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Hey, can I have my bullet back? I’ll have to sterilize it thanks to Princess playing with it but it’s been a stressful week.
She wasn’t kidding.
Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night. Your choice. And I’ll give you back your bullet.
In my head, I addedprobably.I suspected my only use to Kitty might be as an orgasm-dispenser that didn’t need batteries, so I wasn’t entirely certain I’d return the damn thing. Or that I’d ever get to dispense anything in her direction.
With Kitty, rolling with the verbal punches was the only way to go.
McDonald’s drive-thru? Chocolate milkshake.
I laughed out loud. No swanky restaurant for Kitty. Nope, just a fast food joint. But my mother had raised me better than that.
Okay, your choice, so that works. But I get to pick the place for dessert.
We’ll see. What time should I expect you?
I glanced at the wall clock. Past eleven. Dinnertime tomorrow seemed entirely too far away.
I already missed her. Wanted more of her in every possible way. She was like a refreshing drink and I’d been parched for so long.
I sent her a text.
Is six okay?
Perfect. See you tomorrow.
Great. Oh, and Kitty, I fixed your vibrator. You’re welcome.
With that, I shut off my phone.
I had a vibrator that wasn’t even broken to service. And possibly a cat to dry off.
NINE
I plannedmy method of attack on Sunday afternoon.
Since the cats interacting had not been mentioned, I had to assume Princess Goldenrod would not be part of our outing to McDonald’s.
Princess enjoyed the occasional french fry dipped in vanilla milkshake, however, so I promised to bring her back a doggie bag.
Hopefully Clint wouldn’t mind the drive-thru. I didn’t really feel like dealing with people today—or ever.
I almost texted him to just ask him to pick up our food first.
“I’m bringing you back a snack,” I told my cat as she glared at me from my window seat.
Unappeased, she continued to delicately wash her face while I got dressed.
“So what do you think? White or black?” I pivoted in front of her in my top and decidedly un-sexy underwear. I should change those before I left. They even had little cherries on the front.
But hey, a woman who worked at home and rarely ventured out when the mercury was below 50—or for that matter, above it—dressed for comfort, not sexual desirability.
Also, my sexual parts had not been seen by anyone who wasn’t me in a damn long time.
Princess sniffed at my attire and went back to washing.
Okay, so black was out. Besides, a black turtleneck was an understated statement piece. White, however, indicated something else. That fashion fell far below comfort. Especially when it was covered in mini snowmen.
