"Good girl," he murmurs.
Mmm. I like that.
He wipes his thumb along my lower lip, collecting a streak of sauce, and holds it up like a dare. Without thinking, I lean forward and lick his thumb.
His breath hitches.
My tongue flicks along the calloused pad, tasting salt and grease. I mean to pull back after, but his free hand tangles in my hair and holds me there—his thumb slipping deeper, just past my lips.
"Messy little thing," he mutters.
I bite down on his thumb, just enough to make him feel it—and his control slips, just a crack. He drags it along my tongue before pulling away.
"You like teasing me," he says, low and dark.
"You like feeding me," I shoot back.
His smile is sharp enough to cut. "You’ve got no idea."
He picks up a fry next, dragging it slowly through the pool of ketchup, and brings it to my mouth. I take it—lips brushing his fingers, sucking the salt right off his skin. He watches, transfixed.
"More," I whisper.
He feeds me rice next, and I take it from his fingers, deliberately licking the grains off his skin one by one, my tongue tracing each knuckle. His breathing turns rough, his jaw tight. It’s messy and raw, and I’m loving every second.
"Careful," he warns.
"Or what?"
He shakes his head in response. “I won’t be able to hold myself back anymore, and we’ll have to skip dessert.”
His voice is all gravel and promise.
"Depends. What’s on the menu?"
I didn’t order dessert.
He grabs my ankles, dragging me down the couch until I’m sprawled beneath him. My shirt rides up, and his hand slides along my bare thigh, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles.
Oh.
He bends his head and kisses me hard, licking into my mouth like he’s still feeding me—like he’s tasting the salt and grease and hunger right off my tongue. I moan into him, fingers curling in his hair, dragging him closer and closer.
His mouth leaves mine, sliding down my throat, teeth grazing my pulse before he drags my thighs apart and settles between them.
"Hands back behind your head again,” he growls. "And stay fucking still."
I obey, but my breath is ragged. My pulse races under his mouth as he kisses lower.
"You gonna lick me like you did the fries?" I whisper.
He flashes a wicked smile. "I’m gonna do a lot more than that, little ghost."
And then his mouth is on me, and I forget all about food.
He spreads my thighs, slow but deliberate, fingers digging into my skin just enough to make sure I know who owns me now.
"You were teasing me," he murmurs, lips trailing fire down the inside of my thigh. "Licking my fingers like you wanted to be fed something else."
