“You pack a brush, Dais?” “Nope.” She smiles deviously, turning her face towards me. “It’s okay. I’ll just finger it.” I force her head back down. “You finger yourself a lot?” I ask, pouring a second bottle onto her hair. “Not as much as you finger me.” Fuck. My cock stirs. That turned very literal. My fucking fault. I don’t feel as guilty as I would have before we were together.
