Page 8 of Free

Justin beams at me. It’s incandescent.

“Look who’s been doing his research,” he croons. “Such a good boy. Up,” he orders with a pat on my bum, and I lift my hips. Gentler than I deserve, he peels my boxers from my backside. I shift to one leg, then the other, until my underwear is thrown somewhere behind me.

I reach between us and shove my hand into his briefs, stroking his cock while he tries to finagle his underwear off without making me leave his lap.

I could help him. I probably should. But it’s more fun to watch him wiggle.

I jerk when the phone rings right as Justin is throwing the second pair of underwear over my shoulder. He laughs at the fear on my face and pushes me to the side so he can reach for his cellphone. I end up on my back on the pillows, blushing like a teenage boy who got caught with his hand down his pants.

The analogy isn’t all that far off.

“Wife!”

Frantically I shake my head, indicating for him not to tell her I’m here.

Not yet.

I want to see her. I do. But I’m not ready for her yet. One J is more than enough for the time being.

“Can’t,” he replies to an unheard question. “Your Christmas present finally got here. As a matter of fact…” he pulls the phone away and hits the mute button. “Are you going to be my good boy?”

It's his Dom voice…

Oh, sweet fuck.

“Yes!” I hiss, nodding my head.

I flip around and crawl over his lap, reaching onto his bedside table for the tub of lube sitting on the oil warmer. He slaps my ass, and I arch at the contact, Justin’s deep amusement slithering over my skin. His cock bobs where I press against it, and he wiggles his hips to thrust it against my stomach.

“I’m going to need you to stay away for a couple of hours,” he says into the phone. “Yes. Hours. Go to the art museum. Surely, they have something new for you to admire.”

I sit back on my heels with the oil in one hand and grab his cock in the other.

“Stop that!” He hisses as his eyes roll back in his head.

Poor Jules. She must think he’s having some sort of party.

I wanna be a good boy. I wanna be a damn good boy. While he’s trying to rush Jules off the line, I dip my fingers into the coconut oil and fall back onto the bed, spreading my legs in the most obscene way possible. Knees up and bent. Everything on display. Without breaking eye contact with Justin, I lube up my skin and slip a finger into my asshole.

“I gotta go!” He mumbles before dropping the call. He doesn’t even say goodbye. The phone clatters to the table, forgotten.

“That was rude,” I admonish him. Then I slip a second finger in with the first.

All of my reservations are gone, replaced by blinding need.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Justin exclaims, watching me with hungry eyes. “Who are you and what the hell have you done to Remi?”

I add a third finger and bite my lip at the way Justin moans and fists his cock. I'm Remington 2.0. The one who’s not afraid to ask for a cock up his ass.

“So that’s the way it’s gonna be,” he whispers. The ragged deepness of his voice slithers over my skin like satin.

“Uh-huh,” I agree, watching him, watch me.

“What do you want?”

What do I want?

A memory of him asking Julia that exact same thing flitters through my mind.