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“No, you copied it perfectly,” I groaned. “But this doesn’t say ‘Thank you, Archie.’”
Confusion furrowed her brow.
“Really? What does it say? I didn’t try saying it out loud for my translator.”
I cleared my throat again, speaking the words in a booming, dramatic voice.
“It says, ‘Archie, you’re a gigantic knob!’”
“Fuck! Are you serious?!” Maggie’s mouth fell open in disbelief.
I tossed the slip of paper down.
“At the very least she could have used the verb ‘to have’ instead of ‘to be,’” I grumbled.
Maggie stared at me for a long moment before breaking into a howl of laughter. My own laughter quickly followed, as if I couldn’t stand to be left behind by her.
“Well, shit!” she cried, wiping away tears. “I’ve already piped almost all these damn cookies! Sorry, Archie! This really was supposed to be something nice for you after everything you’ve done for me.”
I chuckled, glancing down at the tray. Out of what looked to be two dozen cookies, only four did not proclaim me as agigantic knob.
“Then you’ll have to make up for it with these last four,” I said, pointing to the ones with no writing. “Make the messages extra nice. Very complimentary, if you please. I do like a good bit of praise, especially from a beautiful, talented, discerning woman.”
“Fine, then. I will. I’ll have to think long and hard about what to write on these last ones. But for now, I hope you enjoy your knob cookies. Good grief.”
“Some of these even rather look like knobs,” I said, picking up a cookie that was definitely reminiscent of an orc’s cock. It had a large round bulb at the base, a smaller bulge in the middle, and another one tapering to a rounded tip. If it had had a couple more bulges at the bottom for testicles, it would have been quite accurate indeed.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Maggie gasped, snatching the cookie from my hand. “That’s a snowman, you perv!”
“Hmm. I’m not convinced. Where did you buy that cookie cutter? You might want to ask for your money back,” I replied. Now that she’d said that, I saw the snowman shape emerge. I’d seen enough snowmen in the station’s holiday décor to recognize it. But flattened into a cookie the way it had been, it very much looked like a top-down view of... well... my own erection.
“Oh really,” Maggie challenged, giving me a haughty look. She opened her mouth and drew her wet pink tongue along the entire cookie.
My throat went dry, and I clutched at the edge of the countertop, my knuckles cracking. My cock swelled, its own knots longing to experience her hot mouth the way that the cookie was.So unfair. That cursed cookie doesn’t even know how lucky it is right now.Maggie watched my response with a mischievous gleam in her eye.
“I thought that was my cookie,” I rasped as she sucked the end, the snowman’s head, into her mouth.
She popped the cookie back out. The white icing she’d piped onto its surface had left a shimmering coating on her soft lips, looking so much like the pearly sheen of seed that I wanted to weep. My cock was already weeping in my trousers. I could feel it straining, the tip growing wet.
It’s been far too long since I’ve had a woman. I’m going out of my brain-bowl.
“I’ve decided it’s mine now,” Maggie said breezily. She held my gaze as her teeth sank into the cookie’s tip, biting it right off.
I made a choked sound and scrubbed a hand down my face.
“You can be terrifying sometimes,” I said with mock horror.
“I know,” she said with a sunny smile. “All the best women are.”
“I’ve met hundreds, if not thousands of women aboard this station, Maggie,” I said. I couldn’t stop myself. I reached out, brushing the pad of my thumb along her cheek, smudging what I now realized was icing along her skin. “And I don’t think a single one of them could come close to claiming the title of ‘best.’ That one’s yours, and yours alone.”
I’d made a mistake in touching her like this. Her skin was too soft, too warm. The dried icing crumbled under my thumb, and my knuckles stroked back and forth across her cheek. Yes. Certainly a mistake. Because now that I’d started touching her, I wasn’t sure I could stop.
“What are you even talking about? I’m not the best,” she whispered, her eyes huge, her breath quick.
“I’d argue with you on that point until the bitterfield bison came home,” I said softly. “But even if, by some insane and ridiculous chance, you weren’t the best, rest assured that you’d still be my favourite.”
“You’re way too nice to me,” she said. She sighed, leaning her head harder into my touch. “Are you this nice to all your neighbours?”
