Page 28 of His for Hanukkah

Adam picked up the tablespoon, grumbling even as he obeyed. Who cared about latkes?

But his grumbles quickly turned into moans. Tate was pinching his nipples and leaving sharp bites against his neck. Each one sent arcs of lightning through his body.

Scooping up the flour was nearly impossible. He had no idea if he got two tablespoons in, so he hoped the recipe was forgiving. It spilled everywhere.

He was making more of a mess than Susie had last year. He smiled at the thought, but it could only distract him for a minute with Tate’s skilled fingers driving him wild.

“Now the onions.”

Adam reached for the covered bowl, finally understanding the game they were playing and immersing himself into it. Tate was giving him a challenge, a path to giving up control and pushing the limits of his body and mind, but playfully.

He was panting now, and he didn’t try to hold back. Tate was sucking harder on his neck, probably hard enough to leave a mark. He wanted that mark.

He dumped the onions into the bowl. His attention was so scattered he had no idea what was happening, but he realized he didn’t need to think. Tate was controlling everything, and it was the sexiest thing ever.

He was pretty sure that he’d put in all the ingredients. Tate wasn’t correcting him, so he figured that they both agreed that he’d finished.

“Stir.”

Oops. He’d forgotten that. He reached for the stirring spoon. Tate’s talented fingers had added a little twist as the pinched his nipples. A little harder and he would come. He cried out and let the feeling shake through is body.

Stirring was difficult. The eggs were still mostly on one side and the bowl was rattling against the cabinet dangerously.

Tate opened the button on his pants.

“Please!” he cried out.

Tate’s hands froze. “Keep stirring, baby boy.”

Adam whimpered and tried his best to follow instructions.

One of Tate’s strong arms was wrapped around his chest, holding him up even as he tormented his nipple. His other hand reached down and skimmed over his cock, the touch too light to do anything but tease.

The hand disappeared and then Tate heard the telltale snick of a cap being opened. He shuffled his legs as far apart as he could while they were still trapped by his pants. He was quickly rewarded by two slick fingers gliding over his entrance.

“Did I say you could stop stirring?” Tate’s voice was firmer now, carrying an edge of threat. Adam’s arousal ratcheted up another ten notches.

“No, Sir.” Adam redoubled his efforts at the pointless stirring. Some of the potato goop was getting out of the bowl and he didn’t care at all.

One finger slid inside him, the intrusion easy and perfect. “Tate!”

“Keep stirring.” God, that voice. It shook him to his toes.

He kept stirring, not looking at the bowl, and giving it just enough attention that Tate wouldn’t stop. His Dom slipped another finger inside. The burn was delicious, and he pushed back against it, whining.

“You don’t like a lot of prep, do you?”

He’d already said this when they were discussing limits, so Adam decided that Tate was just checking in. Adam wanted to make sure that his response was very, very clear. “No. No, please now!”

His hands were shaking where they gripped the bowl and stirring spoon. He was practically using them to hold himself up.

A third finger ground inside, faster than the other two. Pain flashed through him and he welcomed it. “Yes, yes, like that.”

Tate kept his fingers mercifully still, but after a single breath, Adam didn’t want mercy. He pushed back.

He was gripping the bowl and spoon so hard that his fingers turned white. He was far beyond any pretense of cooking. “Please, Tate!”

“You’re just a little slut for me, aren’t you? You’re supposed to be cooking, but look at you, just begging for cock.”