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I sit at the kitchen table, the box sitting in the middle still closed to keep the pizza warm and trapped inside while I went to wake up Ashton. I push open the cardboard, letting some of the steam escape. I run my knife down the center, dividing the pizza into two halves, each containing four slices. I take my first slice from one side and place it on my plate, beginning to cut it into pieces.
"What the hell are you doing murdering that pizza with a knife and fork?" Ashton emerges from down the hall, his hair even more disheveled than before and his voice still raspy from sleep.
"There's nothing wrong with eating pizza with a fork! I don't like to get my hands all greasy, it's not a crime you know." I shoot back, my hands continuing their mission until all but the crust is in bite sized pieces.
"It's just unAmerican to eat it like that. The joy of pizza is picking it up and being able to shove it in your mouth without needing utensils. That's how the Italians wanted it." He grabs a slice next to the opening from where I took out mine. He manages to fold it in half and takes a large bite off the end, trying to prove his point.
I stare down at the box, my mouth hanging open like I just found a hair in my food or a giant bug just ran across the pizza.
"What?" Ashton asks, breaking the silence before it hangs in the air too long.
"That was my half. I cut down the middle so we could keep track of how many slices were ours. We split the cost, I wanted to make sure we both got our fair share."
"I can guarantee you that I will eat my whole half tonight so while I appreciate your ... organization, it's not really necessary for this. Pizza is delicious and deserves to be devoured."
His words do something to me - delicious, devoured - like he could be talking about me instead of the steaming pizza pie sitting on the table between us. I swallow even though there's no food in my mouth, only saliva from how my mouth is watering.It's from the pizza. It smells so good and I'm hungry.
"Agree to disagree." I respond firmly, stabbing a piece of pizza from my plate and putting it into my mouth. He watches me, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, eyes trained on me.
"When was the last time you ate a slice of pizza with your hands? Maybe you should give it another chance, you might like it." Ashton gives me a sly smirk, like he is trying to tell me something that has nothing to do with pizza at all.
"I don't think I will like it, trust me." I respond, spearing another piece of cut pizza from my plate and putting it on my tongue.
"I mean, you're just making more dishes for yourself to have to wash." He taunts back. My fork clangs against the plate as I drop it.
"You could just let me eat my dinner in peace, you know." I am getting annoyed now, but part of me feels like it's not because of the fork versus hands debate we are having right now.
"Try it my way. Take one bite off the crust and I will leave you alone." He raises his fingers in some weird way. "Scouts honor."
"Were you even a boy scout?"
"Nope, but I can still use it. Come on, it won't hurt you to try." His forehead softens, the few wrinkles on it evening out. "I dare you."
I look down at the uncut crescent moon of crust sitting on my plate. I usually throw it away, the crunchy dough not my favorite part, but there is a small line of toppings hanging onto it still. My eyes look back to Ashton and he is focused entirely on me, his targets locked. I rip a small piece off the crust, the grease from the bottom dampening my thumb and pointer finger. Without thinking more of it, I pop the piece into my mouth. Ashton flashes me a grin before he takes another bite of his pizza and his piece is just about gone.When did he eat that whole thing?
Crap, I don't have a napkin over here since I wasn't anticipating my hands getting messy. I go to rise up from my chair when Ashton's voice stops me.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"I need a napkin," I explain, holding up my fingers that shine with grease.
"Just lick them."
"I don't want to, I'm just going to grab a napkin."
His body moves swiftly across the room, stopping in front of me and blocking my legs from moving any further.
"You don't need a napkin, Melanie."
I am looking up at him, his body over me and it feels like a challenge, like we are two alpha dogs fighting to see who will lead the pack. I hate to lose. I push to my full height, my legs brushing against his, my knee coming dangerously close to his groin and he flinches just enough to let me stand fully. We are barely an inch apart, our chests would brush against each other if one of us took a deep breath. I move to go around him towards where the paper towel roll sits on the counter, but instead he grabs onto my wrist, keeping me planted. Our eyes meet and his almost look like water on fire with how they glisten in the dim kitchen lighting. He pulls my hand up between us, inspecting the grease on the tips of my fingers before smirking at me. This man and his freaking smirks are going to be the death of me.
I don't like the mischief I see in his expression and attempt to pull my wrist from his grasp. It only takes two fingers to wrap around my wrist and garner me immobile. He moves my fingers closer to his lips, his tongue sliding past his lips as he licks them clean.
I almost forget to breathe, the feeling of his tongue on my fingers sending tingles to every last cell in my body, and extra tingles to my pussy. The way his tongue swirls and licks, cleaning every last millimeter of skin has my mind racing at the thought of how his tongue would feel everywhere else on my body. There is something to be said about fingers being an erogenous zone, even though they aren't traditionally thought of as such. His tongue is bumpy but soft, warm and wet, and now my panties are dampening between my thighs.
"There, all clean." Ashton says, pulling my fingers from his lips and dropping my wrist. I cradle it instinctively, small red marks forming from where his hand was gripping me. The sight of it has my nipples hardening beneath my shirt and I'm thankful that I put on a bra before coming out here so he can't see the evidence of how much his actions are affecting me.
It would be awkward to thank him, but he stands there for a moment, in my space, like I owe him something. And then he grabs another slice from the box and disappears down the hallway, his door clicking shut behind him.
