Epilogue #2
“Oh. God, hmm, this is so good. Want some?” she asks, licking the curve of the spoon, releasing it from her mouth with a pop.
She is sitting on the kitchen counter and I am on a stool between her legs.
My fingers draw circles on her knees as my hands crawl up on her inner thighs, pushing them inside the tee shirt.
She smacks my hand. “Let me have my dessert in peace.”
“My point exactly.” I smirk, parting her legs farther and pushing up the tee shirt.
Bending down, I kiss and then suck on her inner thigh.
Her hand immediately grips my shoulders and a hiss leaves her lips.
When I let go of her flesh from between my teeth, there is a deep blue hue sitting on the inside of her thighs.
I look up and her eyes shine with a strange emotion that I do not understand.
“One more?”
“Yes, please.” She pushes her other thigh closer to my mouth.
I kiss on her inner thigh and suck hard.
When I let go and lick the spot to take off the pain, I can see the two prettiest hickeys on both her inner thighs.
My chest swells when she wears my mark as a reminder of our intimacy and the love we share.
In areas of her body that is only for my eyes, she lets me write my confession, my oath to love her until my last breath and even after.
I know it’s creepy and twisted, but I feel taller. I am a lucky man who gets to do dirty things to the woman I love more than words can describe. I reach for her clit and lick her there. I am addicted to her, I can’t keep my hands off her.
“I love when you smell of me and still taste like you.”
“And I love when I can touch you. Wake up with you. Love you.” She caresses my tattoo with her name on my heart.
Gripping her hips, I lick her pussy good, giving extra attention to her flushed lips this time.
Soon, she is writhing and moaning. When she’s clutching the edges of the counter so hard that her knuckles turn white, when she ends up making a sticky mess on the white granite top, I stop to take a swig of my whiskey.
She is panting and her frustrated frown is deep. “I was saying that…”
With my fingers, I smear the dessert on the corner of her mouth. Digging my hand into her luscious black hair, I seize the back of her neck, bringing her mouth down to where I want her. Gliding my tongue on the seam of her lips, I taste the coffee and mascarpone.
Her forehead rests on mine, she looks at me with her hooded eyes and parted lips. She nips my lips, then drags her tongue against mine, humming and melting in my arms.
My dick was inside her just minutes ago.
But I am still insatiable and she is too.
Long distance is taking a toll on us. When guilt and insecurities, goals of our commitments, and social pressure starts to dictate and threaten to tear us apart, we fuck.
Because expressing how much I love her with my actions seems like the only cure when the heart aches so bad.
“How does my mouth taste, baby?” I ask when she breaks the kiss.
“Whiskey, coffee, sugar, a little bit of you and a little bit of me.”
“That’s right. We taste fuckin’ epic. You wanted to say something earlier? How was your girls’ night?”
“Good. The usual. Gossip and all that. Lots of them are getting married next year. Some are starting families so it’s all rings, proposals, and celebrations.”
“Yeah? Who’s getting married?” I say, bringing a spoon of tiramisu to her mouth and taking another gulp of my whiskey. She takes a mouthful of the dessert and releases the spoon. She gasps when I bring the same cold spoon to rub her clit.
She moans. “Oh. God. You’re distracting me. My school friends are getting married.”
“Good for them. Eat.” I feed her more dessert with the same spoon that was making her pussy pulse.
The spoon sits between her lips while I begin rubbing her clit in slow circles with my thumb.
She is getting wetter and her body is reacting so beautifully to me.
She removes the spoon with panting breaths and lets it slice into the cold dessert.
“Some couples know how to make things a priority. You know as long as you are in love…money, fame, goals, and everything else will follow along when it’s the right time.”
Pushing the tee shirt over her chest, I pick up some tiramisu with my fingers and smudge it on her brown nipples. “I want a taste of that.”
Bringing my mouth to her hard peaks, I circle my tongue around her nipples until they tremble with need as I retrieve the cold spoon from the box.
Pushing her thighs open, I part her glistening folds with my fingers, then I spank her tiny clit with the back of the cold spoon in repeat.
She moans and her hips jerk every time the metal meets her clit.
I withdraw the spoon, only to dip it back in the dessert so the temperature of the metal cools down.
“Please,” she begs when I coat her pussy with tiramisu, then spank her clit again with the back of the cold spoon.
I watch her crimson tiny hole spasm as she goes breathless.
I am addicted to the way she comes undone, her thighs trembling and her lips crying out my name as I continue to tap her clit.
Her pussy pulses and clenches as I collect the sweet juices of her pussy into the same spoon.
Popping the spoon inside my mouth, I smirk. “Thanks for the dessert, sweetheart. Now, this is the best kind of delicious. I’m gonna clean you up and then we’ll take a nice long nap together.” My mouth latches to her core as I start licking my dessert leisurely. I’ll clean her up in no time.
The tiramisu stays forgotten as she lies back on the granite, with her legs on my shoulders. Later she mumbles incoherent words as I carry her to the bedroom.
Ishika
I am awake and irritated while Ryan sleeps, looking so content with his life. Bastard is even snoring lightly this morning. I mean how many ways can a girl drop a hint that she is ready to settle down.
Asshole. Jerk. Dick. Sausage.
Sausage!
Sausage!
Sausage!
He fucked me until my brain turned to mush last night. I was absolutely incapable of forming a sentence or thinking straight after he was done with me.
I have been dropping subtle hints for months now. When I told him that my friends were getting married, I was hoping he would at least ask me if I was ready for marriage and kids, but he ignored the topic.
I know my father initially had a chat with him about his expectations. Ryan is still trying to prove something to my father, but hello, I am the one who is going to live with him for the rest of his life. Shouldn’t I have a say when he should stop his obsession.
He is always working. These last two years have been hectic.
He has done TV commercials, launched three of his cookbooks that have hit best sellers lists.
He did endorsements and collaborated with an Australian winery, an Italian olive oil company, a Mexican date farm.
He is working on a portable barbecue range that is to be launched into the market by next year.
The network loves him and so does his fans.
They are loyal and supportive, while Ryan is always so down-to-earth and personal in his interactions.
I am extremely proud of my man. But I want him to slow down and enjoy life and his hard work.
But mainly, I don’t want him to get used to missing me from his life. I don’t want him to cope without me.
Because I am not coping too well without him.
I chose a dental school that was closer to home.
We moved in together, into his two-bedroom home with Rufus, but because he is traveling so much every week, I end up spending half my days at my parents’ place.
I am on a mission to get it into his thick skull that I don’t want him gone for long periods of time.
I want him to come home every evening so we can cook dinner together, watch a movie together.
I want to fall asleep in his arms chatting about mundane day to day things and I want him to carry me to bed every night.
Heck, I want him to propose to me and call me his wife.
My father has been giving me the third degree that I should focus on graduating school first. He is terrified I might get pregnant and give up on my career. I mean, I don’t want babies right away. But I do want babies, and when I get pregnant, I want Ryan to be home and not travel around the world.
I am scared when I see how much he loves what he does for a living. What if he likes his freedom and his wanderlust ways and gets accustomed to it?
Ryan stirs and nuzzles into my breasts. Even in his sleep, his fingers find my nipple and he mumbles some nonsense that sounds like ‘Boo…Bees. Booo. Beees.’
Rolling my eyes, I poke him with my index finger on his arm, if I am not getting any sleep neither is he.
His response is he covers my breast with his palm and squeezes it. This time, I pinch his hand.
“What? What happened?” He opens his eyes looking groggy and confused.
“You’re snoring and you’re playing with my tits in your sleep.”
His gaze drops to my chest, and even though it’s still dark outside, the bed lamp is throwing sufficient light on his face for me to read his reaction.
He blinks his eyes, looking down at my chest and then, “BooooBeeees.” He plonks straight down on my chest, smothering his face between my breasts.
“I love you, boobies,” he says in a muffled voice and I can feel his cock wake up against my thigh.
His hand lowers to my navel and before he can go any farther down, I trap his hand in mine.
“Yeah, nice try. You’re cooking me breakfast before you get anywhere close to my vagina again.”
“Hmm. Ishika, I love you,” he coos, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“I still want breakfast.”
He chuckles, pecking my lips softly, and then pushes his tongue inside my mouth.
“Breakfast!” I growl, pushing his face away.