Chapter 25 #2
As I’m closing the fridge, an unopened container of butter, next to a still-sealed jar of jam, on the fridge’s door shelf snags my attention. Both are marked with a large P in black Sharpie.
Looks like I do get to have an omelet after all! Wiggling my hips, I grab the unopened butter and place it on the counter with the rest of the ingredients.
After three misses, I find the pans in the cabinet below the countertop stove.
Placing a large skillet on a burner, I notice a loaf of gluten free bread beside a toaster still in the box.
Blinking, I scan the kitchen. On the other side of the stove sits whole wheat bread and a second toaster. One still plugged into the wall.
“No.” Head shaking, I run back to the fridge and swing it open.
On the top shelf, I find sealed containers marked with a P , including yogurt, cream cheese, salsa, and sour cream.
Their identical matches, only unsealed and without a P , are located on the shelf below.
Laughter wooshes out of me as I find another thing of jam, again not labeled, which is unsealed, on the bottom rack in the fridge’s door.
In almost a possessed state, I rifle through his cabinets finding an assortment of gluten free snacks: chips, pretzels, popcorn, cereal, crackers, and cookies.
Some of which are my favorites that I’ve mentioned
You’ll always have cake with me. His words from last night are the reason my cheeks are lifted with a large grin.
“Why a P?” My breath catches. “P for Peach.”
Shutting the cabinets, I lean against the kitchen island, my gaze locked on the unopened butter beside the pile of ingredients next to the stove. All of this is for me . To make sure that I’m comfortable. That, here, I belong.
“Were you going to cook? That’s sweet. But I planned to cook for you. You’re the guest, after all,” he says, striding into the kitchen, shirt damp with sweat and face glistening.
“Did you buy new butter and jam for me?” I peer at him, my pulse kicking up.
“Yeah.”
“And bread?” I point to the counter.
“Yeah.” His face wrinkles.
“And a toaster ?”
“Yeah.”
“Not to mention my own versions of things and so many gluten-free snacks?”
“Yeah… Did I do something wrong?” He rubs the back of his head.
Pushing off the counter, I rush to him and fling myself into his arms. “So right.” I press my smile against his.
This is the opposite of being cool about this.
I should flash a coy smile and say, “Oh, that’s sweet.
” Instead, I choose to tackle him in his own kitchen with fevered kisses.
With how his lips meet each press and the tightness of his arms banded around me, it’s clear he’s onboard with my lack of aloof coolness.
“You are about the sweetest man,” I pant between kisses.
“Did you see the gluten-free French fries in the freezer?” he murmurs, his low timbre humming through me.
“You didn’t?” I whimper.
“Yup.” He lifts me onto the counter, his large body coming between my legs.
“I was so wrong.”
“About what?” His hands still on my bare thighs.
“I’m not in danger of falling for you, I’m already falling.”
“Ditto.” He smiles.
“Do you want to fuck me on this counter or take me back to your bed?” I slide my hand beneath his T-shirt, skating my fingers across the muscular cuts.
“Not beating around the bush, eh?” A loud bark of laughter sprints out of him.
“I have other things I’d prefer you do with my bush.” I skate my finger along his happy trail, my voice dripping with sultriness.
“My sweet, silly Peach.” He nuzzles along my chin. “But I’m all sweaty and gross.”
“Make me all sweaty and gross, then we’re even,” I coo.
“You do sweat sexy… Hold on.” Gripping me tight, he lifts me into his arms.
“I’m too heavy.” I giggle my protest.
“Nope,” he grunts, his face pinched.
I cling to him like a horny, but slightly terrified koala.
While having a man carry me into the bedroom to ravage me is a fantasy many romance readers have, I don’t want to be dropped on the floor.
Davis’s muscular physique and broad shoulders indicate regular weightlifting in his workout regime but I fear I may be too hefty for him.
With several quick strides, he deposits me on the top of the dining room table. The surface is cool against my bare ass. Despite being awake for over two hours, I’ve not changed from the Real Men Drink Earl Gray T-shirt with Captain Picard’s likeness that Davis had lent me. A shirt I plan to steal.
“See, I am too heavy for you,” I tut playfully.
“Hardly. I’m just hungry.”
“And I’m your meal.” I offer a nipped kiss.
“Yep.” With a rakish grin, he yanks off my T-shirt and then his, tossing both aside.
I trail my finger down his chest. “Someone’s ready to work for his meal.”
Winking, he takes off his glasses and places them on the table. “No work… this is all play.”
“Oh,” I gasp, his mouth coming to my left breast, sucking and licking the nipple.
Back bowed, heat surges between my legs with his focused work on my breasts.
His rough hands massage my outer thighs.
The rasp of the mesh fabric of his shorts against my naked core teases pleasure.
Need bounds within me when he drags his mouth down my body.
Hand placed on my stomach, he eases me back until I’m prone on the table.
Gripping my thighs, he lifts me to meet his mouth.
“God,” I whine with the first slow lick.
The slide of his tongue against me is akin to the first taste of ice cream on a winter’s day.
It’s unhurried because there’s no fear that it will melt away.
There is plenty of time to relish every last drop.
Despite the grind of my hips and little whimpered pleas, he keeps his pace. The slow march will be my undoing.
“Davis, please.” Rising to my elbows, I look at him, my breath ragged.
He lifts his gaze, his pupils as wicked as a starless night. “Be patient. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Just let me enjoy this. I’ve worked up an appetite and your pussy is too good not to savor.” He takes my clit in his mouth in a hard suck, rolling it with his tongue.
“Oh go…go…go…god,” I stammer, lying back, my chest heaving.
His eyes may be as black as night, but this man has me seeing stars.
The orgasm that rips loose with his final suck has fireworks exploding in my vision.
Body still shaking, he lifts me and moves me to bend over the table.
His hand and mouth soothe along my trembling form.
Kissing down my spine, he caresses the globes of my ass.
“You’re so pretty like this. Sated but still hungry for more.” He slides one hand between my legs and pushes a finger inside me.
“Ooh. More?” I moan.
“I told you I was going to take care of you.” He pats my ass with his free hand. “Legs wide like a good girl.”
A strangled whimper of unintelligible words tumbles out of my mouth. My body clenches around his finger.
He bends close, nipping at my earlobe. “Does someone like being called ‘good girl?”
“I guess I do,” I pant out.
Right now, my lust-filled brain isn’t ready to process this newly-realized praise kink. Apparently, it’s not just my female main characters who enjoy a man doing depraved things to them while calling them a good girl.
Legs wide, I jut my backside out, moving against his working finger. Promised pleasure twines tight. My taut muscles are begging for relief.
“This is how you like it, isn’t it?” he rasps. “You like it slow at first.” He plays with my clit, while his other finger glides in-and-out of me, making me whimper. “Then a little more.”
I cry out as he inserts a second finger inside me.
“That’s my sweet Peach.” He crooks his fingers.
Like a coming storm, sex with Davis starts slow with languid strokes and kisses but gains momentum until it’s a steady downpour. The building tension makes my legs wobble, but I don’t need to worry. Davis has me. His left arm loops around my middle, steadying me, while he works me.
“I’m gonna… Davis!” I scream, my nails dig into the table’s surface with the force of my release.
He lifts my shaking form into his arms like I weigh nothing. Self-satisfaction sparks in his features as he carries me into his room.
“Light as a feather,” he teases, tossing me onto the bed and crawling atop me.
“Stiff as a board.” I run my hand over the tented fabric of his shorts.
Laughing, he takes my mouth. The hard kiss bruises in the best way. The way that tells me that this man is on fire for me. His dark eyes, demanding kisses, and the press of his hardness against me inflame my desire for more.
“Pants off. Condom, now,” I command between kisses.
He rolls off me. Discarding his clothes, he opens the bedstand drawer and grabs a condom.
“Care to try a new angle?” I coo, getting on all fours, and tossing a saucy expression over my shoulder.
“This ass,” he praises with a little tap causing me to let out a soft moan.
“No butt stuff yet.”
“I like that you said yet .” He grips my hips, his hard cock rubbing against me.
My answering laugh is cut off by his slow push into me.
Hips high, I bury my face in the pillow with his indulgent drives.
It doesn’t take me long to be at the brink again.
Not with his deepening pumps, filthy praises, and stroke of my clit.
Like a stealthy orgasm cat burglar, this man somehow knows the combination to unlock every ounce of pleasure from me.
“Davis!” My cry is muffled by the pillow.
Fingers biting, he slams harder into me. The force prolongs the waves of release.
“God,” he groans, his body jerking with climax.
After a few panted moments, he kisses the top of my head and slides out of me. Still breathless, I lay atop his comforter while he goes to take care of the condom. Returning, he scoops me into his arms, pressing me against his chest. Our bodies sated and sweaty, we just lay there.
“If these sleepovers become a regular thing, I may have to start doing cardio to keep up with you.” Smirking, I trace the outline of his boyish grin with my fingertip.
“If all my trips to the gym end with that, I’ll happily write you a seven-day-a-week cardio regimen to follow.”
“My poor vagina.”
“Oh, I’ll take care of her.” His grin is devilish.
“I have no doubts.” I sit up in bed. “Now, let me take you to the shower to get cleaned off. Time for me to pamper you, Mr. Sweet Man.”
He just lies there with his arms up. “Fine. If I must be pampered, I’ll let you carry me into the shower.”
“I may be equal opportunity in pampering one another, but carrying people will forever be your jurisdiction.”
“Fine.” He jumps off the bed and then hoists me into his arms. “I shall carry you off to my shower and you shall bathe me, woman.”
Laughing, I let him carry me away. Though he’s not carrying me far because I know I’m already gone for this man.