8. Julian
8
JULIAN
" W hy did you insist on baking cookies together?"
The kitchen gleams, stainless steel and cold granite, but all I see is Ivy. She's wrapped in a festive apron, red with white snowflakes, cinched tight at the waist. Her long black hair is swept up in a messy bun, a few rebellious strands framing her face. The apron hits mid-thigh, leaving her long, toned legs bare. And that ass…
I might have forbade her from wearing anything under the apron when she asked me to join her in baking. Something I am very, very happy about right now.
She's trying to focus on the recipe, but my gaze is a physical touch, distracting her.
"You're in the way," she murmurs, glancing up from the sugar she's measuring. Her amber-brown eyes meet mine, and there's a spark there, something she's trying to suppress.
Over the last week, she's become more comfortable. She follows instruction well. When I'm busy she lays on my couch in her gorgeous lingerie and watches movies, looking absolutely relaxed. It seems that her punishment was all it took for her to finally relax into her role.
She shifts, pressing against me to reach the counter. I don't move.
"Am I?" I reach out, trace the line of her jaw with my thumb. She shivers, just slightly.
"Christmas movies and baking," she says, voice a little breathless. "Those are my favorite parts of the season." She moves to the mixer, flipping it on. The hum fills the kitchen, but it doesn't drown out the sound of her voice. "My mom and I used to do this every year."
I step closer, pressing her against the counter. She looks up at me, lips parted. "And now?" I ask.
"Now..." She hesitates, then smiles. "Now, I guess it's me and you." She shrugs. "Maybe we can still watch Miracle on 34th street, though."
I hum noncommittally as I reach around her, my arm brushing hers. She stills, her breath hitching as I grab the bowl of sugar. I hold it out to her, waiting. She takes it, her small, delicate hands brushing against mine.
"Keep going," I command. She nods, adding the sugar to the mixer. The room fills with the sweet scent, but it's not half as intoxicating as the vanilla smell of her skin. My bathroom is now fully stocked in soaps and lotions that keep her smelling intoxicating.
She reaches for the flour, but I beat her to it. I hold it just out of her reach, making her press against me to grab it. She does, her body fitting perfectly against mine. She's warm, soft in all the right places. I can feel her heart racing, matching my own steady beat.
"Julian," she breathes, looking up at me. Her lips are full, slightly parted. Enticing.
"Yes?" I lean down, my voice a low rumble in her ear. She shivers, her grip tightening on the flour bag.
"I can't... I can't bake like this," she admits, her voice barely a whisper.
I pull back, just enough to see her face. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated. She's flustered, but she's enjoying this. Enjoying us.
"You can," I tell her, taking the flour from her and setting it aside. I cup her face, my thumb brushing her bottom lip. "You can do anything, Ivy. And you'll do it perfectly."
Eventually, despite all my distractions, Ivy finally gets the cookies in the oven, the sweet scent of sugar and butter filling the kitchen. I've finally stepped away from her so we don't get burned.
I lean against the counter, my eyes never leaving her. She moves with a grace that's all her own, humming softly to herself as she pulls out a mixing bowl for the icing.
She adds the ingredients one by one, her small, delicate hands working with a precision that's almost hypnotic. I can't look away, my gaze tracing the line of her neck, the curve of her shoulder. She's completely absorbed in her task, oblivious to the effect she's having on me.
Until she dips a finger into the icing, bringing it to her lips. She moans, a soft, low sound that goes straight to my dick. It twitches, pressing uncomfortably against my zipper. Her eyes flutter closed, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. "Mmm, that's good."
I shift, adjusting myself discreetly. Her eyes open, meeting mine. She smiles, a slow, sexy curve of her lips. "Want a taste?"
I push off the counter, my voice a low rumble. "You have no idea."
She holds out her finger, still coated in icing. I take her wrist, holding her gaze as I bring her finger to my mouth. I suck the icing off, my tongue swirling around her fingertip. Her breath hitches, her pupils dilating.
The oven timer beeps, breaking the spell. She pulls away, turning to take the cookies out. I watch as she bends over, the apron riding up her thighs. My hands itch to touch her, to feel that soft, smooth skin.
Finally, the cookies are on the counter, cooling on a rack. I can't wait any longer. I step up behind her, spinning her around so she faces me. Her eyes widen, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. I can feel her heart racing, matching my own steady beat.
I reach for the apron ties, my fingers brushing against her waist. She shivers, her lips parting. I tug on the ties, the apron falling open. I push it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.
She stands before me, naked save for her heels. Her breasts are full, nipples hardening under my gaze. Her stomach is softly rounded, her hips flaring out. And that space between her thighs, the promise of heaven.
I reach out, tracing the curve of her waist with my fingertips. She shivers again, her breath coming in short gasps. "Julian," she breathes, her voice barely a whisper.
I don't answer, just pull her closer. Her body fits perfectly against mine, soft where I'm hard. I lean down, my lips brushing hers. She melts into me, her arms snaking around my neck.
And then, the kiss deepens. Her mouth opens, inviting me in. I taste the sweetness of the icing, the warmth of her. My hands roam her body, touching, exploring. She moans into my mouth, her body pressing closer.
But I want more. I want all of her. But first…I have an idea.
I dip my finger into the bowl of icing, the sweet scent filling my nostrils. Ivy watches me, her breaths shallow, her amber-brown eyes wide with anticipation. I bring my finger to her collarbone, tracing a slow line down to the swell of her breast. She shivers, goosebumps rising on her skin.
"You're beautiful, Ivy," I murmur, my voice a low rumble. "Absolutely exquisite."
I dip my finger back into the icing, this time tracing a circle around her nipple. It hardens under my touch, the pebbled peak begging for my mouth. I oblige, leaning down and sucking the icing off. She moans, her head falling back, exposing the graceful line of her neck.
"And you taste even better," I say, licking the last of the icing off her skin.
My hand dips back in and I paint more of her. I step back, admiring my handiwork. Her body is decorated with lines and swirls of white, like a canvas painted just for me.
"Fuck, I love seeing you painted in white." Soon, I'll paint her in a different way…
I dip two fingers into the icing this time, bringing them to her stomach. I trace a path down to her navel, then lower, to the edge of her trimmed pubic hair. She sucks in a breath, her body quivering.
"Julian," she whimpers, her voice barely a whisper.
I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. "You want me to touch you, Ivy?" I ask, my voice low, almost menacing. "You want me to lick this icing off every inch of your body?"
She nods, her body trembling. But it's not enough. I want her to beg. I want her to need me so badly she can't stand it.
I step back, my eyes roaming over her body. I dip my finger into the icing again, this time bringing it to her thigh. I trace a path up to her hip, then across to the other side. She squirms, her body begging for more.
"Please, Julian," she whispers, her voice desperate.
I smile, cold and calculating. "Please what, Ivy?" I ask, my voice void of emotion. I need her to say it. I need her to beg for it.
She hesitates, her body trembling with need. Then, finally, she gives in. "Please, Julian," she begs. "Please touch me. Please lick the icing off. Please, I need you."
But I don't give in just yet. I want to push her further, to the edge of her desire. I dip my finger into the icing one last time, this time bringing it to her lips. I trace the outline of her mouth, her breath hitching as I smear the sweetness onto her skin.
"Lick it off," I command.
She does, her tongue darting out, licking her lips clean. I watch, my cock throbbing with need. But I hold back. Because Ivy needs to learn to beg for it. And I'm going to enjoy every second of her pleading.
I want her to learn to submit fully, no hesitation, and despite how good she has been, I want to break down the barriers I know are still there. I want to make her fully mine.
Leaning forward, I stare up at her as my tongue presses against her, cleaning her chest and working my way down. I suck every inch of her skin until I'm on my knees before.
As I lick the last of the icing off Ivy's stomach, my tongue tracing the lines I drew earlier, she squirms beneath me, her body arching, begging for more. Her hands fist in my hair, trying to guide me lower.
But I don't take orders. I give them.
"Please, Julian," she whimpers, her voice desperate. "Go lower. Please."
I pull back, standing up straight. Her eyes snap open, confusion and frustration swirling in their amber depths. She reaches for me, but I step back, just out of her grasp.
"Julian?" Her voice is uncertain now, a tremble replacing the desperation.
"What do you want, Ivy?" I ask, my voice cool, detached. I need to hear her say it. I need her to admit it, to me and to herself.
She hesitates, her body trembling. Then, finally, she gives in. "I want you, Julian. I want you to touch me. To taste me."
I shake my head. "Not good enough, Ivy. What do you really want?"
She swallows hard, her eyes never leaving mine. "I want you to make me yours, Julian. Completely."
A slow smile spreads across my face. "And what does that mean, Ivy? What does it mean to be mine?"
She hesitates again, uncertainty flashing in her eyes. But she knows the answer. She's known it all along. "It means... it means I only take orders. I don't give them."
"Good girl," I murmur, reaching out to cup her face. My thumb brushes her bottom lip, smearing the last of the icing across her mouth. She darts her tongue out, licking it off. My cock throbs at the sight.
But I step back, turning away from her. Her frustrated whimper fills the kitchen, echoing off the cold granite and stainless steel. She's fighting herself more than me now. She wants this, wants me. But she's not ready to fully submit. Not yet.
I grab a towel, wiping my hands as I walk out of the kitchen. Her whimper follows me, a sweet symphony of her frustration. I smile, cold and calculating. Ivy will learn. She will submit. And I will enjoy every second of her surrender.