7. Miranda
7
MIRANDA
N ero removes his jacket before pushing back on the stool, placing a generous gap between the kitchen counter covered with slices, cakes, and cookies and him. There’s an empty stool next to him, but his eyes gleam with so much need that even if I want to pretend the gap isn’t for me, I can’t.
Nero wears horny as obviously as I wear desperate.
I can smell it pluming from him.
That doesn’t mean I’ll act like a trollop, though.
I have class— barely .
“I—”
“I wasn’t asking, printsessa . Get your fine ass over here. Now. I’m fucking starved.”
I jump as if accustomed to taking orders, and Nero smirks as if he finds my submissiveness addictive.
My thighs quiver, either in excitement or worry, when he lowers his eyes to my slinky pants. “If you want to keep your shirt, I’m fine with that, but you need to lose your pants.” When I hesitate, he raises his eyes to my face, his gaze lingering on my breasts for two lazy, lust-filled seconds. “No one eats candy with the wrapper still on.”
I angle my head and arch a brow, confused.
He said we were going to go bite for a bite, lick for a lick.
Why do I need to be naked for that?
I’m afraid the whisky-yuzu savarin will be dry when my smarts kick back on.
Nero doesn’t want to go turn for turn on the treats I baked.
He wants to eat me.
The knowledge alone starts an inferno. For now, it is contained in my lower stomach. I don’t see its containment lasting long.
Just standing across from him, panting and wet, I feel my temperature rising. My skin is scorching, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
I’m seconds from combusting.
Tremors race down my limbs when I hook my thumbs into the waistband of the pants I dug out of the back of my closet with purpose. Roy said the manufacturer was wrong for making them for people “my size” and that the only time I was permitted to wear them was when working out in the garage with the roller door closed.
I went grocery shopping in them this morning and didn’t consider testing their elasticity before rummaging through the bottom of an industrial freezer, seeking my favorite flavor of ice cream.
My fupa could have been showing, and I couldn’t have cared less.
I didn’t endure a single scold, not now or this morning, and the remembrance is addictive.
“One minute.” I hold my finger in the air to amplify my request before pivoting on my heel, the elastic in my pants snapping against my skin from the brisk removal of my hand.
Most women about to be devoured as if they’re dessert would run to the bathroom to freshen up.
I bolt for the refrigerator.
I haven’t had ice cream in years, and since the idea of being bitten down there scares me, I pick a meal that will require as many licks as it does nibbles to devour.
My nipples pebble against the thinness of my shirt when I return to Nero’s half of the kitchen. His watch isn’t icy. It’s so searingly hot that any part not awarded the attention of his hooded gaze feels cold.
Nero moans when I place the tub of ice cream onto the section of the counter he cleared away before I stab my thumbs into the waistband of my pants. My ass jiggles and my breasts bounce when I pull the slinky material to my knees.
My fumble as I struggle to remove the rigid material is usually when I’d dive for the covers to hide my inflamed cheeks. Something stops me this time.
Or should I say, someone.
Nero watches me like I’m performing onstage. He’s casually dressed in jeans, a white crew neck shirt, and black boots, but he is the essence of suave. He is a beautifully orgasm-inspiring man, and he knows it.
His smirk announces this, not to mention how he grabs his crotch to outline the massive bulge unconcealed by the zipper in his jeans when I finally get my pants to cooperate with my plan.
He’s so cocky my confidence should falter in his presence.
It doesn’t.
I want to be wanted by him .
Consumed by him .
Fucked by him .
I want him to remind me that beauty comes in all sizes, and that real men know this.
My pants are discarded at the side of the kitchen, halfway over Tempy’s head. Her acrobatic routine to celebrate Nero’s unexpected yet highly craved arrival exhausted her to the point she is sleeping with her tongue hanging out.
I step closer to Nero, trembling all over. A squeak pops from my lips when he lifts me to sit on the counter, and strain doesn’t fetter his face. He positions me where he wants me without a single sign of discomfort shown, as if I am weightless.
Even when I was in my prime and at my ideal weight, I was never tossed around like a ragdoll.
I’m tall for a girl, which means the scales always tiptoed too close to what Roy classified as a “safe lift.” That limited our activities to missionary, missionary, and you guessed it… missionary.
As Nero runs the back of his hand down the seam of my pussy, he raises his eyes to my face. He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, pleased I forwent the small snippet of coverage my panties would have awarded me if I had left them on, but seemingly still disappointed.
I learn why when he says, “I know I said you could keep your shirt, but I’m gonna need to see your tits, printsessa . They feature heavily during my lengthy showering routines, and I don’t want to miss the opportunity of adding another handful of mental snapshots to the vault load in my head.”
As images of him stroking his cock over me squash my thighs together, I grip the hem of my shirt and whip it over my head.
My breasts fall heavily to my chest as air hisses from Nero’s mouth.
I’m braless, and it seems as if he has only just noticed.
A tinge of shyness encroaches me when I realize I’m stark naked and he hasn’t even undone the laces on his boots.
It shifts to greedy need when he takes no time reminding me that I’m the platter of his indulgence and that no man turns up to a buffet butt naked.
With the lid of the ice cream removed, and the soft, melted gooeyness on the rim edged by Nero’s fat fingers, he raises his hand to my face.
Maple syrup and pecan flavors swamp my senses when he drags his index finger over my top lip before he slowly pushes it inside my mouth.
I moan as a burst of flavors ignite my taste buds, then growl when Nero returns the favor.
His mouth swamps my pussy like he knows the purpose of fat on a pubic bone before he drags his tongue up the lines of my pussy.
I’m tall for a girl, but my position on the counter and Nero’s impressive height means he has no trouble commanding both my mouth and my pussy at the same time.
When he circles the nervy bud at the apex of my vagina, I playfully nibble on the fingers he refilled with ice cream two seconds after he curls his tongue around my clit.
My ass nearly vaults off the counter when he makes true on his pledge to go bite for a bite. His teeth graze the hood of my clit before his tongue hits it with back-to-back flicks like I do to his fingers.
As tingles race across my stomach, I lick his fingers, my speed fast and unrelenting.
Nero matches my eagerness with as much attention to detail. He plunges his tongue inside my pussy before sliding it back to my clit, where he makes stars form with back-to-back licks.
“More,” he demands when I lick and suck his fingers clean.
I’m so desperate to come I’ve eaten over half of the container of ice cream.
Almost absentmindedly, Nero shoves the small canister of French vanilla and pecan ice cream my way before he grips my meaty thighs, takes a seat on my stool, then drags me across the counter until my ass is suspended off the edge.
He eats me hungrily. Desperately. And I do the same to the ice cream.
I scoop it out of the tub without a spoon, hopeful the coolness of the frozen treat will simmer the fire raging inside me.
The wildfire in my stomach is burning out of control, and I moan as if the aftermath won’t be catastrophic.
“ Mm, ” I moan when Nero licks up a droplet of the mess dribbling off my fingers and careening down my stomach. “Do that again.”
“I’d rather eat you,” he answers two seconds before he circles his tongue around my ice-cream-laden fingers, and he sucks down hard.
My thighs quiver as the fire in my stomach augments.
I’m seconds from combusting.
I think about the combined flavors of our desserts. It makes me so horny that before I can consider the possible outcome of my rampant need, I cup his bearded jaw and kiss him hard on the mouth.
We moan in sync, the mix of flavors more enticing than I could have ever imagined.
I’m not the only one who agrees.
Seconds after reloading his fingers with the ice cream, Nero stuffs them into my mouth.
I swallow down only half of the creamy goodness before his tongue scoops out the leftovers.
We go turn for turn until all the ice cream is gone and Nero has no choice but to return his head to between my legs.
He tongues my clit with controlled focus, driving me wild with need.
Rolling my hips, I grind against his mouth as he expertly eats me.
Pleasure skates across my skin as his name rips from my mouth.
When fireworks build, I try to hold back the urge, to savor my treat as if it’s meant to be a rarity. But before I can fully swallow the desire to climax, the brilliance of our exchange overwhelms me.
I come with a hoarse cry, my body limp and pliable and my tremors as vocal as my moans.
Nero’s drive doesn’t waver in the slightest.
He toys with my clit while stuffing two fingers deep inside me, giving the walls of my vagina something to cling to as it rides the crazy wave threatening to pull me under.
His breath is hot and urgent against my drenched sex as he stretches my orgasm from one to two. He curls my toes with perfectly timed licks and mind-hazing furls of his fingers, and I am helpless to stop him.
I merely watch, enamored by his determined focus.
My head falls back as a rush of heated blood pulses around my body. I’m lost to the sensation, his unyielding attention too much for my body to bear.
I come again, the rush of euphoria shooting from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. My ears ring in the aftermath of my screams, and poor Tempy is startled. She’s never heard such noises leave my mouth, and she has been my rescue dog for over half my married life.
Roy thought getting a dog would dampen my wish to become a mother.
It didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I love her any less.
Upon hearing the girlie laugh I can’t hold back when Nero lifts me into his arms, Tempy licks her chapped mouth before she burrows her head into my pants and falls back asleep.
I’m so smitten by the ease of Nero’s lift that I don’t realize how intimately he knows the floor plan of my home until he maneuvers us out of the kitchen and through the living room before he climbs the stairs to the loft-like bedroom.
I’m about to ask him about it, when his trip on the toolkit I left out has his focus shifting from sampling every inch of my mouth to staring at the bed our once other halves used as an impromptu set for a porno.
Our lust bubble has been burst.
Or so I believe.
With his head slanted in a way that makes him appear more innocent than murderous, Nero asks, “Need help dismantling it?”