His tongue spears into my hole before dragging up to flick my clit, over and over, until my vision blurs.
I bite down on my arm to stifle the scream building in my throat. My orgasm crashes over me.
It’s too much.
The pleasure.
The risk.
The way his mouth owns every inch of me.
My back bows and my thighs shake as I ride his face. I pulse against his lips, and he doesn’t let up. He doesn’t give me a second to breathe. His tongue flicks my clit, and his lips seal around it, sucking hard.
I shatter.
“Oh Cash—” The words tear out of me, broken.
My fingers grip his hair tight as wave after wave of pleasure rip through me, shaking me apart.
He groans against me, and the sound vibrates through my core. I can feel his smile against my skin like he’s proud of what he’s doing to me.
He should be.
I’m still trembling, my body humming, when he finally pulls back.
His lips glisten, and his beard is damp. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes track me, dark and heavy with satisfaction.
“Hi.” My voice is raw.
He smirks. “Hi.”
He stands, pressing his body between my legs. The hard ridge of his cock grinds against me, and the denim of his jeans is rough against my sensitive skin.
“Well, hello.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders.
“Hello.” He chuckles as he lowers his mouth to mine.
His lips just graze mine when we hear a sound.
Laughter.
I can’t tell from where. Upstairs? Just on the other side of the door? Which door?
Either way, it’s getting louder.
Another voice joins in.
Closer.
We don’t move at first.
But in a flash, the kitchen feels too open, too bright, and too exposed.
Ordinary people would slide off the counter and face whoever is on the other side of that door.
Apparently, we’re not ordinary people.
In a silent agreement, we scatter. He lifts me off the counter. I grab the bowl of whipped cream, and he snatches the strawberries.
