“How often do you like to have sex?” I ask.

“In this situation”—he pumps me with his hips—“I imagine twice a day.”

“You’re a sex maniac.” I smirk. “What is this situation?”

“Like . . . my very own fuck doll.”

I smile goofily. Who would have ever thought I would like to be called his fuck doll? Three months ago, I would have died at the mere thought. Now I see it as a term of endearment.

“You mean girlfriend?”

He chuckles. “Girlfriend is so last year. I prefer the term fuck doll. Much more diverse.”

I giggle. “And what are the terms and conditions that come with your fuck doll?”

He frowns as if contemplating his answer. “Well . . . I’ll keep her well fed . . . with cock, of course.” He pumps me with his hips.

“Didn’t see that answer coming.” I smile.

He chuckles. “And I’ll wash her clothes.”

“Wank on her bed?” I act serious.

“Of course.”

“Lecture her about being messy?” I ask.

“On the hour.”

I giggle. “Looks like nothing is changing, then.”

He kisses me softly, his lips lingering over mine, and I begin to feel a rush of arousal building.

“And what about other fuck dolls?” I ask.

“What about them?” His eyes hold mine.

“You tell me.”

“There’ll be no other fuck dolls, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I smile up at my man.

“Unless . . . we could have a threesome sometime. That’s okay if you’re there, though, right?”

My eyes widen in horror.

He pokes me in the ribs. “Got you,” he teases.

“That’s not remotely funny,” I snap.

“Although, we are going to the sex shop today,” he says as he pulls me by the hand out of bed.

“What for?”

“I need to buy you a vibrator.”

“What?” I gasp. “You have more than enough dick for the both of us.”

He chuckles as he pulls me into the bathroom. “That’s the problem. I need a warm-up toolbox.”

I stare at him as he turns on the shower.

“What’s a warm-up toolbox?” I ask.

“Toys for us to play with to stretch you out when I’m not lost in the moment.” He pulls me in under the water and soaps up his hands and begins to wash my back.

What the hell?

“What’s wrong with being lost in the moment?” I ask as he massages my shoulders from behind.

He kisses my ear. “See how sore you are today?”

“Yes.”

“I was using about five percent of the tank.”

My eyes widen. That was 5 percent . . . what the actual fuck?

He chuckles and pulls me back toward his body. I feel his hard cock up against my back. “Can’t wait to give you one hundred percent, baby,” he breathes into my ear. Goose bumps scatter up my arms.

His fingers slide down, and he runs them over my back entrance, gently probing me where he shouldn’t. “All barrels, both tanks.” He pushes the tip of his pinkie finger in, and I jump forward and grab onto the tiled wall as my senses go into overdrive. “It’s going to be so fucking hot, Grumps,” he whispers darkly as he massages me there. “I can’t fucking wait.”

Jeez.

I swallow the nervous lump in my throat as I grip the tiles for dear life.

Fuck . . . I’m a real-life sex doll for a perverted deviant.

Let the training begin.

I watch him sip his coffee casually as he reads the morning paper . . . as if he hasn’t just had the world completely rocked to its core.

Or maybe that’s just me . . .

The café we are having breakfast in is busy and bustling. Christopher had an omelet, and I had pancakes. And while he’s completely calm and sated, on the other side of the table is a completely different story. I’m flushed, heated, sated, shocked that I like his depravity, and damn it . . . even a little embarrassed.

We didn’t have sex this morning. We didn’t need to.

He came listening to me moan while he showed me what I’ve been missing in the shower.

I came while being horrified that I liked it.

He sips his coffee, and his dark eyes rise to mine, and I feel myself flush in the face.

He raises an eyebrow in question. “What?”

“Nothing.” I smile bashfully.

He smiles knowingly and goes back to his paper, totally unfazed and utterly gorgeous.

I glance around at the people sitting at the tables in the restaurant. Can they tell what we’ve been doing?

I feel like a teenager again, experiencing everything for the first time.

Sex with Christopher Miles isn’t just sex . . . it’s an apocalyptic event in history.

A revelation for womankind.

Who knew . . .

“What are we doing today, Grumps?” he asks casually.

I smile goofily. More of that . . . please. “I don’t know. We have another night in heaven, so I will need to collect some clothes from the hostel, and then”—I shrug—“what do you want to do?”

“Maybe a swim at the beach.” He twists his lips. “I need a new book to read, and I want to find a sex shop.”

“Shh,” I whisper as I look around guiltily. “Keep your voice down.”

He smirks at my embarrassment. “Sex shop,” he mouths.

“What book do you want to get?” I ask to change the subject.

“Don’t know yet. I’ll see what grabs me.” His phone buzzes on the table, and the name Elliot lights up the screen. He answers it. “Hi.” He chuckles and traces his finger in a circle on the table as he listens. “Perfect.”

I listen intently.

“No, it was good.” He smiles. “Thanks for organizing it.”

They’re talking about the hotel room.

“Hayden”—his eyes rise to meet mine—“she was fucking incredible.” He gives me the best come-fuck-me look in all of history.

I feel myself blush.

Jeez. Does he have to tell his brother everything?

“Uh-huh,” he answers, and then he laughs out loud once more. What’s so damn funny?

The waitress comes over to collect our plates. She leans over Christopher, and her eyes linger on him a little too long. She wipes the table down and smiles playfully as she waits for him to notice.

Huh?

I’m sitting right here, bitch.

He continues to chat, completely unaware of her.

The thing is, I know how much female attention Christopher receives, and I get it—he’s utterly gorgeous. It annoyed me before how brazen these women who flirt with him are, but now that I am actually sleeping with him, it’s downright infuriating.

She lingers and lingers, waiting for him to make eye contact with her.

What the hell?

She leans over him again, and he glances up. She gives him a sexy smile, and his brow furrows. He’s noticed it too.

Right, that’s it.

“Are you taking your time on purpose so you can ogle my boyfriend?” I ask her.

She turns to me, startled.

Christopher smirks and nods behind her back.

“I just . . .”

“Our table is clean,” I reply, unimpressed.

“Of course.” She scurries back to the kitchen. “Sorry.”

Sorry she did it or sorry she got busted?

Stupid idiot.

“Go, Grumps.” Christopher smiles. He listens to Elliot, who must be asking what’s happening. “Hayden’s going all caveman over here and waving girls along,” he tells his brother before he laughs again.

“What the hell?” I whisper angrily. “Don’t tell him that.”

“I’ve got to go,” he says. “I’m about to get dragged back to the room by my balls.” He laughs. “I can only hope.” He hangs up.

“Don’t tell your brother I’m waving girls along. He’s going to think I’m a psychopath.”

“Were you waving her along?” he asks.

“That’s not the point,” I snap. “And why did you tell your brother I’m dragging you home by the balls?”

“Because I’m hoping you are, right before you suck on them and slap them up against your ass cheeks.” He gives me a playful wink.

“Will you be serious for one minute?” I whisper angrily. “There will be no ball sucking . . . or slapping, for that matter.”

He exhales heavily as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I guess you want to go and buy a book instead?”

I smirk, feeling embarrassed by my little jealous and antifun outburst. “No,” I announce. “I thought you were taking me to the sex shop?”

His eyes light up, and he rubs his hands together in glee. “Now we’re talking.”