The morning sunthe next day made my nighttime paranoia feel silly and wishful. My room was bright as I woke, the fire was damped down, there was a steaming cup of tea on the bedside table, and a heavy weight denting the mattress.
I opened one eye and grinned at Booker in his tidy uniform sitting at the edge of my bed and staring vacantly out the window. I was surprised he didn't tip the whole bed over. The sun was warming the tone of his marble skin to an almost golden shade, and I had a sudden impulse to push my covers down and then pull him over me in a new kind of blanket.
I stretched, testing how my body felt, and Booker spoke before I could issue the invitation. "Mortimer wants to see you."
I groaned and rolled onto my stomach, hiding my pout against my pillow. Figured she would interrupt my plan to defile the butler.
"Visitor for you," he added.
His lips quirked as I sat up suddenly, not minding being bare in front of him as I reached for the tea. It was cool enough to guzzle down, and Booker rose from the bed, moving to the closet. He shuffled inside, and my eyes widened as he pulled out a simple blue dress. Had Booker just picked out my clothes for me? Why was that a little thrilling? It wasn't a provocative dress, but that just made me like his choice even more.
"Are you going to dress me too?" I teased.
Booker only stared back at me, the dress in his hands. It really wasn't fair that I hadn't taken an opportunity to fuck him yet.
He let me put on my shift, but when I reached for my corset, he grunted and tugged on the hand, pulling me toward him.
"Softer without," he said.
My eyebrows rose up at that declaration, and Booker dropped the dress over my head, shrouding me in a dark blue curtain. His hands were efficient and gentle, manipulating my arms into the sleeves as if I were a child and couldn't do it myself. This dress buttoned up the front as well, and I thought I caught another flicker of a smile as Booker tugged me closer by the waist, helping himself to the buttons.
His fingers pressed and grazed against my stomach as he worked each button, touching more than was strictly necessary, traveling higher until my chest was heaving as he closed the dress around my breasts.
"Booker," I moaned, lifting my chin for his kiss and resisting the urge to giggle as his stare remained on my breasts. He finished the buttons all the way up to my collar, one smooth fingertip brushing up my throat.
And then those fingers were around my throat, not squeezing but holding me firmly in place. My eyes widened at his grip, but Booker was too busy bending, reaching another hand beneath the hem of the dress.
"Oh!" My hips bucked at the sudden touch between my legs, body held in place by the hand around my throat. Booker's touch was cool and undeniably solid, two fingers sliding through the lips of my sex. I shivered at the contrast of temperature, my gaze fixed on the living statue's blank expression.
Booker didn't ask if I liked the touch, just continued to rub as I trembled in his hold until his fingers were slippery against me. Obviously, he knew enough to know that fluid now coating his fingers was a sign that I did like it, very much.
"Booker," I gasped, only breathless from arousal, "Booker, please."
One side of his mouth curled up, and then the two fingers were pushing up inside me, still cool, and so thick and hard, it was as good as a cock. Except no cock felt chilly and dense like this, so shocking inside of me.
I cried out, trying to rise to my toes, and then whined when I realized I couldn't. Booker held me right in place with nowhere to go as his fingers began to fuck smoothly inside of me, a comfortable pace, fast enough to know he wasn't just teasing me but not so much to overwhelm me. He wanted me to feel him rubbing inside of me, fingertips taking gentle care to curl and stroke every sensitive inch.
"Every morning," he said, and I blinked back at him before realizing his meaning. My knees trembled at the promise.
Yes, every morning. Booker should absolutely dress and then finger me every morning. It was better than breakfast.
His hand twisted, and then his thumb was circling over my clit. It was something between mechanical and intimate, the touch so matter of fact. There was no exploring. Booker had already made his mind up, and I had a sudden, possessive worry that he'd tried this on another girl.
And then his fingers inside of me focused forward, rubbing me directly between thumb and forefingers, and I didn't care in the least who he'd practiced with. I came with a happy shout of his name, my knees sagging, body held simply between the fingers around my neck and the hand between my legs.
Booker grunted, eyes on mine, a smile growing slowly as he continued to work me determinedly on his fingers until I was sure my release was dripping down his wrist. One contrasting spiral of pleasure settled directly over the first, and Booker drove me to another quick finish, my cry more ragged and my eyes slamming shut. His fingers stroked up, giving my cunt something to clasp and tremble around, still cool, and so solid, the sensation could only echo back into me.
Booker caught me as I sagged into his chest, releasing my throat and wrapping that arm around my waist. His other hand pulled free of my sensitive sex with a wet sucking sound. He pulled it out from under my skirt and lifted it to the sunlight, studying the coat of slick on his fingers. My mouth fell open and I leaned back to watch as he raised the middle finger to his lips with the clink of stone on stone, and then sucked it clean with a low rumble of approval.
I whimpered and opened my mouth to ask how I tasted, but it was quickly stuffed with Booker's second finger. My eyes widened, and I accidentally bit down on the digit at the shock of the tangy, musky flavor, but Booker didn't seem to care and my teeth barely made a dent on him. He turned me so he could stare down at me, those ghost blue eyes waiting. I began to suck, my tongue stroking against Booker's smooth finger, more curious about how he felt in my mouth than my own flavor. His eyes hooded, and I fought my own smile. I hoped his cock would be just the right size for me to suck because there was something dangerous and delicious about the weight of marble on my tongue.
"Good," he grunted, pulling his hand away before I was ready.
I laughed and wiggled against him and then paused, suddenly worried by what I felt. Rather, what I didn't feel.
"Booker…how do you…" I slid a hand down his chest, over the front of his trousers, eyes widening at what I found. He definitely had a cock. And it seemed…significant, although not outright shocking, with an interesting kind of texture to it. But while it was as hard as marble, it was flaccid.
Booker blinked at me, and I felt a minor sinking. Was his cock just for show? That seemed a shame, although he was certainly talented enough with his fingers for it to not matter.
Just as I'd resigned myself to missing out on a proper fuck with Booker, the cock under my hand stirred to life, bucking into my palm. It didn't grow thicker, but it did rise to my call. A moment later, it sank again.
"I'll be ready when you need it," Booker said.