Chapter 20 #2
He leaned in and kissed my nose. “I love you, too. More than I can possibly say.” He sat up and leaned to the side.
“Drink your coffee.” He opened the legs of the lapdesk I’d brought, then reached for my laptop and settled it on top.
“I know you need a little time to handle some things, but you’re gonna need some food, I think, and no one’s even starting on breakfast yet. I can make you a sandwich.”
I nodded. “Yes, please. Whatever you can find that’s protein. Barring that, a cheese sandwich will do.”
He went to find me some food, and I opened my laptop, turned it on, and then closed my eyes while it booted — hoping the aspirin would soon go to work on the pounding pain in my head and the raw ache between my legs.
He knew I’d need about an hour a day to deal with correspondence, and he’d promised to work it into our day.
Being his doesn’t mean I have to compromise my career. He’s as careful with it as I am, and it’s one of the many, many reasons I love him.
The turtle thing was the last thing I expected.
I’m way too practical to have ever believed in werewolves and vampires, and the knowledge they exist — along with other creatures from mythology and cartoons — had rocked my view of reality, and yet…
it also hadn’t. Maybe because of my knowledge of all the ancient myths, perhaps just because I’m used to learning new information and then slotting it into what I already know to be true, but for whatever reason, once I got over the initial shock, I’ve mostly been able to take it all in stride.
I mean, I have no idea why fate decided I needed a stubborn-headed snapping-turtle shifter with a monstrous dick and a sadistic streak to go with it, but life takes some really odd turns when you aren’t looking.
And I’ve learned so much about how many different kinds of shifters there are.
Bobcat is an actual bobcat, while Horse up in Chattanooga is a grizzly bear, and is apparently hung like a horse, which I guess works since he’s mated to a fucking rabbit.
Ember is both a swan and a dragon, which is super-rare, and the story she told me was mindblowing.
Oh, and Frost is a snowy owl, and he is beautiful.
Still seems odd that he’s mated to a lynx, but it works for them.
Kitty and I have become really close. I’m probably still closest to Ember, but she’s gone a lot, while Kitty is always around. Both were here this weekend, though, and I was looking forward to hanging out with them while we got caught up with the Atlanta and Chattanooga ol’ladies.
- - - ? - - -
Storm
Four days later, Magnum pulled into his driveway with me on the back of his bike with a slightly smaller plug in my ass than the one I’d left Birmingham with, and every muscle in my body reminding me exactly how thoroughly I’d been used.
I was beyond exhausted and possibly sorer than I’ve ever been, because I swear he was in my pussy every two or three hours the entire four days.
Every waking hour, anyway. I was damned raw inside, and I was looking forward to a lengthy Epsom salts bath.
And then he pulled into the garage, killed the engine, and I saw my grandmother’s 1999 Lexus in the far bay.
His mechanic brothers had gone all through it shortly after Bud and Nickie brought it to me, after I’d gotten moved in.
I’ve kept up on the maintenance, but they’d gone through it meticulously, changing out god-knows-what to make sure it would be dependable while I was driving it all over the country.
It wasn’t just Magnum taking care of me, it was the entire club. They hadn’t just accepted me. They’d made me part of the family.
I climbed off the bike, vest still on, boots still on, plug still making my asshole cramp around it, and looked at the decades-old car sitting in a biker’s garage like it belonged there — because it did, now, same as I did.
This was no longer my hideout. I wasn’t a visitor.
I live here now, and I even have an Alabama driver’s license with this address on it. I can prove it.
We put our helmets away, and Magnum took my hand and walked me out of the garage, through the yard, up the deck steps, and into the kitchen.
Our kitchen. No longer his. My knives were on the magnetic strip beside his.
Our pots and pans were mingled together in the cabinet.
My wine glasses were in a glass cabinet he’d built over the small wine fridge we’d brought from my house.
When we made it to the bedroom, the first thing I saw was my bondage heels on the column, and my clit pulsed despite my exhaustion.
“Not yet,” he said. “The bathtub is calling you. Spend an hour or two in it. Catch up on your podcasts. I’ll give you a fifteen-minute warning, if you aren’t out when I’m ready to lace you into your cincher.”
He took my vest from me, gently draped it over the back of a nearby chair, and met my gaze.
“Strip, slave.”
My hand went straight to my shirt and pulled it right off, and then everything else, quickly and without ceremony. If he’d wanted a show, he’d have said so.
When I was naked, he said, “Bend over the bed.”
Just as he took the time to make sure I had all the Gorean poses as he wanted them, I know exactly how to bend over the bed — my feet wide apart, my hips a foot from the edge of the bed, my back arched so my ass tilts up, and my arms crossed at the wrists in the center of the bed.
Seconds after I was in place, his fingers pried under the base of the plug, tugged, pulled, and then it was out. It always fucking hurts, coming out, and then I feel the loss of it, instead of relief. Empty, without his will quite literally crammed up my ass.
He straightened me with a hand under my elbow, kissed the tip of my nose, then pressed a longer, softer kiss to my forehead — and then turned to begin unpacking our suitcases.
“Hot water,” he said. “Lots of Epsom salts. Go.”
Sometimes, I have to accept that shifters can last longer than humans, and it’s okay for me to need some downtime while he keeps working. Also, he’s the Master, and I’m only following orders, so it was fine that I relaxed in the tub while he did laundry and put everything back in its proper place.
Once in the tub, I did exactly what he said and let the warm water soothe me, knowing it was only a matter of time before I was back in my waist cincher, another plug holding me open, and his cock back inside my oh-so-sore pussy.
And I was looking forward to it, because I’d been a good girl today, and good girls get orgasms.