"You mean we can't have it delivered to our bedroom?" Poison pouts, and then he starts thinking about how much it would take to get a delivery person to come into the house, go all the way upstairs, and deliver to their bedside.

Probably a lot.

He towels off before wrapping up. His ass is sore and his knees feel week, but it's perfect.

"I'm pretty sure you cheat at rock, paper, scissors."