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“Bacon, tomato, and peanut butter, baby.”
“Oh…oh…Lennox…I’m coming!”
“That’s it, baby. Just let go. Let go and come for me.”
I really don’t want this to end, but my body has other ideas. My va-jay wants to go all space and science, explosions and particles, planets and galaxies, Milky Way, and also other universes. And big, big planet-shaped dicks. I mean dick-shaped planets. The waves of my climax hit me hard, rocking through my head, jazzing up my body, and igniting every single part of me until I’m shaking and vibrating against the table, which I swear is barely holding itself together. But if it has a sex-tastrophe, I suppose that would be the best reason ever for it to give up on life.
I think about floating through space, past those dick-shaped planets that my brain conjured up, and a fresh wave of pleasure rips through me. Okay, so I might have some strange fantasies I didn’t know about.
“So beautiful,” Lennox says huskily, his strokes slowing down. “So, so beautiful. So magical. So out of this freaking word, otherworldly, goddess, gorgeous. That’s you, Cass. And you know what? If luck is real, and I still don’t think it is, but if it were a thing, you’d be my lucky everything because this…this was one of the best moments of my life.”
Gah, I need to kiss this man. I know what a shitty start to life he had, so for him to say that this was one of his best moments, and mean it, blows my mind back into my admittedly strange mental galaxy.
“I’m afraid,” I admit. “I’m afraid if we have sex, it will…uh...that the universe will implode or something. I feel like I’d be testing fate, daring chance to do its worst. But it would be doing it to you too, and that’s not fair to you. I feel like I need to keep you safe.”
Lennox stands slowly, and as he promised, he drags his fingers across his lips, painting them with my arousal before he slowly pops them into his mouth and savors them like they’re cherry cheesecake, which is even better than cherry pie and strawberry cake. He looks as though he can’t get enough. My head nearly lolls off my shoulders, my pussy clenches hard, and shockwaves of sensation go zinging and pinging and zapping through me like electric shocks bursting all over my body.
My nipples also feel like they’re so electrified that they could shoot sparks out of them. Nipple sparks. That also should not be hot, but it’s kind of freaking awesome.
“We can take our time,” Lennox says in his deep, smooth voice as soon as he pops his fingers out of his mouth. “We don’t have to rush anything. I’m not saying this because I believe the universe would do anything to me. I think I’m the lucky one to be doing any of this with you, to even know you. The night I kidnapped the wrong girl? That was a good night. A very, very good night.”
“You didn’t want to have anything to do with me! You took me out for pie and fries as punishment, and the swan boat ride we went on after that was like torture for you. Then you disappeared, and when you came back, you acted like I was the world’s biggest inconvenience.”
Lennox looks at me hard, his eyes boring into me, and I gulp. He offers his hand, holding it out until I take it. He helps me off the table and fetches me my pants somewhat shyly. “I was an idiot,” he says simply, and I can accept that. “But you were too busy trying to gain some luck off me and at the same time trying to protect me from yours rubbing off on me too. Sometimes things take a while to develop. The best ideas? They’re always forever in development. The most delicious coffee takes a while to percolate, and the best meals take infinite patience and attention to detail to make. True genius is rarely recognized for what it is until it blossoms after a lifetime, and then, finally, the whole world gets it.”
“Okay,” I mutter with a giggle, slipping into my jeans commando, which makes me feel strange and tingly all over, not just down there, but mostly down there, where my sensitive bits are rubbing against the denim seams. “I get it.”
“You do?” Lennox’s eyes sparkle. “Great. Should we dip into that lovely cake then?”
I very nearly spontaneously orgasm again when he follows that extremely dirty but also delicious suggestion up with a wink, an arch of his eyebrow, and a smirk of his lips.
Shit, I think this might be about more than luck. So, so much more. Good luck or bad luck or any luck in between. I think I’ve already fallen—and not on my face this time, just metaphorically—for this wonderful guy in my kitchen with the turd-sporting buns on his shirt.
