7. Lila #3
The spatula traces down my spine. I shiver as he follows the line with his tongue, licking me clean from the small of my back all the way up to my nape. His teeth graze the sensitive skin behind my ear, and my knees nearly buckle.
“You’re doing so well.” His lips brush my ear. “Such a good girl for me.”
I’m going to combust.
The spatula comes down on my right ass cheek with a sticky smack hard enough to make my skin tingle.
“Look at that. Made a mess,” Max tsks. “Better clean it up.”
He drops to his knees again, hands gripping my hips, thumbs digging into the soft curves above my ass as he pulls me back toward his face. With broad, flat strokes of his tongue, he laps the frosting from my skin, pausing to nip the swell of my ass.
I gasp before letting out a moan.
He rises, and I hear the spatula clatter back into the bowl. His body covers mine again, chest to back, skin to skin. His cock nudges my entrance, and I push against him.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please, Max. I need—”
I cry out as he enters me in one long thrust.
The stretch is divine. A fullness so overwhelming it borders on pain. My pussy flutters around him as he sinks in deeper.
“You feel—” His voice cracks on the word. Splinters into something raw and vulnerable. “There aren’t words.”
Emotion swells in my chest, and I push back against him, sheathing him to the hilt, taking every last inch.
“Fuck me, Max.”
He withdraws almost completely before sliding home again, angling his hips on each stroke until he finds the spot that makes me see stars.
The spot that turns my bones to butter and all my thoughts to white noise.
The bowls of frosting rattle with every thrust. A container of sprinkles tips over and scatters across the counter, tiny rainbow flecks sticking to my palms.
“There,” I gasp. “Right there. Don’t stop. Don’t stop don’t stop—”
His fingers find my clit, circling as he plows into me. My knees give out completely, and I start to sink toward the floor in a boneless collapse. Max pulls out, but before I can process the emptiness or whine in frustration, he spins me around, lifts me up, and settles me back onto the counter.
This angle is different, deeper. His pubic bone grinds against my clit with every thrust, and I can see his face, watch the way his jaw clenches and his eyes flutter and his lips part on a groan.
His gaze holds mine, and I can’t look away. I don’t want to. Our connection is alive, electric, sparking between us. Every snap of his hips drives me higher, closer to some edge I can feel rushing toward me.
“Going to come for me again?” His thumb finds my clit, and he presses down. “I can feel you getting tighter.”
“Yes. Yes, Max, please, I’m so close.”
His mouth crashes into mine. Our tongues slide together, teeth clacking, lips bruising. Feeling his heartbeat hammering against my chest, his stubble scraping my face, his breath filling my lungs sends me flying.
I come with a scream swallowed by his mouth. An explosion that whites out my vision. My pussy clamps around him, pulsing, milking, and I feel him stiffen, feel the hot flood of his release fill me as he follows me over the edge with a roar.
He buries his face in my neck, and it’s a long time before either of us moves.
Sprinkles dig into my back. Frosting is smeared across my skin. I think there might be caramel in my hair.
Max presses a kiss to my shoulder neck. Then another to my collarbone. Then the corner of my mouth.
“You okay?”
I laugh, and it comes out watery. There are tears on my cheeks. When did I start crying?
“I’m perfect.” My voice is hoarse, scraped raw from screaming. “I am absolutely perfect.”
He pulls out gently, and I whimper at the loss. My body wants him back, and I’m beginning to suspect it always will.
With gentle hands, he cradles my face between his palms and brushes the tears from my cheeks. His green eyes search mine with an intensity that makes my heart stutter.
Whatever he’s looking for, he seems to find it. Certainty washes over his expression. One that says that this was more than sex, and that whatever has been growing between us has become too powerful to pretend otherwise.
I know he feels it, because I feel it too.
Max presses his lips to my forehead. It’s a kiss so gentle, so reverent, that my eyes sting with fresh tears.
“I got you all sticky,” he says.
“You did.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “I think there are sprinkles in places sprinkles were never meant to go.”
His laugh huffs against my temple. “We should do something about that.”
I look up at him through my lashes, letting the grin spread slowly across my face.
“I know the perfect place to wash up.”
His brow arches. “Oh?”
I push off the counter. My legs are still wobbly, but the adrenaline of my idea propels me forward. I dart past him, bare feet slapping against floor.
I glance over my shoulder. He’s leaning against the island, one hand braced on the quartz, cock glistening, chest speckled with frosting and sprinkles.
“Keep running, Lila, and you’re going to get chased.”
I wiggle my hips, and he pushes off the counter.
I shriek and run.