“I want you to be able to take a third finger by the time you’re home on Sunday,” I growl out. I try not to think about him spending his downtime finger-fucking his own ass over the weekend because the pain my dick is in might actually cause it to combust. “Do you hear me? I want three of my fingers milking your prostate on Sunday night when you get home.” He smiles at me through the phone, still sated and happy as a clam, and lets out a sarcastic, “Yes, sir.” My dick officially has a pulse at this point. “Call me that again. See what happens next time I have you alone.” Keene just grins
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