Chapter 22

“What was that for?” he hummed, cycloptic eye blinking a centimeter away.

“Dessert.”

“I have whipped cream back at my place.”

And, yes, the offer was followed by a wink.

* * * *

I woke up in Ray’s arms. Naked. Picture Michelangelo’s David; now picture Michelangelo’s David covered in a fine, brown down. That was Ray. Ray had a surfer’s body. All lean muscle, all tight, all well-worked. Only, Ray’s dick was way bigger. Like way, way. Like, seriously, way. As in way up my ass, to be crass, most of the night and already some of the morning. As it was, I was giving him five minutes to recover so we could go again. Because when you get the chance to be fucked by Michelangelo’s David, you take it. And take it. And, uh, take it again.

“I’m almost out of rubbers,” Ray purred in my ear.

“Does Amazon Fresh deliver prophylactics?”

“Probably.”

“Then get your cell ready.”

Meaning, and again.

* * * *