CHAPTER fifty-eight #6
"Maybe I was just enjoying the suspense."
His laugh — low, warm, soft — fills the room, and God, I love that sound. I feel it in places I shouldn't.
I step closer and hold up the can of whipped cream.
His brows rise.
"Oh?" he says, voice dipping.
"I was thinking of doing something tonight," I say — the words coming out smoother, silkier than I planned. My voice feels velvety even to me.
"Really?" he murmurs, eyes locked on me now.
I nod, letting a confident smirk play on my lips even though my heart is full-on auditioning for a horror movie with how loud it's pounding.
"I've been thinking about this for a very long time..."
His expression shifts — subtly, but unmistakably.
His eyes darken.
His mouth parts just slightly.
His entire attention snaps to me like a magnet locking onto steel.
Oh, he knows.
He definitely knows.
I take slow steps toward the end of the bed, letting my gaze stay on him — heated, bold, a challenge and an invitation all at once. Zach's chest rises a little quicker. His Adam's apple bobs. And the way he follows my every move with his eyes?
Yeah. That alone almost ruins me.
When I reach the foot of the bed, I lower myself onto my hands and knees, sinking into a crawling position.
Zach shifts instantly, like his entire body is preparing for whatever is about to happen. His hands slide from behind his head, palms flattening on the mattress, fingers curling slightly as if he's fighting the urge to reach for me.
His voice is husky when he speaks.
"Baby..."
But I don't answer.
I just start to crawl toward him — slow, deliberate, catlike — every inch closer making his breathing roughen.
His gaze drags over me like warm hands, lingering on my bare legs, the curve of my hips in my floral sleep shorts, the fall of my hair as it spills over one shoulder.
Heat coils in the air between us — thick, palpable, electric.
I keep moving toward him, knees sinking into the mattress, body dipping forward, every motion intentional.
He swallows hard.
His eyes never leave me.
And when I reach him...
Everything in the room feels charged.
Ready.
Waiting.
I stop right in front of him, still on my knees, still close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off his bare chest. Zach's eyes lift to mine slowly, like he's savoring every second of looking up at me.
I let the silence stretch — just long enough for his breath to hitch — before I lift my hand.
The can of whipped cream appears in his line of sight.
His inhale is sharp.
Immediate.
Visceral.
"Caroline..." His voice is low, almost warning, almost begging — he's not sure which yet.
I tilt my head, letting my hair fall to one side as I lean closer, close enough that my lips brush the air above his collarbone.
He swallows hard. "Are you trying to seduce me?"
"Why?" I let the word hang between us. "Is it working?"
Zach's gaze drops, then returns to my face. "Very much so."
I don't need to look down to know what he means—the tension in his body tells me everything.
"Mm, good." I bite my lower lip, and when our eyes meet again, something has changed in his.
The playfulness is gone, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His pupils have dilated so much I can barely see the color around them.
His jaw tightens.
His hands grip the sheets.
A muscle in his stomach jumps.
He's trying so hard not to touch me.
Trying even harder not to lose control too fast.
I lift the can and gently shake it once — a soft metallic rattle that makes his eyes flicker with something primal.
Then I smile — slow, wicked, deliberate.
"Lay back," I whisper.
He obeys without a single question, sinking deeper into the pillows, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths. His gaze never leaves me, pupils blown wide, every line of his body coiled with anticipation.
Good.
Exactly where I want him.
I crawl forward just a little more, placing one hand on his thigh to steady myself — and to watch the way his breath stutters.
"Babe," he rasps, voice wrecked around the edges. "What are you doing to me?"
I lower myself over him, hovering just above his torso, my hair cascading down like a curtain between us.
"Making up for lost time," I whisper.
And then — with my eyes locked on his...
I press the nozzle of the whipped cream to the warm skin at the center of his chest.
A soft psshht fills the air as a swirl of white cream lands on him.
His entire body jolts — a sharp inhale, a helpless groan he tries (and fails) to swallow down.
"Holy—" He cuts himself off, head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut for a second before snapping open again, darker than before. "Caroline."
I smile, leaning in until my lips are just a breath away from the line of whipped cream across his chest.
"Don't move," I whisper.
His throat bobs.
"I won't survive this."
"That's the point."
The corner of my mouth lifts as I lower myself another inch — slowly, deliberately — ready to taste him, ready to savor the way he comes undone beneath me.
And Zach?
He's already half gone.
I hover over Zach like a fucking goddess of temptation, my hair framing my face in a sinful halo. My breath catches as I lean in, my lips brushing the whipped cream pooled on his chest.
The psshht from the can was my starter pistol—and now I'm ready to sprint.
I flick my tongue out, slow and deliberate, dragging it through the cream. It tastes sweet, but the sound he makes is even sweeter.
He groans—a deep, guttural vibration that shoots through my entire body. His abs clench beneath my tongue, and I feel his cock twitch against my thigh, trapped in his pants like a prisoner.
"Fuck, Caroline," he gasps, voice ragged, hands gripping the sheets like they'll keep him grounded. "You're... you're killing me."
I smirk against his skin and trail my lips lower, following the line of cream down his torso. My tongue swirls around his navel, and he groans again—louder, more desperate.
His cock presses hot and hard against my thigh, and my pussy clenches in response.
My fingers hook into the waistband of his sweatpants, teasingly slow.
"Don't move," I whisper, voice dripping with wicked intent.
My hands tremble as I ease the fabric down, inch by agonizing inch. My breath comes faster, my heart pounding like a drum.
This is it—my first time doing this.
Doubts swirl in my mind: What if I'm bad at it? What if I can't make him feel good?
Then I feel the thick, heavy heat of his cock against the fabric of his boxers, and all my doubts evaporate. I want to taste him, feel him, fucking ruin him.
I pull his boxers down just enough to free his cock—and oh fuck, it's perfect: thick, veiny, already leaking precum. I squeeze the whipped cream can again, and a swirl of white lands on his tip, sliding down the shaft.
"FUCK," Zach blurts, hips jerking involuntarily, cock twitching as if begging for my attention. His hands fly to my hair, tangling in the strands, but he doesn't push me away—he holds on like I'm his lifeline.
My breath hitches, my lips hovering just above his cock.
"Baby, you don't have to—" he starts, voice rough.
I silence him with a smile that feels both shy and wicked. "I've been thinking about this for longer than you know," I whisper. "Don't you dare stop me now."
His eyebrows twitch, his gaze turning liquid with something beyond just desire.
I lower my head, inhaling his scent—musky, masculine, intoxicating—and my mouth waters. My heart races, my cunt throbs with need, but I force myself to take it slow.
I flick out my tongue, tasting the cream and salty-sweet precum mingling on his cock.
His hips buck again, and I grip the base of his shaft to steady him, fingers tightening around him.
"I said don't move," I murmur, breath ghosting over his wet, glistening length. He trembles beneath me, every muscle coiled like a spring.
I open my mouth wider, lips wrapping around the head of his cock. I suck gently, swirling my tongue around the sensitive tip.
Zach groans—a low, guttural sound that makes my clit throb. I feel him pulsing in my mouth, thick and heavy on my tongue, and I want more.
My hand slides up and down his shaft, stroking in time with my mouth.
I take him deeper, inch by inch, lips sliding down until my nose brushes the wiry curls at the base of his cock.
He's fucking huge, my jaw aches, but I don't care.
I want to swallow him whole, feel him throbbing in my throat, make him lose his mind.
"Caroline, baby... fuck," he growls, fingers tightening in my hair, hips bucking despite my warning. "You're... you're going to make me—"
I pull back, savoring his desperation. Every whimper fuels something primal in me—each sound of pleasure makes me bolder, more certain. I trace my tongue along his length, then lower to circle his balls while my hand works his shaft in slow, firm strokes.
Zach's cock throbs in my mouth like a fucking jackhammer, his thick, veiny shaft pulsating with every desperate twitch of his hips.
My lips stretch obscenely around his girth, and gag reflex be damned, I shove my face down until his mushroom head smacks the back of my throat. My spit drips down his length, slick and messy, coating him as I pull back—only to dive down again, swallowing him whole.
The taste of him—salty, musky, perfect—stirs something primal in me.
"Fuck, Caroline!" Zach gasps, voice breaking. His hands grip the sheets, knuckles whitening, as his hips jerk uncontrollably, fucking my throat in shallow, desperate thrusts. "How the fuck are you so good at this? You're—oh my GOD—you're taking all of me like it's nothing!"
I smirk around his cock—no easy feat—and let my tongue do the talking, swirling it around his sensitive tip before plunging back down.
Some unhinged part of my brain fist-pumps: See? Those late-night "research sessions" WERE worth it.
I give him a smug, sassy hum, and he jolts like I've got superpowers.