31. Connor
CONNOR
N ora lines up the boxes on the counter, then rearranges them, then puts them back again.
Her brows are drawn, her mouth set, and the entire kitchen feels like I'm waiting on a court ruling, not a wedding cake selection.
Three bakeries. Four flavors each. She even made a spreadsheet last night—no joke.
An actual spreadsheet. I watched her color code frosting textures like it was the fate of the world.
"You’re taking this seriously," I say, popping the lid off the box closest to me. "Which one’s supposed to be the winner?"
She levels me with a look and points a knife at my chest. "No winner until we’ve tasted every option twice. Blind. No opinions until the end."
"Twice?" I ask, turning to curl my arms around her. She snickers when I bite her neck and pushes me away.
"Yes. Once for flavor, once for texture." She's moving toward the stack of plates, and I chuckle at her overly serious demeanor. You'd think this was her last meal.
"You’re unbelievable." I chuckle, taking the knife from her hand.
She grins. "You’ve said that before."
I cut into the first cake—vanilla with something citrus swirled through—and hand her a forkful. She takes it like it’s a challenge, eyes closing dramatically as she hums. "Not bad," she says after swallowing. "You try."
It’s good, but not good enough to distract me from the way her mouth moves or the frosting clinging to the corner of her lip. I lean back against the counter, watching her drag her fork across the chocolate one without giving it a second glance.
"You’re ignoring the best one," I say.
She licks her fork and pretends not to notice. "Am I?" Her eyebrows lift and she shrugs a shoulder.
"Yeah. You’re pretending it’s not your favorite so I won’t fight you for it." I grab her by the waist, pulling her against my body, and she squirms, but she's smiling.
"Connor," she protests, palms on my chest.
"You’re cheating," I accuse playfully, but I let her go and watch her. There's something different about her lately, happier, lighter. And it's not just because we're not sneaking around anymore. She seems to glow with life and energy.
She shrugs and cuts another piece, piling chocolate onto her fork like it’s an afterthought. "Can you prove it?" she asks before plopping the cake onto her tongue and winking at me.
I take a step toward her. "You just ate half the square when you thought I wasn’t looking." My fingers work her sides at the most sensitive spots, tickling her.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," she says, smiling now. Her voice is syrupy, playful. Dangerous.
I reach past her to steal a bite, but she holds the box away from me.
"Not a chance," she says, backing up a step.
"That so?"
She nods. "You want chocolate, you earn it."
She turns her back on me—stupid move. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her flush against my body and feel the press of my swelling dick on her ass. "Say that again," I murmur against her ear.
"Earn it," she says, breath catching as I slide my hand beneath the hem of her dress and pull it up.
She spins in my grip and smears a dollop of frosting on my bottom lip. "There," she says. "Sweet enough for you?"
I drag her into me and kiss her slowly, licking the frosting from her mouth before she can protest. Her fingers tighten in my shirt. The cake box hits the floor.
She’s laughing when I lift her onto the counter, legs parting, dress hiking up. Her thighs press against my hips.
"You dropped the cakes," she says, breathless.
"We’ll order more," I tell her as I lean in.
I kiss her again—deeper now, slower. Her hands cradle my jaw, then slide into my hair.
She's distracted, kissing me and pulling me against herself, and I drive my finger into the cake on the counter next to her—the one with the citrus tang.
Icing coats my fingers and I smear it up her thigh, making her hiss.
"You’re a menace," she whispers against my mouth.
"You married me," I counter.
"Not yet."
"Close enough," I purr, kissing her again but slowly backing away.
Her dress rides higher as I grip her hips.
She arches into me, lips parted. The teasing’s gone, replaced by something heavier—want layered with heat, trust, and the kind of ache that only comes from waiting too long.
I lower to my knees as I hike her skirt up to her hips, and my tongue finds the trail of icing on her skin ready to be devoured.
Nora whimpers as my tongue traces the icing up her thigh, introducing the sweetness to her salty skin.
Her fingers dig into my hair, trying to tug me back up to her mouth, but I'm on a mission and she's too far gone to protest much.
I can feel the dampness between her legs, evidence of how much this is affecting her.
I'm hard now, my dick straining against my pants, demanding release.
But I want to draw this out, make her beg for it like she makes me beg every damn time.
I hook my fingers around her panties and pull them down and she doesn’t fight me.
The heels of her hands plant firmly on the counter on either side of herself and she lifts so I can pull the silky fabric down and away, and she moans as I lick circles around her clit, feeling it swell under my tongue.
She's so responsive, always ready for me and only me.
I slip two fingers inside her while my tongue works magic on her sensitive nub.
Her taste mingles with the citrus sweetness of the icing, and I growl in pleasure as I feel her pussy clenching around my digits.
"Connor," she pants, head thrown back, hips grinding against my mouth. I love the way she says my name like a prayer, like a curse. "God, baby," she gasps, toes curling on my shoulders as I tease her relentlessly with just the tip of my tongue. "I'm so close… Please."
My fingers work faster, finding the rough patch of skin inside her that pulses and aches to be stroked. She shudders, clenching around my fingers again as the first waves of orgasm crest. Her body jolts and twitches, and I continue to lick and suck until she’s breathless.
Nora's grip on the counter tightens as her orgasm subsides, and her body shakes with aftershocks. I stand up, my own arousal aching to be released. I can't wait any longer. I need her now. I unbuckle my belt and let my pants fall around my knees, revealing my dick that’s rock hard for her.
“Oh, wow,” she pants, pulling me closer, and I drag her to the edge of the counter where my dick taps her core. She moans as I slide in inch by glorious inch until she’s quivering.
She tips her head back, baring her neck to me, and I can't help but mark her as mine—every time—with a deep, dirty kiss before I start to move inside her. The counter digs into my thighs and our rhythm is desperate and frantic. "Yes," she moans, fingers gripping my shoulders. "Harder."
I oblige, driving in deep and fast, grinding against her in the most primal way possible.
Nora arches her back and wraps her legs around my waist, anchoring herself as she grinds against me with equal fervor.
The room spins, and the world narrows down to just the two of us.
Our lips collide in a sloppy kiss, and I swallow her groans as she holds on for dear life.
She pants into my ear, "I love you," and that's all I need.
My orgasm is building, coiling deep in my core, ready to consume me when she squeezes her inner muscles around my shaft.
I groan as the sensation drives me over the edge.
I hold her close, almost lifting her off the counter as I flood her.
Her nails leave imprints on the back of my neck, but I don't care. All I can feel is her all around me.
We stay that way for a while—both of us breathing hard, limbs tangled, her forehead pressed against mine. The world has quieted, softened around us. I slide my hands along her back, steadying her as she finally shifts, laughter still caught in her throat.
"You want a beer?" I ask, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. "I can’t."
I pull back just enough to frown. "Why not?"
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she leans sideways, reaching for something behind the remaining boxes.
A small white container sits there—neatly labeled, tied with a thin blue ribbon.
She places it between us as I pull out and let my dick slap my stomach.
Before taking the box, I tuck myself away and zip up, then pull her skirt back down.
"What’s this?" I ask, my voice dropping.
She lifts the lid, revealing a single cupcake inside. The frosting is baby blue, piped high in soft peaks.
My eyes snap to hers.
She smiles, soft and almost shy. "I was going to wait. But I couldn’t. Not after that."
I blink. "Are you serious?"
She nods, tears threatening behind the grin. "I hope it’s a boy. But I’ll be happy either way."
I reach for her, wrapping both arms around her waist as she holds the cupcake in its box high overhead. My mouth finds hers again, capturing her giggle, less wild this time. The kiss is slower and fuller.
"You’ve already made me the happiest bastard on the planet," I whisper against her lips. "But this… this just wrecks me."
She laughs, head falling to my shoulder. "So… no to the beer?"
"Definitely no to the beer," I murmur, kissing her temple. "But yes to everything else."