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My fingers trace the back of the refrigerator, grazing a box of baking soda before they close around the cold metal cylinder. I pull the carton away from the door and peer inside at what looks like a brand-new can of whipped cream. Godbless Sage and her weirdly specific shopping choices; I need to remember to replace it tomorrow.
“Whipped cream,” I say with a grin, and my breath catches in my throat as his eyes meet mine.
Liam’s hand wraps around my own as he pulls the bottle from my grasp and snaps the cap off. He squirts some of the frothy milk-based foam into his mouth before he invades my space once more.
“Open,” he demands.
I open my mouth as wide as I can, prompting him to press the cold metal dispenser tip to my tongue. My mouth is instantly flooded with a cold, sweet coating, so delicious that it’s only matched by his advance. Liam’s lips melt into mine before he pries my mouth open with his tongue. Our tongues intertwine as the sugary-sweet flavor consumes my senses.
As quickly as his mouth is on me, it’s gone again. He steps back only inches before he lifts the bottle to my collarbone and sprays a dollop of whipped cream along my skin. The memory of a few weeks ago consumes me, the intense wave of desire from that day only a fraction of the need I feel now.
Liam swirls his tongue against my heated skin, lapping up any remnant of the sweetness.
The oversized flannel I’m wearing appears to be of inconvenience to him and he attempts to release the buttons without setting down the whipped cream.
“Unbutton your shirt,” he demands, nodding downward.
I want to protest, if only on principle, but any will I have not to give into him dies before it leaves my lips.
With every button I spring free, I watch his eyes grow headier. If he’s impatient, he doesn’t show it as he intently watches me pull each button through its respective hole. As my unfastening ventures past my sternum, it becomesabundantly clear that I am not wearing a bra below my shirt. I intentionally allow the shirt to rest over each breast, leaving only a sliver of skin visible once I’m done fulfilling his request.
My breath catches in my throat as he steps toward me, so close that I have to tilt my head upward. I think he might kiss me, but instead he dips down to kneel in front of me, his eyes not leaving my own, his face level with my chest as it heaves in anticipation.
I expect him to reach for the waistband of my leggings, but I gasp when the cold air hits my nipples as my shirt flutters to the floor.
“Much better,” he whispers as he grins up at me. He presses the cold nozzle of the whipped cream can to my flesh once more, this time against my left nipple. The frigid metal causes my sensitive nipple to pucker before it’s covered in the creamy froth, managing to make it colder than before.
Liam remedies any discomfort within seconds as his mouth closes around my tender flesh, biting down on the stiff peak as he laps at the sugary substance. A gasp falls from my mouth at the sensation, which only encourages him further. He releases my nipple with a pop before he shifts to my right breast and sprays whipped cream against my flesh like before. This time, when Liam’s mouth latches onto my nipple, the gasp that leaves my lips earns me a groan from the intoxicating man kneeling in front of me.
The moment he releases my nipple, he gazes up at me, setting the cylinder on the tiled floor.
What on God’s green earth is he doing?
The question never graces my lips as he curls his fingers around the waistband of my leggings and tugs them down to the floor in a swift motion. Liam taps my thigh,urging me to lift my legs one by one. I do as he instructs me to, allowing the ball of cotton to land next to my foot.
Whipped cream coats my inner thigh within seconds before Liam’s tongue is lapping at my skin once more, the scruff of his jawline tickling the sensitive flesh only centimeters from where I want him.
His tongue lingers against the seam of my panties, but he doesn’t nudge them to the side. He sits back on his heels.
“We should eat the pie before it gets too warm.”
My breathy suggestion is futile—Liam shakes his head.
“Unless you want me to lick chocolate mousse off your pussy, then fuck the damn pie. I’m quite famished, but I couldn’t care less about pie.” He grins as he yanks me forward.
“How could you still be hungry? We just had dinner.” I grin down at him, and he rolls his eyes in response. He chuckles before yanking my panties so hard that it pulls a yelp from my lungs.
The sound of lace ripping fills the room and, while I should care about the wasted underwear, I don’t. The pale pink scrap of fabric falls to the ground as Liam leans in further, his hot breath ghosting over my wet slit. The mixture of sensations causes a chill to roll down my spine, but nothing prepares me for the jolt of pleasure that washes over me the moment his tongue traces me from bottom to top, followed by him swirling his tongue over my clit so meticulously that I think I might faint.
“Liam,” I gasp, combing my fingers through his hair. Despite our current predicament, it still sits perfectly coiffed. That needs to be remedied immediately, so I grasp his hair firmly at the root.
He grins up at me, but his tongue doesn’t leave my flesh. It only pushes me further intomy oblivion.
My orgasm overtakes me like a freight train, the tingling sensation that crawls up my spine sending me into an all-consuming haze. My thighs quiver as he sucks my clit, not relenting as he stretches my ecstasy further than I think possible. I’ve had many orgasms in my lifetime—hell, I’ve had my fair share of partners—but the few orgasms I’ve received from Liam have been pulled from me so effortlessly and with such intensity that it has me in awe.
He manages to rule over my body with such finesse and confidence that it’s starting to terrify me to think about what happens when this ends.
I refuse to linger on that right now, though.
