“Yeah?” Mickey smiled smugly and grabbed Roger’s cock. His own cock was thickening up, and he stroked Roger lightly, loving how he swelled in his hand.
Groaning low, Roger tipped his head back. “God, yes, master. Just like that, please.”
“You like this, don’t you?” Mickey squeezed him. “Being on display, knowing anybody could walk in and see you… you’re such a fuckin’ slut.”
“Yes, master,” Roger breathed. “I like it. I like when people watch me. When they see me, they want me. They wanna fuck me. And I feel beautiful.”
Mickey used his grip on Roger’s cock to pull him in closer and teased his lips with a soft kiss. “You are beautiful,” he whispered. “Especially when you’re mine.”
“Always, sir.” Roger smiled, and Mickey’s heart skipped over itself.
“Mm, we still have lasagna to make,” Mickey said as he let go of Roger’s dick, picking up his wine glass again. “What’s next?”
Roger blinked a few times to reorient himself, and he looked at the counter full of ingredients. “We gotta… shit. We gotta mix the ricotta.”
“Go ahead.” Mickey allowed Roger to approach the counter and immediately planted himself behind him, his hands greedily sliding over his bare back and sides.
Roger leaned into his touch, and he swallowed back what might have been another moan. “Gotta… I gotta mix the ricotta with the nutmeg, and… the egg…”
“Go on. I’m not stopping you.”
“Mmm, okay.” Roger stepped up to the counter, scrambling for the ingredients to start mixing together in a bowl. “When, when I finish this… we… oh, God!”
Mickey had spanked him, unable to resist the curve of that perfect ass. He rubbed Roger’s cheek to soothe the sting, and he leaned in to very purposely grind against him. “We can what?”
“We can start putting it all together.” Roger’s breathing was audibly labored, and he moaned when Mickey slapped his ass again. He thrust back his hips, his stirring erratic, and he begged, “Please, master.”
“Keep going,” Mickey ordered. “Tell me what you’re doing.”
“M-mixing the ricotta, egg, and nutmeg. Then we’re gonna layer everything.” Roger took a deep breath, and he seemed to focus on stirring for a few seconds. “There. Done.”
Swinging his hand back, Mickey rewarded Roger with another hard smack. He watched his handprint bloom across Roger’s cheek and gave him another. Roger’s responding cries made Mickey’s cock pound, and he wanted to fuck him right here.
But not yet.
He had to wait. It was going to make them both crazy, but it would be worth it.
“Go on.” Mickey kissed the bruise on Roger’s neck. “It’s time to layer all that shit, right?”
“Uh huh.” Hands visibly trembling, Roger reached for the aluminum pan and scooped some of the meat sauce into the bottom. “We, we put down sauce. Then noodles. Then, uh, the ricotta mixture. And more cheese. Then repeat, and we top it.”
Mickey watched Roger do as he described, and that’s when he saw the forgotten olive oil on the counter. He grabbed it and poured some over his fingers. He pressed them between Roger’s cheeks, circling slowly. “Keep going… you’re not done yet.”
“Yes, sir.” Roger whimpered, his hips pushing back. “I’m trying. Please. I’m trying so hard.”
“Would you think better with some dick in you? Mm? Just can’t focus unless you’re stuffed, huh?”
“Yes, fuck. I need… I need something. Anything, sir.”
Mickey thrust two fingers right in, biting back the urge to moan at the tight heat clenching around him.
“F-fuck, master. Fuck, yes!” Roger spilled some of the sauce as he tried to brace himself on the counter.
“Stop making a fuckin’ mess,” Mickey scolded, spanking Roger’s hip. “You’re a slut and a fuckin’ slob. Fuckin’ useless.”
Roger moaned, his ass bucking up at the filthy condemnation, but he was smiling. “I’m sorry, master. Mm, I’ll be good. I’ll be better. I promise.”
“That remains to be seen.” Mickey made himself sound bored, but he was excited. He loved how Roger was writhing against him, and the wet sounds of his oil-slicked fingers pumping into Roger’s hole were delicious.
