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8
Under Rory’s order, Luke opens his mouth so prettily. I push the slice of cake against royal lips, Luke’s needy gaze pinning me the whole time. I push my fingers further against Luke’s warm and pliant mouth until he begins to slowly chew the cake. But my fingers don’t drop from his mouth. They hover at his plump lips, skimming the frosted sugar coating them until, after the piece of cake is fully swallowed, Luke tries to steer my fingers into his hot, wet mouth.
I pull away. No. I want this to last. I want totease.
And I think, despite his soft groan of protest, that Luke would want the same.
“How was that?” I ask quietly, watching the flexing tendons in Luke’s throat, the wet sheen of his lips as his tongue tastes the sugar crystals. Eating, a function so commonplace and essential, has somehow broken down into the most sensual act imaginable.
He tries to suckle my fingertips. I curl them in on themselves so that all he can do is glare and lick my knuckles wetly, which makes me laugh.
He plants a soft kiss to the back of my hand. “I liked it. I also want to do the same to you.”
As he tears the remainder of the small cake in half, there’s a frustrated sigh from Finlay. “Aye, fine, but whit about the actual cake? How’s it taste? Would it winBake Aff?Waymair important than whitever this is.”
“Like a heavy dose of diabetes,” Luke informs him sweetly, holding a piece of cake against my lips. “The sky-high levels of glucose are why I need to share the experience. It’s self-preservation, really.”
He’s teasing but I’m not laughing. Thisdoesfeel intimate, shockingly so. Unlike Luke carefully watching me the whole time, my eyes can’t stop themselves from fluttering closed as the sweetest cake in the world is slowly pushed past my lips and into my hungry mouth. Flavor bursts across my taste buds, heightened by the cloying aroma of sugar. Frosting floods my mouth and it’s like I’m suddenly drowning in its gloopy thick sweetness.
Luke’s fingertips brush against my tongue, which my greedy mouth lavishes, drinking up every particle of delicious, addictive sugar from his skin like it’s a necessity. The act is so breathtakingly intimate that I moan aloud when Luke reluctantly tugs his hand away with a soft, “Ah-ah. I gave you more than you gave to me.”
My eyes flutter open again. I’ve just eaten a slice of excellent cake — my stomach ought to be sated, and yet…
I stare at Luke hungrily.
I want todevourhim.
From Luke’s darkened eyes, I can tell the desire is mutual. The air has grown hot and sugary between us. Our breaths have quickened, his chest almost kissing my breasts. I sense the shift in atmosphere not just in the sparkle of Luke’s dark brown eyes but in the rapidly growing hardness he can’t conceal, the one that brushes dangerously against the side of my thigh.
He’s not the only one. Like I’m magnetically attracted, like I know who rules tonight, my head turns in Rory’s direction. His erection swells in his smart school pants, and he irritably grinds the heel of his hand against the front of it, as though to tell it off.
“Troubles?” I ask innocently, and Rory narrows his eyes at me.
“You know what you do to me.”
“Maybe some cake will make you feel better.”
Rory seems offended by the suggestion, and truthfully, I can’t see him reveling in the sticky sweetness of frosted buns. “No.”
“That’s a shame, old friend,” Luke says cheerily as he lifts the last slice of cake to my lips. “More for us.”
In a sly tone, I tell Rory, “We’ll eat it together. Right in front of you. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on the experience, after all.”
Rory’s eyes narrow. His hand still hasn’t shifted from the front of his pants and tension radiates in his jaw as he struggles to keep himself under control.
“Why don’t you?” I murmur with a pointed look at the position of his hand. “Iwould. Just saying.”
I leave Rory with this food for thought, turning back to Luke. Mischief glitters in his eyes, like he’s been roused by a new mission — a mission I think we both understand, having been surprised to see Rory already fraying at the edges.
“Ready?” Luke whispers, and I nod. He presses the cake against my lips and suddenly my senses are dominated by the scent of sugar again. On the other side, Luke holds the cake aloft, leaning into it while balancing the thick pastry base on his fingertips, and together we begin to bite it.
Again, my eyes automatically drift shut. My mouth guides me into a slowed-down sensual dance of biting and swallowing and chewing, Luke doing likewise on the other side of the cake.
It isn’t graceful. Crumbs cascade down my uniform. At one point, we almost drop the cake between our mouths. Every bite is intentional, mindful, to keep the cake solid between us. And somehow this makes the cake taste even better. Every small, slowed-down act within the overall act of eating becomes enhanced and full of color. The sweet syrupy glaze of the frosting hits harder, grows so much sweeter on my scavenging tongue, that I moan aloud. Rainbow sprinkles crunch against my back teeth. Stray grains of sugar and pastry tempt my tongue by hiding in the crevices of my mouth, and my mouth floods with saliva to flush them out and sample their shy sweetness.
And then I’m not eating cake at all. Something soft and distinctly uncakelike brushes my mouth. After the feast I’ve had, I’m panting for more, and Luke’s tongue slides all the way into my mouth, searching for more. My body goes weak all over and he secures his arms firmly around me, drawing me closer onto his lap. And despite the quantities of cake we’ve both consumed this evening, I have a feeling that, if questioned, Luke would agree with me and say that our kiss is the best thing we’ve tasted all night.
The bed dips as I position myself higher on his lap, tilting Luke’s head under mine so that his sugar-glazed lips connect with mine from above. His groan reverberates from his throat and into my greedy mouth, where it’s pulled deep into my ego. Our lips are flush together, still tasting the remnants of sugar and pastry from each other as we put on a show for the chiefs and particularly Rory.
