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“What’s wrong?”
“The nail polish on my toes is chipped.”
“You have any polish with you?”
“In my purse. Why?”
Five minutes later, I’m propped up on a pile of pillows, my foot on Kane’s thick thigh as he painstakingly paints my toenails. Luckily, I carry my mini mani/pedi kit in case of emergencies. He has one of his cherry cigars clamped between his teeth and his brow is furrowed in concentration. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Looking good, Maddox,” I say and wiggle my toes.
“Don’t move,” he grumbles. “Or I’m gonna accidentally fuck it up.”
“Looks like you have a pretty steady hand to me.”
“Only when it’s on a trigger,” he says, carefully finishing my last toenail. “Your nail beds are so damn tiny.” After twisting the lid back on the bottle, he sets it aside and runs a hand over the gold chain around my ankle.
I have a feeling he’s going to ask about it and I have no desire to talk about its significance. So I reach my hand out and wiggle my fingers. “Gimme a puff of that.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “My cigar?”
I nod. “It smells like cherries.”
“That's because it’s flavored with cherry oil,” he says around it. When I stubbornly keep my hand out, he finally plucks it out of his mouth and hands it over.
I put my lips around it and inhale deeply, trying to look like I know what I’m doing, but I start choking and nearly hack up a lung. Kane pats me on the back and takes the cigar back.
“Did you just inhale?” he asks.
“Yeah. So?”
“Babe, you don’t inhale a cigar. It’s not like a cigarette.”
“How was I supposed to know that? I’ve never smoked a cigar before. What’s the difference?”
“Cigar smoke is stronger. Sorry, I should’ve warned you.”
“Then how do you smoke one?” I ask, thoroughly confused.
He chuckles and lifts it to demonstrate. “The ideal way is by retro inhale. You pull the smoke into your mouth and exhale it through your nose. That lets you savor all the different flavors. Or you can exhale most of the smoke through your mouth first. Think of it like sucking in a gulp of water without swallowing and then spitting it out.”
Now I’m the one who’s chuckling. It sounds like he’s describing a bad blow job. “Oh, I get it now,” I say with a smirk. I don’t think he’s figured out what I mean yet and I slide my feet off his lap and crawl over to straddle him. I reach for his hand, lift it up and take a puff of his cigar. After letting the smoke swirl around in my mouth, I slowly let it out. “Like that?” I ask all innocently.
He nods, studying my lips, looking a little dazed.
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I have a little bit of an oral fixation.”
He swallows hard. “I’ve noticed,” he says gruffly.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” I say, voice dropping to a low, seductive tone. “But sometimes I just have the urge to have something in my mouth.” I reach down and begin to stroke him.
His eyes slide shut and he starts breathing harder. “Your suckers,” he manages to say.
“Yeah. But do you know why I always need a sucker in my mouth?” I work my hands up and down his steel length, loving how he thickens and extends for me. So big, so fast.
He gives an incoherent reply, bracing his hands behind him on the mattress.
“Because I had to substitute for what I really wanted.”
