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"Housekeeper?" She looks around the place, then back at me. "You have a housekeeper?"
"A caretaker and his wife who live in the village. They take care of the place and make sure it is stocked when I’m going to visit. They shopped for fresh ingredients before we arrived."
"You sent them a list, I’m assuming?"
I shoot her a glance. "And you guessed this, how?"
"You’re so particular about everything. Of course, you’d make sure your favorite haunt has groceries, which you specified."
I continue to stare at her, and she raises her gaze to meet mine. "What?"
"You’re not eating the cake." She looks down at the untouched slice. "I… I’m full."
"You love chocolate cake."
"How do you know that?"
"Who doesn’t like chocolate?" I ask lightly.
"You don’t."
I tilt my head. "Thatistrue."
"You really don’t like chocolate?" She gapes.
I shake my head. "Not unless it’s 100% cocoa."
She makes a face. "That’s too bitter for me."
"Not a big fan of sugar."
She groans. "So you also don’t like cookies and apple pie, I suppose?"
"But you like them all. Which is why—" I scoop up a piece of the chocolate cake with my finger and hold it out. "Open."
"I shouldn’t," she murmurs.
"You absolutely should."
"It’ll go straight to my thighs."
"Just how I like it."
"It will—"
"Open. Your. Mouth. Belle."
She instantly parts her lips. Fucking gratifying. I slide my finger between them. She closes her mouth around the digit and licks off the last bit of icing.
"That is sinful." She makes a sound that goes straight to my groin. I can feel the suction of her mouth all the way to the crown of my cock. I scoop up more of the icing with my finger and smear it over her lips.
Her breath hitches, and her cheeks pink. Then she flicks out her tongue and licks it off, and every cell in my body stands to attention.
She swallows. "I shouldn’t want more, but I do."
So do I.
I pick up some more of the cake and hold it out. She leans forward and licks it from my fingertips. Our gazes meet, the air thickens, grows saturated with need. My thigh muscles grow even harder. I’m fucking torturing myself. I take another dollop of the icing, lean over and drag it down her chin, her throat, to where the dark shadow of her cleavage is visible, then over her sleep camisole. She’s not wearing a bra underneath, and her nipples are outlined through the silky material.
