Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Feast.
A wholly inadequate word to describe going down on Colby Clarke.
But they were both chefs, even if he had traded his apron and knives for ledgers and admin. Food was their language in all manner of life.
Her writhing body and quivering thighs like the perfectly baked biscuits she cranked out each day, like the one he’d just devoured.
Her scent like the fresh homemade jams he’d savored since his first day at Chess last fall, a comfort when everything else in his life had been uncomfortable.
Her moans and curses like that over-the-top delectable whipped cream that absolutely made Colby’s signature dessert a can’t-miss treat.
Her blunt nails scraped across his scalp. “Why do you insist on torturing me?”
He swirled his tongue over the hard nub he could feel through the cotton of her underwear, then nipped at the cotton over the crease between her pelvis and thigh.
The gingham pattern of the boxer-briefs matched Colby’s dress, which was now completely rucked up around her waist. He teased the elastic band around one thigh with his tongue.
“Why do you insist on wearing these anti-sex panties?”
“Have you seen the size of my thighs?”
“I have.” He was holding a thick one with each hand, keeping her spread for him and balanced on the farm table bench. He pressed his lips against her pale, freckled skin, just below where the briefs ended mid-thigh, and sucked hard enough to leave a bruise. “They’re perfect.”
“And working all day on my feet in a dress means they will chafe all to hell without those panties.”
“I could follow you around under your skirt,” he teased as he kissed a path back up one thigh, then down the other. “Hold them apart for you all day.”
Her answering laugh was wild and indulgent, like an off-menu dessert that had no name, that defied description and expectation.
But could still do with a dollop of whipped cream.
He put his mouth back on her pussy, soaked the already damp material with his tongue, and, finding her clit, sucked. Her back bowed off the bench, hands tangling in her skirt. “Ford, please,” she moaned. “Take them off.”
He didn’t see the sense in torturing either of them further. He stood long enough to get her bright red Crocs off, to pull down her underwear and drop his own pants, adjusting his stiff dick in his boxers before he straddled the bench again and leaned over, burying his face in her wet auburn curls.
His hungry moan collided with her relieved sigh. “See?” she panted. “I’d much rather your beard do the chafing.”
He alternated between long, slow licks of her pussy and tight, targeted swirls around her clit, fast flicks over the nub that made her keen, bringing her right to the begging edge, before he backed off and returned to long licks.
Over and over again, making her climb toward orgasm but denying it at the last quivering second.
“Fucking hell, Ford.” She palmed her breasts, squeezing the handfuls, fingers pinching her nipples through layers of fabric. “You’re so fucking good at this.”
Because aside from cooking, there wasn’t anything Ford loved more than giving head, be it for a woman or a man. Penetration, he was a pass, but this . . . His partner’s pleasure at the tip of his tongue . . . He blew a puff of air, then dropped a kiss over her clit.
Colby bucked, hips thrusting off the bench. “Asshole,” she cursed on a laugh. “You know I’m close.”
“So close,” he teased as he let go of a thigh and splayed his hand on her pelvis, bringing her hips back down so he could watch her come undone.
How hard she squeezed those magnificent tits, how much of her stunning red hair had come loose from its topknot, how flushed all that pale skin became when she tipped over the edge.
“I’m gonna come, Ford.”
“Yes,” he groaned against her, wanting it as much as she did.
Ready to give it to her. He sucked hard on her clit and dug his fingers into her thigh, that little bit of rough he’d learned she liked, and made her explode with a shout.
He buried his face in her pussy and lapped up the smell, the taste.
He loved the teasing build up, the wild climax Colby always treated him too, but this part really was the feast, his senses overloaded to the max.
His own pleasure held back, right at the edge, likewise ready to explode.
Once Colby had calmed, her body melting back to the bench and her postcoital trembles easing, he sat upright and pulled his dick out of his boxers, stroking precome down his length.
“Talk to me, Ford,” Colby said, still on her back but reaching a hand down to run her fingers through the mess he’d made of her. She always did that, seeming to love the feel of herself as much as he did. So much so she often made herself come again, especially when he talked dirty to her.
When he made it clear how much she was turning him on too.
“You’re incredible, Colby. Spread open like this. Freshly fucked. Makes me so fucking hard.” And harder by the second. “Watching your fingers slide through curls and come and spit to find your clit. You rubbing it like you want to come again.”
“I do,” she panted, fingers circling faster. “Fuck, Ford.”
He licked his lips. “I can still smell you, still taste you.”
Shifting, she propped herself on one elbow and the siren sight—her pupils blown wide, her cheeks rosy, her bottom lip plump from digging her teeth into it—nearly stole his breath. “You want my mouth?” she asked.
Sometimes his answer was yes, but all the talk of thighs had given him a better idea. “Not tonight,” he said. “You stay right there.” He scooted up the bench, straddling her leg. “I’m going to come all over this magnificent thigh.” Right over the hickey that was already starting to show.
Groaning, she hitched her leg higher, and it was a race from there.
Ford rutting against her leg, her sweat-slicked skin and his precome making the glide easy and his palm on the other side of his dick applying the friction he needed.
Colby’s heavy breaths, her frantic fingers, her hooded eyes as they each worked themselves and watched each other, climbing together this time, higher and faster.
“You close, baby?” she asked as she dipped a finger inside herself.
“Yeah,” he grunted, fist shuttling faster, matching her speed. “You gonna come again?”
Eyelids fluttering closed, she dipped in a second finger and pumped herself harder, hips rocking with the motion, her thigh tensing beneath him and providing more glorious friction.
“Fuck yeah,” she panted, before sliding her glistening fingers out of her pussy and up either side of her clit.
Then up to her lips. She lifted her heated hazel eyes. “Rub my clit so I can taste.”
Her voice, her wanton groan as she shoved her fingers into her mouth and sucked, feasting on her own taste, was so husky, so decadent, so far off the menu.
And as he rubbed her clit in time with his frantic thrusts against her thigh, as he brought them off together, he couldn’t think of a better way to end a meal.