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“I’m starving. Get these jeans off, will you? I’ll set the table.”
The feral look in his eyes, the layer of sweat sheening his perfect body, the hangdog smile. My God, this boy had me. I looked around at the creamy sweet carnage smeared all over the floor.
“Here? In the kitchen?” I asked, pulling my belt loose.
“Right here.” And with a sweep of his tattooed arm, he cleared the rest of the debris off Dell’s stainless steel table. The metal bowls, the pots and pans, the whisks and plastic utensils all went clattering to the floor. Then he grabbed a checkered tablecloth from the shelf beneath and flung it across the metal top. I stepped out of my jeans and stood there with my arms crossed over my nakedness.
“Know what’s for dessert?” he said, turning to face me, an eyebrow cocked. “You.”
He took a few steps towards me and enveloped me in his arms, kissing me again. Then he gently lifted me onto the table and left me there, legs dangling. I watched him walk over to the walk-in fridge and disappear inside.
“Let’s see now …” he said. He emerged with an armful of containers and the whipped cream dispenser.
“What on earth are you doing?” I asked.
“Close your eyes and lie back.”
And with that, he moved to my ankles, circled them with his hands and yanked me to the bottom edge of the table. Then he parted my legs with embarrassing ease. I let out a giggly scream that came to a stunned halt when he squirted whipped cream in the middle of my belly button. Then he squirted two dollops on each nipple and regarded his work earnestly.
“What are you doing!”
“Making dessert. I’m a pastry chef in real life, if you can believe it. Let’s see … one more …” And with that, he drew a line of whipped cream from my belly button all the way down. Then he grabbed the container with the chocolate icing and gently dolloped some of that on me. He reached over and took a single maraschino cherry and placed it over my belly button. I tried to stop giggling but couldn’t. It was all cold and ticklish and also incredibly hot. He gave his work a long look, then bent and closed his mouth over my belly button, took in the cherry and licked the cream clean off. Then he smeared the icing across my breasts, while his mouth made its eager descent. His sticky hands soon followed, crossing my torso, my stomach, then parting my legs. His tongue was hot and lush. At first he just lapped, not touching me directly, and I felt I would die if he didn’t. Then, finally, he closed his mouth around me, moving it around and around, soft, hot, sticky, sending me into a narcotic haze. I felt his fingers tickle around the outside of me, their firmness complementing his soft, wet licks as he cleaned all the cream off me. I was aching for it like never before. He pulled me so quickly to the brink that I had to grasp the sides of the table to stabilize myself.
Then he stopped.
“Why are you stopping?” I gasped, breathless. I looked down at his hungry eyes, the back of his hand wiping the cream off his cheek.
“Cassie, could you feel what I was doing with my tongue?”
Um, yeah. I could definitely feel what he was doing. It was making me crazy.
“Yes,” I said as calmly as I could.
“I want you to do that with your fingers. In front of me. For me.”
“You want me to what?” I felt drunk as I looked at him, his face still adorably smeared with whipped cream.
“I want to watch you touch yourself,” he said.
“But … I don’t know how, really. I suck at it. I can get started, but then I feel … I don’t know … and with you watching, I—”
“Give me your hand.”
I reluctantly placed my hand in his. He held it firmly, guiding it to where I was hot and wet. He isolated my index finger. He placed it gently on me, and using his mouth there, he made me newly wet. His hand guided my finger in circles, his tongue darting around me. Oh God, it was incredible.
“I don’t know what tastes better, you or the cream,” he said.
Once I found the rhythm, he let go of my hand and my own fingers continued, while he gently moved his mouth over me. His hands grabbed the insides of my thighs, pressing them down into the table. He stopped for a second and watched me. I was on the very edge of ecstasy. I flung my head back, trying to take it all in, these sensations. He watched as I touched myself. Then his mouth soon joined my fingers.
“You feel that? You like that?” he said, between feverish licks.
“Oh yeah,” I said, feeling every pulse and matching it with my own. I wasn’t sure where the orgasm was building, but it was coming from someplace new, someplace deep, his wet tongue pulling something out of the very core of me. He pushed his fingers into me until they couldn’t go any deeper, and as his other hand pressed my thighs open, pleasure ignited every fiber of my body. He sensed all the energy building inside me.
“Holy shit,” I said, almost afraid of what was about to happen, like it was all going to be too much, and that’s when the white hotness shot through me, forcing my hips higher, his cue to take over, pushing my hand away, kissing and licking me with vigor. The rush was so strong, it made me feel like I had to hold on to something, anything, for dear life.
“OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod” was all I could muster, writhing on the slippery table, not caring if I crashed over the side, dizzy with bliss. He clutched me, holding everything very still, until he could tell I was coming down off from the precipice. And when my orgasm subsided, he gently wiped his face on the inside of my thighs.
“That was … wow … really strong, Cassie. I could feel it.”
