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“Of course you made cake. You fucker.”
And then he’s on me, his legs straddling mine in the kitchen chair, his lips pressed to my mouth as his hands fist my hair.“God, you’re too fucking good. Too damn sweet. I could just eat you, just like this, for dessert.”
I gasp at his sudden nearness but then lean into him. “But the cake is made from scratch.”
He huffs and then kisses me again, promptly shutting me up, and honestly, I forget all about the cake. I forget about a whole hell of a lot while he’s on me. My right hand is cupping his head gently and the other is wrapped around his back, holding him against me. And he seems to have no issue with this. No issue with me holding him tight.
“I wanna suck your dick. I wanna smother it in that homemade cake and lick it off.”
A moan escapes me at that visual as he proceeds to kiss me deeper, sloppier, his tongue clashing with mine and making my entire body tremble.
When he pulls away a minute later, he stands up, his legs slightly wobbly.
“Where’s that damn cake?” he asks.
“Um. On the counter.”
He nods and then disappears behind me, only to materialize a second later, the cake tin in his hand. He lifts the lid and peers inside.
“This looks really good,” he says. “Chocolate, my favorite.”
“I thought you hated sweets.”
“I do, but I think I’d like this on you.”
I let out a small gasp as he drops the cake on the table and reaches toward me, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it onto the floor. Abra-ham grabs onto it and drags it to his little bed as Braxton points to my pants.
“Take them off.”
I swallow and do as he says, taking in the way his entire body almost vibrates with need as my skin starts to make an appearance.
My hard dick pops out, and he stares at it for a second before dropping to his knees and scooting closer to me.
“Fuck yes.”
And then his finger is dipping into the frosting on the cake and smearing it across the head of my dick.
My eyes grow hooded as I watch him do this, not sure what to think. I spent a lot of time making that cake look nice and now he’s defiling it.
But when his tongue slides across the tip of me, cleaning up the mess he made, I realize I don’t care about the damn cake.
I just want more of whatever this is.
“Oh god, yes. I fucking knew it,” Braxton murmurs.
He smears more onto my dick, his tongue licking me like it’s some kind of cake pop, and then he leans forward and engulfs me fully, making my hips nearly levitate off the chair.
“Holy moly,” I nearly shout.
He chuckles around my cock, and I gingerly run my fingers through his hair. He arches forward, taking me as far back as he can before popping off of me. His cheeks are red, his lips smeared with chocolate, his eyes watering slightly.
“That’s a big fucking dick you have there.”
“Sorry,” I whisper as he smears some more frosting onto the head and then stares at it, almost as if sizing it up.
“That’s fine. I can do this.”
I almost start to protest, but he seems determined. He falls back onto my dick and starts to suck with abandon. He’s using a little too much teeth and his movements are awkward and sloppy, but I’ve never had such a good blow job in my entire life.
