“I like this flavor,” he said with a smirk, guiding me to lean back on my shiny white island. I never imagined it being used for this purpose when I chose it.
He set the spoon in the tub and made quick work of my tank and shorts, leaving me exposed in a bra and panties.
“My favorite dessert, by far,” Ford murmured.
I didn’t have time to overthink because he was back to painting me with ice cream and chasing it with his warm tongue. It was the most delicious juxtaposition. Cold then warm, rinse and repeat, over one breast and then the other. Each time he pulled the cup to the side, the air-conditioning and frozen treat were a quick reprieve to the hot lust between us. My blood boiled, and I could practically hear my pulse banging into the counter while the smell of sex clouded the air in the kitchen.
“Ooh,” escaped my mouth as my panties were tugged to the side and a drop of ice cream fell right above my landing strip. Ford’s mouth ghosted the surface, lapping it up, swirling with the tuft of hair and blowing hot air on the cool skin. More ice cream dripped over my inner thigh—the one not covered in my panties—Ford following behind, sucking it off me.
I loved every second, never wanting it to end, until I got only his warm breath on my heated flesh and I was a goner. Ford went to work, adding pressure, and within moments I was climaxing on the hard slab of quartz, zero regard for Ford kneeling in front of me or half my bare ass on the counter. I was only a burst of rainbow-colored satisfaction, or however they described it in romance books—I am that.
In a hot minute, I felt Ford lift me and start carrying me toward the bedroom.
“No!” It was all I could get out.
“I’ll clean up later,” he answered.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What’s wrong?” He stopped in his tracks and set me down, looking at me, worry filling his expression.
“Nothing,” I said, dropping to my knees in front of him.
We were near the alcove to the kitchen and I backed him into the smidge of a wall there and undid his jeans, yanking them down. Next came his boxer briefs, while Ford ordered me, “Get up.”
I shook my head.
“Let me take you to bed,” he argued.
“Let me take care of you. I have to—” The words rushed from my mouth. The last few days had been all about pleasuring me. I wanted to get my mouth on Ford more than I’d ever wanted to give a blow job. Freeing his length, I knelt before him in a bra and panties, completely immune to my curves and skin being on display like never before. I felt a pillow fall next to my left leg.
“For your knees,” Ford said authoritatively.
He’d reached over to the small table and chairs to the left of us and yanked a pillow off the chair—I hadn’t even noticed. I was too busy working him with my hand, taking a few drops of precome and running it up and down his hard length.
When I looked up, Ford’s neck had fallen back, and the veins were corded as he strained to keep his cool. From my hand.
“Pillow, James,” he said. “Last warning.”
I shoved the pillow under my knees and quickly wrapped my mouth around him, sucking on the tip before running all the way down, letting my tongue take its time, dragging on his underside.
“Shit,” he barked hoarsely.
I went slowly a few more times before picking up the pace, sucking, laving, and giving the tip some special attention.
“Use your hand too,” sounded above me, and I did as I was told, wrapping my hand around him.
I jerked him hard, the way he’d shown me he liked the night before, while my mouth ran up and down the top part of his length.
“You feel so good,” he murmured, and I kept at it. “I’m going to come,” he warned, his voice even more gravelly. “Move,” he demanded.
I shook my head and didn’t let up until he was spurting down my throat. It was the hottest thing I’d done to date, which didn’t say much about me.
Sinking to his knees in front of me, Ford grabbed my cheeks in his palms and kissed me, our smells and tastes tangling.
“What about your knees?” I pulled back and taunted him.
He stood and yanked me up next to him, both of us in some stage of being undressed, and started pulling me toward the stairs and my bedroom. “I’m not the old one,” he jested.
