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He shakes his head. “She was always so stressed. So on edge all the time. I tried so hard to make her smile, but in the end I think she lost her joy. My father stole it from her,” he explains.
“I can sympathise,” I say, then quickly add, “But I also know how hard that must’ve been for you. I’m so sorry, Drix.”
His gaze meets mine. “I would bet on my life that even through the midst of all your trauma, you still managed to smile for Toby.”
“I did, but it was hard, Drix. It took all my strength to be present, to find joy in the simple things. I’m sure you mum loved you as best she could given the circumstances.”
“She did what she could,” he whispers, blowing out a tremulous breath, before eying the empty bowl smeared with cake batter.
“Do you want a taste?” I ask, offering him the wooden spoon. “Don’t worry you’ll be fine. I grew up licking the bowl and spoon clean and I’m still here,” I add when he hesitates.
“That’s not what I was thinking,” he replies, canting his head at me.
“What were you thinking?”
“You really want to know?” he asks, his warm fingers brushing against my hand as he takes the spoon from me, licking a little of the batter. He hums with appreciation at the taste.
“Yes,” I reply, a little breathlessly if I’m honest.
Reaching for me, he takes my hand and tugs me towards him, a sexy smile pulling up his lips as he grasps the neckline of my t-shirt, his knuckles brushing against my nipple. That simple touch makes my core contract, heat pooling between my legs.
“I want to spread this all over your breasts and lick them clean,” he admits. “Can I?”
I nod, my breath hitching as he swipes some of the cake batter between my cleavage, before leaning forward, his hot mouth and wet tongue sweeping across my skin.
“God, Drix,” I shudder, my body reacting to his touch.
“You said baking makes you happy. Well, seeing you happy makes me so damn hard, Lia. Can I fuck you?”
The way the words trip off his tongue feel like hungry flames across my skin. I nod. “Please, Drix. Please, fuck me.”
“Take your clothes off,” he demands, his voice gruff as he rests the spoon back in the bowl.
“Shouldn’t we go upstairs?” I counter, biting on my lip.
“I have a feeling this might get a little messy,” he replies, reaching for the hem of my t-shirt and easing it upwards. “Now, be a good girl and strip for me.”
Heat rushes from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. No one has ever called me a good girl. This man.
With trembling fingers, I help him to remove my t-shirt, placing it on the counter. He groans, his mouth immediately finding my nipple through my lace bra as he reaches behind me and unhooks it. Within moments, that too is discarded.
“The rest of your clothes too, Lia,” he adds, watching me as I peel off my leggings, knickers and socks. I stumble a little, heat flooding my cheeks with embarrassment as he steadies me with a hand on my elbow.
“Sorry, I’m not being very seductive,” I murmur, acutely aware that in the broad light of day, there’s no hiding my flaws as I stand bare before him. A momentary feeling of embarrassment comes over me, but it doesn’t last long, not when he’s looking at me like I’m good enough to eat.
“Don’t ever apologise to me for being so perfectly real. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
“It is?” I whisper.
“Lia, I don’t want a fake, vacuous woman. I’ve been there, done that, and it left me fucking empty. What I want is you. Real, honest, naturally beautiful. I want to feast on a body that has curves and dips, that’s rounded and soft. I want to fuck a woman who isn’t afraid to feed her body, who has scars and stretch marks, dimples and grooves that I can lick, kiss and worship. There’s nothing about you I don’t love.”
“You really know how to flatter a woman, don’t you?” I say with a soft smile, his words healing those parts of me broken by a man who thrived on making me feel ugly.
“It's God's honest truth. Fuck, Lia, I want to do so many dirty things to you,” he grinds out as he grabs the wooden spoon once more and presses it against my breasts, trailing cake mix over my nipples and lower down towards my aching pussy.
“I want you too. I want you to do dirty things to me, Drix,” I reply, my clit pulsing as he flips the wooden spoon around and angles the handle downwards, gently pressing it against my clit.
“Jesus,” I whimper, finding myself rocking against the smooth wood.
