart drops as I look toward my window. The curtains are shut tightly, but, as always, a small slit has appeared down the center.

“No,” I whisper to myself, sizing up the angel. “He wouldn’t be able to see.”

Fighting through my soreness, I let curiosity lead me to my favorite spot on the bed. With my back against the wall. It’s how Tytus positioned me after realizing I couldn’t handle being on all fours for too long, not after what he did to me.

Saddling up, I let my hand fall between my legs and look toward the slit in the curtains.

“There’s no way he could see me from this angle,” I think out loud. “Unless…”

My constricting heart starts to race as I find my shut laptop. The second I rip it open, though, I’m greeted with a shocking reminder.

The sex tape is still up on the screen. I’d nearly forgotten about that. A shot of painful jealousy rips through me.

“Shit.”

Trying to ignore it, I exit the video player and scan the physical design of the personal computer, searching for a built-in webcam.

But as far as I can tell, there doesn’t seem to be any.

“Then how have you been watching me?” I ask.

For some reason, I can’t shake the idea that he has been. Why wouldn’t he? It’s not like spying on a girl crosses any kind of line for a man like Tytus.