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Except I know something he doesn’t.

I know what makes her smile. I know how she likes my hair and which clothes she wants me in. I know what happens when I fight her, and I know what happens when I don’t.

“You brought me home first. Use me first.”

Heather looks toward the hall, then back at me.

I hook my fingers under the hem of the skirt and lift it just enough to show her my cock is already hard. “Stay with me tonight,” I say.

Her eyes come back to my face.

“You wanted a good doll.” I swallow. “Let me be one.”

Heather steps into the room and sets the bag beside the dresser.

I wait for her to shut the door. She doesn’t.

“Aren’t you going to close it?”

Heather glances back at the open doorway. “You want him to know I chose you.”

Fuck.

“I didn’t say that.”

She reaches up and runs her fingers through my hair. “He should know what’s expected of him.”

I drop to my knees. I shove her skirt to her waist and pull her underwear down far enough to expose her.

Mine stays on. My cock tents the fabric, and the open door frames the hallway behind her.

I spread her with my fingers and put my tongue on her cunt. I don’t close my eyes. I perform the way I did when I stripped for her.

For her eyes. For the grade.

I watch her face while I lick. I change pressure when her breath does. I tuck my hair behind my ear so she can see me doing it.

Heather watches me work and gives me nothing.

No good. No that’s better. No beautiful.

I go at her harder. Tongue flatter, then pointed, then I suck and listen for any sound that means I’m winning. She gives me a quiet one, caught in her throat. I moan against her because I want her to hear that I like this, that I can be the doll who enjoys being used.

Heather knots her hand in my hair and pulls until my mouth leaves her. “You said you wanted to make me feel good. I decide how.”

She uses that grip to shove me back onto the bed. I hit the mattress on my elbows. Before I can sit up, she’s over my face, knees bracketing my head, her cunt on my mouth.

She grinds down until my next breath tastes like her. She uses my hair like a handle and fucks my mouth in a rhythm I can’t pretty up. I can hear how much she likes it. Small sounds. Then a rawer one she doesn’t bother to swallow.

My hips keep punching up. There’s no friction that counts. Just the skirt and my own wet cock and the fact that she’s getting off on my face while Oliver’s door is locked.

“Stay,” she says, and yanks my head back in when I try to chase a better angle.

I eat what she gives me. I get messy on purpose and then I get messy because I can’t help it.

Heather comes with her hand locked in my hair and a sound that makes my cock throb so hard it hurts. She keeps moving through it, using my tongue until she’s done with me.

She sits back on my chest, breathing, looking at my wet mouth. “Good boy.”