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“Why won’t you kiss me?”
She knows the reason why.
If I kiss her on the mouth, it all ends here. She’ll be mine for good. There ain’t no way on this earth that I’ll ever let a man kiss her after me. Which is why it can’t happen.
When I don’t answer, she sighs. “You used to kiss me.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, and look how much trouble that got us both in.”
“We’re consenting adults, for Christ's sake. And we’re fooling around, this isn’t serious, like you keep saying. So what does it matter?”
“You’ll want more.” It’s harsh, but it’s the truth. It’s also true that I’ll want more too. And I can’t give her more. Not like this.
“Don’t you meanyouwill?” she fires back.
I wish for once I knew what was going on in that pretty head of hers.
“No strings,” I reiterate. “It’s just fuckin’.”
I pinch her nipple, and she groans, pushing her ass into my cock. I’m hard, just like I always am with her, and I grunt at the feeling of her rubbing against me.
“Have I got you tongue tied, T?” she muses.
I move my mouth to her neck, and I’m delighted when I see the bite mark and the purple bruise I left there from sucking.
“Nice war paint.”
“I had to cover that with makeup,” she grumbles. “Next time you leave a hickey, could you do it somewhere where nobody can see it.”
“What’s the fun in that?”
I keep fondling her, the scent of the baking as well as her and the fact I know she’ll be soaking wet have me ready and able to repeat what we did this morning.
“Tag,” she groans when I pluck her nipples repeatedly.
“Need to fuck you,” I growl.
“I’ll burn the pie.”
“Fuck the pie.”
She bucks into my cock, and I start to undo her apron.
I need her wearing this and only this while I eat her out on the bench.
She yelps when I shove her pj pants down her legs and reach between her legs.
Just as I guessed. Soaking.
“Tag,” she cries.
I brush my fingers over her clit brutally, and she gasps.
“So fuckin’ wet all the time,” I say, my voice gravelly.
“Only for you.”
I snort. “Better be.”
