Page 242 of Come Back to Me

“All the better for sitting on, my dear,” I croon.

“Ooooh. You make a fair point.” Then, she claps her hands. “Which do you like best?”

“Isn’t that a ‘you’ question?”

“I suppose, but you should have input too.”

I study the wall of schlongs then point to the obsidian one. “I figure that’ll connect your root to your heart which I like the sound of. Especially as it’s tapered. I can impale you on that one and fuck you at the same time.”

“Yes, please!”

“The twisty rose quartz one. That’d probably feel good for both of us. Get that pretty little cunt all wet for me, roll you on your knees so I can fill you with my cock from behind, and then slide that in too, stuffing you until you scream.” As she waftsa hand in front of her face, I don’t even smirk. “And hey, rose quartz is all about romance, right? Nothing says ‘romance’ like having your pussy stuffed?—”

She slaps that wafting hand against my mouth. “Cody!”

I lick her palm.

Tee shrieks into laughter then falls into a twirl. “I’ll have both!”

“You can have more. Pick whichever you want.”

“I think the rose quartz wand. But I want you to use it on me.”

“How?”

“Temperature play.” She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I liked what you said before. I want you to use it on me while you’re inside me.”

I tip my chin in understanding. “It’ll be interesting?—”

“Interesting?! You make fireworks without the double stuffing. I’m about to be the happiest Oreo in the world.”

Palming my face, I don’t bother hiding my laugh. “God, Tee. Don’t change.”

“Why would I? I’m closer to thirty than twenty. It’s statistically unlikely that I will. Although, if Jerry Majors likes my music, I can’t guarantee that if he uses one of my songs in a movie, that I won’t crow about it at the music festival.”

“Understandable.”

“You know, in the eighties, people walked around with boom boxes?”

“I’ll buy you one for Christmas,” I joke. “We’ll attach it to a truck and you can play it loud whenever you drive into town.”

She chortles—that means she loves the idea—then calls the simpering assistant and asks her for the dildos I spoke about, which are in a glass cabinet.

Once she’s paid for that and a bunch of other crystals, refusing to let me cover it, though we almost fight over the creditcard reader, I end the argument with a huff as she murmurs, “You got the room. I’ll provide the food.”

“The food being you?”

“Yup. I’m going to be your personal Oreo, remember?”

I smile at her. “You are anyway. Sweeter than high fructose corn syrup. That’s you.”

“Bleugh, don’t compare me to the plague of our existence.”

“Why? Plagues can be pretty hot,” I inform her just to watch her preen.

Preening comes with a side of cockiness as she swings the crystal bag in her other hand while we walk out of the store.

My cell buzzes as she talks about how useful it would be to strategically target assholes with the plague.

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