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“Are you kidding?” He gives me an incredulous look. “It’s you and me now, bed bug. Forever.”
“Forever?”
He nods. “Now push, baby.”
With my eyes locked on his and our hands laced together, I do. I bear down like my life depends on it, breathing through every scrape and twinge of pain that comes. It feels like it takes hours for the plug to work its way down my loosened, oiled hole, but is probably closer to minutes.
“Is it out yet?” I cry out through panting breaths. “No, wait! I think I feel it crowning!”
He leans back, peering between my legs. Fred gasps. “I see it! I see it! Oh my God, is that a—”
“A butterfly!” I scream. “Yes! And I regret the fuck out of it right now.”
The acrylic wings seem to be the biggest problem with the toy. Of course, if a person is smart and only puts it in until they reach the flared end, then it’s not a problem. But some asshole somewhere decided to shove the whole damn thing in, and now, here we are!
I don’t know why, but when Fred looks at me again, he’s crying. His throat rolls with the force of his thick swallow. I sway, exhaustion washing over me, and it shakes him from his emotional trance.
“That’s it. Keep pushing, gum drop. Right on the puppy pad. God, just like that.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice his chode bouncing excitedly in his pants. He’s turned on right now? For some reason, it makes me feel better. At least he’s not grossed out by me.
With his coaching, I’m able to work through the last few millimeters of the hard part. The second the butterfly is out, the plug slips free from my aching passage easily, falling to the puppy pad with a thud.
“Holy—” Fred breathes, his body trembling as he clenches his fists at his sides. His eyes squeeze shut as a rasping moan rattles his chest. “I—I—”
“Came?” The evidence is puddling in the crotch of his light colored pants, seeping through the material. I want to drink it down, but I’m too tired.
When his body relaxes, he murmurs an apology, but I wave him away. “I’m glad that turned you on. It’s better than the alternative.”
I release a grateful sigh and blink dazedly up at my man.
“You did so damn good, baby,” he praises, pressing kisses all over my sweaty face. “Are you okay?”
I nod tiredly. “I feel gross.”
“I know. Let me help you up. I’ll run you a bath in our room and you can rest.” My stomach gurgles as he helps me up. He chuckles. “And I’ll make you some food.”
“Nothing brown,” I mutter, pointedly keeping my gaze far, far away from the mess I left. I freeze, shooting him a worried look. “Wait! I need to clean this up first. You need to go! Don’t look, Freddikins! Don’t—”
He silences me with a harsh kiss. It’s chaotic and messy, vaguely tasting of me. I’m pretty sure I even feel a thick curl wedged between his back teeth. I don’t mention it, happy he has a part of me inside him. It settles the jealous, possessive bitch inside me.
My man.
Mine, mine, mine!
By the time he pulls away, I’m dizzy with happiness.
“Shut up, Story.” I shoot him a look and he rolls his eyes. “It’s you and me now, baby. You’re mine and that means your messes are, too. I take care of what’s mine, no matter what, through thick and thin, bodily fluids and all.”
“But that’s not fluid,” I protest, even though his words make me ecstatic. “It’s po—”
“It’s a part of you,” he murmurs, kissing my jaw. “And I love every piece.”
I let him carry me to his—our bathroom, his words running through my mind the entire way.
He loves me?
I smile.
Thank fuck.
Because I think I love him too.
