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“Vanilla and whipping cream too,” she shouted over her shoulder and returns to the kitchen.
“You sure, man?” I ask, not wanting to put him out of his way.
“I thought we already established that food is my thing. I’ll get extra so that the next time she comes over, it’ll already be here.” Andre walks out the door with no further instruction.
Joining the bandwagon for brownies, I get up to see if there is something I can do to help her. She is humming something as she moves around, pulling ingredients together. She looks good moving around my kitchen like it is her own.
“I need a pan. Like a casserole dish or something,” she mumbles.
“Inside the dishwasher, there is one. It might be a little big since there was an actual casserole in it that was big enough to feed my unit.”
“Then I’ll just make extra to take to Lucas and Susie.”
I sit at the counter while she preps. When Andre returns, he kisses her cheek and thanks her for the goodness she is about to make. He disappears upstairs to his room to give us privacy. And when she puts the pan into the oven, I am already impatient for them to be ready.
She pours whipping cream into the mixer sitting on the counter, switches the spatula attachment with a wired-looking one, and begins blending it. She studies it intently, like it is going to produce magic. I go over to see what she is watching. Amazed at what is happening, I watch too.
“The key to good whipped cream is not to mix it too fast or too slow. It needs to work itself up to greatness. If you rush it, you’ll get butter. We don’t want butter.” Her voice is low, as if speaking too loudly will disturb the process.
Gently, she adds sugar and vanilla to it. When she is done, there is a bowl of homemade whipped cream inside. She dips her finger inside. Holding it to my lips, she waits. “Taste it,” she instructs.
I want to taste it, but I am sure that isn’t what she means. I pull her finger into my mouth, and the sweet cream is perfect. Licking her finger while it is inside my mouth still, she hisses and pulls it out quickly like she’d gotten burned on a fire. Maybe she has.
“Jamie…”
“Gina…”
I take the spoon lying on the counter and dip it inside the cream. I smooth it across her shoulder, then take my time to clean her with my tongue. No words from her, but her breathing is deeper than before; her eyes are closed, and she is holding on to the counter.
I repeat my actions on the other side, gaining a long, sweet whimper from her as I inch up her neck. Picking her up, I lay her on top of the island and bring the mixer bowl over.
“That’s not what that is for,” she whispers.
“It’s for whatever I say it’s for.” I trail cream down her right leg and chocolate sauce down the left.
Andre had come back from the store with so many options, as if he knew I’d need them for this purpose alone.
I remove my shirt and go to work on her. Her body shivers when I move to the inside of her leg, where chocolate drips.
“You like that?” I ask before swirling my tongue over the spot again.
“I do…” She breathes out the word and reaches for me.
“No. I’m busy. You’ll have to wait your turn.”
The oven beeps, but I’ve gotten to a magnificent spot, making her shiver so hard I think she is going to explode from it. I tune out the beeping and am not surprised when Andre comes running into the kitchen.
“I’ll just…” He goes to the oven and removes the brownies while I continue exploring.
Gina is completely dressed, and though I have my mouth on her, there is technically nothing that Andre can’t see.
He turns off the oven, grabs a bottle of water, and disappears out of the room without another word.
“You didn’t even stop…” She moans as soon as I lick over her ankle and the top of her pedicured toes.
“Why should I? He barely paid us attention. Plus, he knows I’d kill him if he tried something.”
“But still…”
