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“Uh, yeah. Sorry.” I cough. “There’s a dolphin outside. It’s pretty cool.”
“A pretty pink dolphin.”
Colt doubles down on the bullshit, and he better pray such an animal exists.
“Sure,” Dr. Gary scoffs. “I’m sure it’s a rare visual. On that note, that’s your work today: visualization. You’re going to spend an hour visualizing your state championship. Give me the stats on your senior game.”
Thankfully, when it comes to football, my brain works even though my dick is busy.
“I had forty-two completions for three hundred and forty-five yards. Hawke caught two-thirds of them and three out of our four touchdowns.”
“Perfect,” Dr. Gary admires, but I still hear his annoyance. “Visualize that game for an hour. Time it, then journal about it. Twice. The goal is to make it a mental habit.”
“Gotcha, Doc.” Colt tries to smooth suspicious waters. “Will do.”
“Enjoy the pink dolphin,” Dr. Gary mocks before he ends our session this time.
“Shit!” I yowl toward the ceiling. “Blair Monroe! Woman, I’m gonna tan your foxy ass!”
She clicks by us, swaying her pink tail with no care since the session is over.
“Well,” she drawls, “it worked, didn’t it? Y’all stopped fighting.”
It’s a repeat of yesterday morning. Blair pours coffee, looking like she belongs on a stage with all my millions in her non-existent G-string while she sips and grins.
Colt nudges my bare foot, reminding me of the long prank, not the rocket about to explode in my trunks.
“No,” I lie. I think. “We’re still fighting, just not yelling. Wouldn’t want to scare the foxy wildlife.”
“That’s progress.” She pops a slice of pineapple in her mouth. “Now, kiss and make up.”
Every morning, the chef leaves us a vegetable quiche, fresh fruit, and juices. Colt and I already ate but now our eyes devour her eating breakfast while we sit on the sofa.
I don’t know my next move.
I’m too damn turned on.
With that furry anal plug swishing from her luscious ass, I’m reminded of our kinky Valentine’s night when Blair was a Bad Kitten, and I was her toy.
Damn, if Colt knew what he’s missing right now. Maybe he does because he fights the urge. It’s soaring in his trunks, too.
He rises, mumbling, “No one’s kissing, and no one’s making up.” Grabbing his journal, he heads to his lounger outside. “Let’s get to work.”
“Is he okay?” Blair worries after he leaves.
“Don’t know.” I shrug. “I might’ve pissed him off again. Guess your foxy ass will have to keep us from fighting all day.”
Quickly, I get up, hiding my smirk. With my journal in hand, I aim for a lounger, too. A few minutes later, Blair joins us outside.
Clicking away on her laptop, she lies, tummy and tits down on her lounger under the sun sail, her long furry tail gently fluttering in the warm breeze.
Limp is not an option for my dick today—same for Colt. I catch him grabbing his crotch like he’s in pain. Like there’s no relief from Blair’s temptation.
What makes it harder? Literally?
I know with that plug in her ass, Blair’s pussy is soaking wet. And based upon our Valentine’s night reunion, I know when I tug it, I can make her come. Real. Fucking. Hard.
Damn! It’s all I can visualize when I’m supposed to recall our state championship twelve years ago.
