I do it without thinking, hungry in ways I’ve never felt before. He makes a quiet, pained sound as he slips the piece of cake between my waiting lips. I moan, half from the sweetness, half from his lingering fingertips, sticky with frosting.
“Fuck yes,” he whispers, pushing them deeper. “Suck them clean.”
I whimper and do as I’m told, hollowing my cheeks as his lips part, watching me from under heavy lashes. An unexpected surge of gratification twines irrevocably with desire. Knowing praise and affection lie on the other side of whatever task he gives me is like pressing an untouched dopamine button at the very base of my skull. I could almost cry from how simple it is. From how clearly he saw this unslaked thirst in me.
When he draws his wet fingers from my mouth, I reopen my eyes, vision glazed. He’s staring at me like I’m not the only one in the middle of a life-changing sexual revelation. “Is this how you need me to take care of you, Gracie?” he asks, dropping his hand to the level of my breasts before circling my right nipple with his wet fingertip. It’s already as hard as possible, but at his feather-light touch, I gasp. “You need me to give you a to-do list? Reward you for every check mark?”
I arch into his touch, seeking more pressure as he lightly trails his fingertip across the slopes of my breasts to the other side. “Yes,” I pant, dying for him to tell me what to do next.
“Open up,” he says. “You haven’t tried the chocolate yet.”
My jaw drops instantly, and he repeats what he did with the Battenburg. This time, I can’t help the way my lashes flutter as I swallow, whimpering around his fingers from the taste.
“You like this one better?”
I nod as best as I can.
“Why?” he asks, removing his clean fingers from my mouth to drag them down my neck.
I squirm in my heels, uncomfortable from how wet my panties have become. “It tastes like you,” I say breathlessly. “Like your mouth when we first kissed.”
He lets out a strained breath. “Would you like to taste more of me?”
“Please.” I moan, wanting nothing more than to rip his perfect tux to shreds and get my mouth all over him.
“Do you remember what else I asked you to let me do?” he asks, placing the plate on a nearby shelf.
My brain is a scrambled egg, but there’s no forgetting words that felt like a hot slap between my thighs. “You asked to fuck up mypretty lipstick,” I recite dutifully, wanting a little kiss on the forehead for my efforts.
“That’s right,” he says, his voice ragged as he brushes his thumb beside the corner of my mouth. “Is that something you’d like to do on your knees?”
My legs collapse like a fawn’s in my hurry to drop in front of him, my tights doing nothing to protect my knees from the cold, hard tile. But somehow, I like that feeling, too. I like everything about this, but nothing so much as the way he groans when I stroke him through his trousers. Fumbling in my haste to release him from the extra layers of his buttoned jacket and black silk cummerbund, I earn a grunt when I finally free him. At my touch, his shoulders fall back against the door with a loud thud.
“Christ. Look up at me. Let me see those eyes,” he says, grabbing the plate off the shelf again. Hands skimming his heavy length, I watch him drag a finger through a thick dollop of light pink frosting before saying, “Stick your tongue out. Keep it soft.”
I follow his instructions, and then his finger is swiping creamy frosting on my tongue until I’m coated and salivating. It’s so hard not to close my mouth and swallow, but then he murmurs, “A little more. You’re doing such a good job,” and my toes curl from the affection in his voice. I open my mouth a little wider, pleading with my eyes.
He drinks me in, like he just needs a moment to burn this image into his core memory bank. Finally, he nods with a shaky exhale. “Put me in your mouth. Want to get you messy.”
I hum with relief when I finally sink my mouth over his first jaw-stretching inch. I take more and more until there’s not enough room for him and all the frosting. Within one greedy minute, it’s everywhere, slick and sweet and delicious. I feel it dripping down my chin as his palm cups the underside of my jaw, squeezing it open.
“H-holy shit.” His whole body shudders with the whispered curse, and I’m drunk on this power. He’s barely holding it together, his breath coming in sharp staccato bursts as he says, “Just a little deeper, sweetheart. That’s… that’s it—Fuckyou take it so well.”
I moan around him, his words urging me past the threshold ofpersonal comfort. I want him so deep I can’t breathe. My eyes are streaming, my hands and face sticky with frosting, but I can’t get enough. I want to be his—to show him how much I’m willing to give if he’ll just love me the way I love—
“Gracie.” My name is a groan as he lets go of my jaw to quickly grasp the side of my hair. He pulls me away, leaving me empty and panting.
“God, just look at you,” he breathes. “Such a fucking angel on your knees for me. Come here.”
With his help, I stand on wobbling legs, grateful when he pulls me against his heaving chest. He cradles my face between his hands and groans again, eyes mapping the tracks of my tears and swollen lips. “So gorgeous,” he whispers, bending to lick stray frosting from the side of my mouth. “So giving.” He sucks my sticky lips and tongue, kissing me so deep, my insides liquify.
“Please,” I whisper, my hands shaking as I undo his bow tie. His top shirt buttons. If he doesn’t touch me soon, I’m going to weep.
He caresses my cheek, and his eyes are so tender, so sympathetic, that I think he understands. “I know it hurts,” he says. “Turn around, and I’ll make it better.”
Shakily, I turn, and he repositions us so that I’m facing the door. With a firm and steady hand between my shoulder blades, he urges me forward until my cheek and hands are pressed against the cool wooden surface.
“Okay?” he asks, sliding his hand down my spine in a well-meaning caress. But nothing is soothing right now—nothing is going to ease this ache except feeling him inside me.
