Chapter 16 Octavia
SIXTEEN
OCTAVIA
Iwake up in the gym the next morning to the sound of the whirring of the treadmill. My body aches, and even without looking at the clock, I already know I’m awake way earlier than I need to be.
Groaning, I roll to my side and close my eyes, trying to fall back asleep, but no matter how tired I still feel, the urge to see Knight is greater than my urge to go back to sleep. Sighing, I blink my eyes open, scanning the room until I spot the treadmill and my bare-chested, sweat-soaked husband.
I agreed to try for a baby with him. Even thinking the words in my head makes me feel insane, but I still want it.
In just over a week, Knight has made me want things I know I shouldn’t, and I don’t seem to be able to stop myself from falling deeper and deeper into this crazy, perfect world he’s created for us.
Each day starts with him carrying me into the gym with him so he doesn’t have to be away from me. He feeds me, bathes me, fucks me, and he makes me feel seen in a way I’ve never experienced before.
I want this. I want him, and our marriage, and the baby that it’s far too early to even be thinking about, but that I’m starting to long for.
I want a family with him. I want everything he’s promised me, and why should I have to wait for it?
Why, when he’s offering it to me, can’t I just have it all?
Unfurling myself from the blanket and comforter, I jump out of bed and rush over to him, needing to be close to him, to feel the connection we share and the peace he creates in me.
“Octavia?” he questions, hitting the stop button on the treadmill and stepping off the belt as I run across the room to him.
When I throw myself into his arms, he catches me with ease, lifting me off the floor while I scramble to get my arms and legs around him, needing to be as close as I can get.
“Inside me. I need you inside me,” I whine needily.
Not questioning it, he shoves his shorts and boxers down and pushes his dick into my body.
The moment I’m full of him, my heart starts to settle, and I cling to him, not interested in moving, just enjoying the sensation of being full of him.
“Are you okay?” he asks, pressing his lips to the top of my head.
“I am now. We can fuck in a minute, but for now I just need to feel you inside of me, as close as we can be.”
“Okay, Doll,” he says, his voice soft and understanding.
Is this how he feels when he can’t see me? If it is, I’m not surprised he follows me around like a constant shadow.
For several long moments, neither of us moves. His dick is stretching me wide, but he doesn’t grind his hips. He just holds me against him, his cock filling my desperate body.
“Fuck me,” I whisper into the pulse fluttering in his neck. “Please.”
Carrying me over to the bed, he lays me down on it, his body caging me in as he fucks me slow and sweet, his cock never fully leaving me, like he senses my need to stay as close as possible.
When I come, tears fill my eyes, spilling down my cheeks as I think, but don’t say the words that I’m suddenly so sure are true. “I love you, Knight.”
After he’s positioned me with a pillow under my butt and I promise to keep my legs in the air, he finishes his run while I watch, relaxed and happy. We eat breakfast naked, then he carries me upstairs and runs the bath for us.
Usually, he showers after his workout and just sits by the side of the tub to help me get clean, but this morning, he sinks into the water with me, pulling me to sit in front of him, my back to his chest.
Coating his hands in soap, he washes me, ensuring he doesn’t miss an inch of skin. His nails dig deliciously into my scalp as he rubs shampoo into my hair before he washes it out, then smooths conditioner onto the ends.
I read somewhere that you have to do the same thing over sixty times before it becomes a habit, yet it’s only day eight with him, and I’ve already gotten accustomed to the things he does for me each day.
Like every other day before this, I tip my head back waiting for him to wash out the conditioner, but instead of feeling the warm water on my head, I feel his hand slide across my stomach and slip between my thighs.
Parting my folds with his fingers, he circles my clit for a moment before he slides two fingers into my sex.
“Knight?” I question. We’ve had sex a lot of times since we got together, but we usually manage to keep our hands off each other for most of the day if we have sex in the morning.
“Tell me what feels good,” Knight rasps, slowly pumping his fingers into me.
“I don’t…” Words fail me as he finds a spot inside of me that makes a soft moan fall from my mouth.
“There,” he says, like he’s asking me and telling me at the same time.
“What are you doing?” I ask, panting a little as his fingers slip in and out of me while his other hand joins the party, rubbing and circling my clit.
“Practicing,” he tells me robotically, like it should have been obvious.
Words fail me as his fingers fuck me in slow, sure strokes, pushing me higher and higher until I tip over the edge and come with a shocked cry.
By the time I’ve recovered enough to speak, the conditioner has been washed from my hair, and Knight is lifting me out of the tub and wrapping me in a towel.
“What was that?” I question after he’s dried my hair and carried me into the closet.
“I don’t have extensive experience with manual stimulation, but as your body reacted, and you reached orgasm, I believe that I met your expectations,” he informs me, stepping past me to look at my things hanging on the rail.
“I wasn’t being serious when I said you should add finger fucking me to the daily schedule,” I say, wide-eyed and incredulous.
“Why not? I enjoyed fucking you with my fingers. I’m looking forward to doing it again at lunchtime.”
A laugh bursts from me, but Knight doesn’t look like he’s making a joke. In fact, he looks deadly serious.
“You can’t add finger fucking me to lunch,” I say with a chuckle.
“Once you’re pregnant, there may come a time when you’re too uncomfortable for me to fuck you.
I believe that adding manual stimulation to our daily routine now will benefit both of us.
Then if you’re on your period or expecting our child, your body will already know to crave the endorphin release because it’s gotten used to it. ”
“That’s…that’s…”
“Perfect. I agree,” he says with a decisive nod.
Like the conversation has ended, he slips pale pink underwear from the dresser and holds it out for me to step into.
The set is actually one of my favorites, because although it’s all pink with no black at all, the bra has ribbons and lace and is such a tease that it always makes me feel extra sexy when I wear it.
The panties are a full brief that has a ribbon-laced corset detail at the back, and despite the very strange conversation I’m having with my husband, I can’t help sighing happily at my reflection in the mirror.
Turning back to the rail, Knight selects a dress that has a full tiered skirt.
The right-hand side of the dress is pink with tiny black hearts on the fabric, and the left-hand side is black, with tiny pink hearts.
It definitely leans more into the Lolita side of my gothic Lolita style because it’s incredibly cute, but it’s still edgy enough if it’s styled with the right accessories.
Holding it out for me, I step in, and he pulls the dress over my hips, guiding my arms through the straps before he fastens the zip at the back.
Lifting me to sit on top of the dresser, he pulls out pale pink frilly socks and slides them onto my feet, then pairs them with my black Mary-Jane pumps with pink bat wings on the front.
Lifting me down, he leads me into the bathroom, then roots through the drawer he put all the bows and ribbons he bought me in, and pulls out hair clips with little pink bats and slides them into my hair.
“I really am a doll to you, aren’t I?” I question, wondering why that doesn’t upset me more.
“My perfect little doll that I get to take care of, love, fuck, and breed.”
“Why doesn’t that bother me more?” I ask.
“Why would it bother you?” he questions stoically.
“Because dolls are toys. They’re objects.”
“You’re my wife, not a toy or an object,” he says simply.
That oddly ambiguous statement shouldn’t console me, but it does.
I’m learning that while Knight isn’t a simple man, his thought process is uniquely black and white.
I’m his, so he’s mine. The moment he came to Rapid City, we entwined our lives together, and as far as he’s concerned, there’s no him or me anymore.
We’re just an us now. Husband and wife. Mates, or whatever other description he’s used to describe the connection he thinks we share.
He calls me his doll, but it’s not an insult pretending to be a compliment. He wants to take care of me, to dress me, bathe me, and feed me. But it’s not because he thinks of me as a possession, but because I’m his and he’s mine, and you take care of the important things.
His way of thinking is odd, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.
I like being cared for and doted on. I like that some days he picks my clothes, and others he stands back and watches what I pick.
His style isn’t in any way alternative, but he’s researched my look and learned how to recreate it, so he knows how best to take care of me.
He’s a unicorn. A mythological creature that shouldn’t exist in real life, and yet he does. He exists, and he’s mine, and I’m incredibly lucky.
We head to the studio early and find it buzzing with people and the sounds of tattoo guns.
Both Betty and Cyrus have clients in their chairs.
Betty’s is an older guy I recognize from Rapid City, and I wave at him as I head toward my chair with my sketch pad in my arms and Knight following behind me, his palm on the base of my spine.