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His opposite hand is under my apron and down the front of my leggings, fully cupping my pussy.
My body jerks when his middle finger slips into my cleft. Exactly where is the camera at the moment? Who knows. Who cares.
His finger travels lower, finding my clit.
“Harley…oh god…” I gasp.
He pushes against my backside while at the same time working my clit with his fingers. I suck in a sharp breath as the lust and pleasure build quickly. He knows exactly how to touch me, exactly how much pressure and speed.
He knows what to say, too.
His breath heats my hair, my ear, and my neck as he quietly grits out the filthiest words I’ve ever heard come out of him.
“My baby girl is so dirty she’s gonna come while she’s thinking about feeding cookies to Santa. She’s gonna come all over my hand, and then she’ll be begging for more.”
Between his words and the rubbing and the grinding, I don’t know which way is up. I hold on to the counter and try not to fall as my release surges.
“Oh my god, Harley! I’m coming!”
“Good. There’s my perfect, dirty girl. Keep it coming.”
His hand doesn’t stop, and he wrings out every last drop from me with each caress of my clit.
When he finally stops enough for me to put my brain back together, I spot the phone on the other end of the countertop, face down, evidently filming the ceiling.
“Yeah, we missed the visual, but we got the audio,” Harley says, kissing my neck and then licking my essence off his fingers.
“Oh…okay,” I breathe.
The microwave beeps, and I nearly burn my hands, trying to take the bowl of melted butter out.
“Shit!” I gasp.
“Here, let me.” Harley reaches over my shoulder and gets the butter out, and all I can think is if these cookies come out okay, nobody is allowed to eat them. There’s definitely about fifteen health code violations happening right now.
I stir the butter into the batter, and something resembling a dough forms.
“Oh! I have an idea. Chocolate!” Harley suggests.
I remember then that we have leftover ingredients from the other night’s campfire s’mores.
“Good idea!” I say, going to the pantry and pulling out the leftover chocolate bars. I break them up into small pieces and add them to the dough. Then, Harley hands me the phone and grabs the extra marshmallows, tearing them up and mixing those chunks in. Ok, sure. Rocky road cookies? Maybe we’ll invent something new. Sounds heavenly.
Somehow, Harley keeps it together while we spoon cookie dough onto the buttered sheet. We pop the sheet into the oven.
“How long?” Harley asks, his fingers hovering over the oven timer.
I tap my chin and try to think. “Well, my grandmother’s pies usually took about an hour, and so did her cakes. A batch of muffins from a box is usually 25 minutes, so…maybe we should check them after 20?”
Harley hands me the phone and sets the timer. Then, he says, “Go set the camera up in the bedroom, and I’ll clean up in here.”
I press a playful kiss on his chin. “Don’t take too long.”
ChapterSixteen
Harley
I always thought I was the more pervy of the two of us.
