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I can’t deny I was jealous of the damn device going where I can’t. In fact, if Sophie hadn’t washed it off, I would’ve licked it clean just to get another taste of her.
Why does my wife have to be so damn stubborn?
I’ve never been jealous of anyone in my life and now there’s a growing list—her blond stepbrother, a vibrator, and every man in every room who looks at what’s mine.
At dinner, Sophie’s cheeks are still glowing with a beautiful rosy color when she takes her seat, wearing a casual tee and shorts. I want to kiss those cheeks, but most of all, I want it to be my body part that gives her that just fucked flush.
“Have fun earlier?” I can’t help but ask her.
“I’m sure you know that I did,” she replies without lifting her eyes to me.
Ah, she’s still embarrassed about playing with herself or revealing every inch of her naked body to me. Probably both. Before I can assure her there’s nothing for her to be insecure about, Sophie says, “And now I know that I don’t need a single part of your body to get off.”
“What?” I ask in confusion.
“With the toy, I don’t have to put up with your bad temper to get what I need.”
Son of a bitch.
She would rather have the toy than me making her come?
No. There’s no way. She’s lying. Has to be. I don’t buy for a second that she prefers a vibrating rubber cock to mine or my tongue.
“Too bad a vibrator can’t spank you, restrain you, or finger you under the dinner table so your father can hear you moan when you come.”
Now Sophie looks at me as if shocked that I know her body so well, all the little things that get her so hot. And hell yes, her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red.
“Those are a few of your favorite fetishes, aren’t they princess?”
“I don’t have enough experience to know what my fetishes are yet,” she says. Then she asks, “What are your fetishes?”
If I told her the truth, that I constantly fantasize about taking her hard when she can’t get away or stop me, I doubt she would ever let me touch her again. The restraints I installed in my bedroom were a stupid idea. Sophie’s too innocent to want to be tied down and used that way. She probably dreams of romance and lovemaking in candlelight, not hardcore fucking like savage animals.
Avoiding her question, I simply tell her, “I’ll text you a link to the app with the password so you can go buck wild with your new toy.” If she would rather fuck the rubber cock, then…I give the hell up.
For half a second, it looks like disappointment on Sophie’s face, disappointment that I won’t be controlling the device. But it was probably just my imagination since she says, “Great, thanks. It is waterproof, right?”
“Yes.”
Picturing her standing in the shower or lying in the bathtub using it, makes my dick dribble precum.
My obsession with Sophie and sex is definitely an unhealthy habit. Wanting her is a distraction I don’t need when I have a bomber to find, a civil case to settle before trial, and an empire to inherit from her father.
23
Sophie
Lochlan and I have breakfast and dinner together each day, but that’s the only time we see each other for an entire week after he gave me the vibrating toy. Not that I’ve used it again.
He may look annoyed with me, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still ask me a million questions about my day. Lochlan wants to hear every little detail, no matter how minor. I’ve been keeping myself busy at Julia Townsend’s tennis center, so I have a few stories by each night. The facility is amazing with indoor and outdoor courts and so many amazing kids.
The first day I just observed, watching the other instructors teach classes, mostly helping with equipment. The second day I was allowed to offer constructive criticism to the children, give tips on improving their swings or serves. It was intimidating at first, wondering if my advice was helpful or not. The girls and boys actually listened to me intently, as if I held all the secrets to the game of tennis. And seeing them not only take my suggestions but implement them and improve make me feel like I had made a difference, even if it’s only a small one.
“Time to pack it up!” Stacy, one of Julia’s teachers calls out to the courts, ending the six- to eight-year-old class for the afternoon.
When I grab the rolling cart to start rounding up all the tennis balls to get ready for the next class, two little girls follow me around, helping with my collection.
“I hope I grow up to be tall like you, Miss Sophie,” one of the girls remark. Nora, I think, is the redhead’s name.
