Chapter 13 Knight
THIRTEEN
KNIGHT
Her soft snores fill the quiet room, and I smile to myself.
My doll is perfection. She’s everything I’ll ever want and need, and if I believed in a god, I’d be thanking them right now for bringing her to me, because if I’d have known she was out there before I saw her, I’d have spent a lifetime searching the earth for her. My woman, my wife, my life.
I know she still has doubts, but I don’t care. I won’t ever let her go, so we’ll just have to work through her issues until she understands that things happen for a reason and don’t always require an explanation.
Reluctantly releasing my hold on her, I let my dick slip free, then carefully lift her up the bed, placing her head on the pillow as I splay her legs and watch as my cum starts to drip free of her pink, puffy cunt.
My entire life has run on a schedule. Up at 0500 hours, workout, breakfast at 0700 hours. Lunch at 1300 hours and dinner at 1900 hours. No matter where I was working or living, unless I was out fighting a fire, this routine hasn’t deviated in years.
Yet in less than a week, I’ve found myself changing things I’ve been doing my entire life. Before I bought her home, I assumed she’d simply change her life to fit around mine, but more and more, I’m finding myself wanting to find ways to make her a part of my routine.
I’ll never be the type of person who can live in chaos, but instead of expecting her to change, I’m starting to feel like we could create a new routine together.
One where I watch her sleep while I work out, then bathe her once I’ve made us breakfast. One where we get dressed together in the closet, and I dry her hair, then watch while she does her makeup.
Perhaps we could buy an apartment near the tattoo studio, so when she’s not working, we can fuck until we exhaust each other, then nap until it’s time for lunch, or take turns performing oral sex on each other until we’re so desperate that we can’t wait another moment to come together.
We could cook dinner together, then spend the evening cuddled up on the sofa, each day a repeat of the perfect one before.
Perhaps the structure that has driven each hour of my life toward the next, checking off each item on my agenda, could become a day full of her and us and hopefully soon a baby or two, or three, or as many as I can convince her to have.
Despite the physical exertion, I’m not tired, but I’m more than content to stay beside her, watching her while she sleeps. I removed her panties before I fucked her, but she’s still wearing her bra and the knee socks that make my dick twitch with a renewed sense of excitement.
There’s something about the way she dresses that I find incredibly sexy.
From the babydoll dresses, to the socks, to the bunches in her hair, she’s a real-life doll for me to bathe, dress, and play with, but she’s so much more than that.
Octavia is sweet and sensitive, but complicated in a way I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand.
Learning what makes her tick, what makes her smile, and what makes her mad is exciting—a challenge that I’m exhilarated to conquer.
I want to know everything about her, and while I know that won’t happen in a week, finding out something new about her each day makes me happier than I realized I was capable of being.
The urge to part her legs and push back into her body taunts me, but no matter how much I enjoy the sensation of being inside of her, I want to hear her pleasure sounds and watch as she tumbles over the edge into release.
I want the connection we share, which is so much more than just physical release.
I love my wife. Before her, I don’t think I understood the emotion, but I do now. I’m hers entirely, and that sensation is so huge that perhaps, to other men, it might be intimidating, but for the first time in my entire life, I feel like I completely understand.
She is my mate, my wife, my everything.
While she sleeps, I mentally categorize each of her tattoos, wondering what each piece of art means to her and what prompted her to permanently etch them onto her skin.
I add, licking each design to my list, wondering if they’ll taste different and if I’ll find a favorite.
When she finally starts to stir, my mouth is watering, and my dick is rock hard.
Her legs that have stayed splayed open while she’s slept, fall closed, hiding her cunt from my view. Scrunching her face in discomfort, she makes a quiet hissing sound as she rolls to her side, and I tense, worried that she’s in pain.
Her eyes flutter open, and she blinks at me. “Hey.”
“You’re in pain?” I question angrily, needing to know as unexpected worry gnaws at my gut.
“Just a bit sore,” she says softly.
“I hurt you?” I ask, my voice barely more than a growl.
“You fucked me hard, but I asked you to, and it was.” Sighing softly, a slow smile tips the corners of her lips.
“You enjoyed me hurting you?” I question slowly, not sure I want to know the answer, because the idea of causing her real pain is completely abhorrent to me.
“No,” she says, propping her head up on her elbow. “No. I enjoyed us being a little rough and…” She pauses, her cheeks turning red. “I liked it when you spanked me. But I don’t think I would say that’s me enjoying you hurting me.”
“But you’re in pain,” I remind her.
“I’m sore, Knight. That’s all.”
“I…” I try to explain what the turbulent mound of things I’m feeling means, but I struggle to articulate it into words.
“You didn’t hurt me, Knight, and I didn’t want you to,” she says slowly, her brow furrowed. “I loved every moment of everything we just did. It was incredible, it felt incredible, and I came so hard.”
“I didn’t hurt you?” I ask again, needing to hear her say it.
“No. You didn’t hurt me. You could never deliberately hurt me. But sometimes, I’ll be a little sore after rough sex. I just need a warm bath and a little time, and I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll go and start the water,” I say, climbing out of bed and heading for the bathroom. Turning on the faucet over the tub, I clench my jaw so tight I feel like my teeth are about to crack. I hurt her. I hurt her.
“Knight, baby,” Octavia calls, and I rush from the bathroom, scanning her for signs of pain or injury.
“What’s the matter? Are you okay?” I ask frantically.
“I’m fine,” she says softly. “I was just going to ask if you wanted a drink. I’m going to go and grab one.” Shuffling to the edge of the bed, she carefully pushes to her feet, fighting to hide a wince that I notice anyway.
“I’ll go. What do you want?”
“What do we have?” she asks.
“Water, juice, or coffee.”
“Juice, please.”
“Sit back down,” I order, not moving until she lowers herself back down to the edge of the bed.
Bounding down the stairs, I grab two bottles of juice, then race back to the bedroom, scowling when I find her standing, her arms behind her, unfastening her bra.
“What are you doing?” I demand angrily, scooping her off her feet and carrying her into the bathroom, placing her down on the counter.
“Oh my god, I was just taking my bra and socks off. I look ridiculous.”
“You should have waited until I could help.”
“I’m not an invalid,” she sighs.
“I take care of you,” I remind her.
“You take care of me so well,” she says sweetly.
My heart races as I unfasten her bra, then slip it down her arms and off her fingers.
Sliding first one, then the other sock over her calves and off her feet, I drop them all into the laundry hamper, then return to her, worried all over again when her face scrunches into a wince as she wiggles on the counter.
“Let me look,” I demand, feeling the stirrings of the type of anger I’d never experienced a week ago, but now feel so often it’s become a familiar sensation.
“Let you look at what?” she questions.
“Your cunt.”
“Why? I’m not hurt, but I am too sore for any more sex today.”
“I want to see for myself,” I insist.
“See what?” she questions, crossing her legs at the ankles as I close the short distance between us and place my hands on her thighs.
“I need to check I didn’t hurt you,” I admit.
“You didn’t.”
“Then let me see.”
Sighing loudly, she braces her hands on either side of her on the counter, then slowly uncrosses her ankles and inches her legs apart.
Crouching down, I place my fingertips on the insides of her thighs. “Wider.”
“Knight.”
“Wider,” I say again in a firmer tone, applying a small amount of pressure to her legs in encouragement.
She inches a little wider, and I keep the pressure on her thighs until her legs are splayed apart, and I have the perfect view of her cunt.
“Knight,” she says, her tone tense.
“You’re not bleeding?” I question.
“No,” she quickly assures me. “Just tender and sore.”
Moving my hand from her thigh, I carefully run my fingertip through her pink, swollen folds, carefully parting her pussy so I can look at her entrance. “A bath will make you feel better?” I ask.
“It’d be better if we had some Epson salts, but yes, it’ll help. I’ll be fine tomorrow. Vaginas were made to stretch, take a hammering, then shrink again,” she says with a laugh, waiting for me to remove my hands before she closes her legs again.
“We can get some the next time we go to the store.”
“Okay.” She nods. “Are you going to get in with me?” she asks, gesturing to the now half-full tub.
“Yes,” I say, lifting her into my arms, then stepping into the tub, sitting down with her on my lap while the water fills around us.
I’m not sure why I’m expecting her to try to pull away from me, but when she leans forward and snuggles into my chest, I’m surprised.
Wrapping my arms around her, I hold her close while the warm water surrounds us.
When the tub is full, I reach back and turn off the water, then grab the shampoo, but her voice stops me.