“Why am I not surprised?”
Turning toward the table, she reached for one of the dishes…the floating island. The fluffy poached meringue wobbled on its pool of rich crème Anglaise as she dragged it closer to her. Intrigued, he watched as she took a spoonful of the dessert.
She wouldn’t…
“I think this will make things even sweeter,” she said.
She upended the spoon over his prick. The meringue plopped onto the dome of his cock, the crème dribbling down the turgid length. With a hum of anticipation, Lottie bent over him and had her dessert. She swirled the meringue with her tongue, making him grunt. Then she sucked, and he grunted louder. She proceeded to enjoy the crème, destroying what was left of his self-control in the process.
She lapped the length of his shaft, consuming every sweet trickle. When she was done, she added another dollop, the cool meringue an erotic contrast to the heat of her mouth. He was beyond hard, the vein that snaked along his shaft pulsing as custard dribbled over his stones, and she licked them clean. He shuddered with pleasure even as he needed more.
She nuzzled his bollocks, licking the swollen curve.
“Tell me what you want,” she whispered. “Whatever it is, you can have it.”
She was a gift, his Lottie. His mate who loved him no matter what.
He fisted a hand in her hair, directing her mouth back to his tip. “I want you to suck my cock properly. To take me deep into that sweet mouth of yours.”
Elation filled him when she gave him what he wanted. Her mouth was bliss beyond compare, but it was the stormy arousal in her eyes that pushed him over the edge. She wanted this—wanted him to take his pleasure, to demand it, to own it. She wanted him to know that his desires were worthy…that he was worthy.
Gripped by emotion, he pressed her head down, groaning as she went readily. He guided her movements, making her take him as deep as she could, reveling in her surrender. She gave him everything he asked for, held nothing back, and when he felt the loving clasp of her throat, he let go. He came with a roar, burying himself in his wife’s kiss, emptying himself in long, ecstatic bursts.
She looked up at him with tear-edged eyes. She was smiling. She was so sweet and alluring that his still-hard cock jerked against his stomach.
“Did you enjoy your dessert?” she asked.
“Undoubtedly.” He traced the downy slant of her cheekbone. “In fact, I am ready for another helping.”
“Jack, that is too wicked. You shouldn’t…ohheavens.”
Her cheek pressed against the table linen, Charlie quivered with helpless pleasure as she stood bent over the dining table. Jack was behind her, as naked as she was, doing unspeakable things with the butter boat.
“You started it, minx. What is sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose.”
Even though she couldn’t see his face, his admonishment aroused her terribly. She loved his dominant side, loved that he felt comfortable enough to impose his will. She’d wanted him to know that his desires were important to her…and his actions surely conveyed that she’d succeeded. After she’d enjoyed her floating island, he had decided to have his own feast.
He’d used her like a plate, eating delicacies from every part of her body and then eatingheruntil she’d moaned her way through multiple climaxes. Naked and spent, she’d been limp as a rag, but Jack had just been getting warmed up. He’d put her in the current position, and his comment about the proverbial “sauce” hadn’t been metaphorical.
She twitched as he dribbled warm butter sauce along her spine, following the downward flow with his tongue. All the while, he kneaded and stroked her muscles until she melted into the table, her eyes fluttering in bliss.
They flew open when warm sauce trickled down her rear crevice. Surely he didn’t intend to… She gasped when he spread her cheeks wide, and his tongue delved between. Circling, teasing, licking that hidden rim whilst she squirmed helplessly against the table.
“That’s wicked,” she breathed.
“Says the woman who licked crème Anglaise from my cock.”
“Well,” she said after a pause. “You may have a point.”
She felt more sauce dripping between her cheeks and shuddered when he thrust his cock against the slickened crack. His rod slid against her forbidden pucker, setting off strange and titillating sensations whilst his stones slapped her swollen folds.
“There’s a sight,” he said thickly. “I wish you could see what I’m seeing.”
She looked over her shoulder, and although she couldn’t see their joining, she could see her lover’s face. Jack’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes hungry and proprietary as he watched himself thrusting against her bottom. His arousal amplified her own; her nipples and pearl tingled as his thrusts rocked them against the wood. But it wasn’t enough. Her pussy clenched on nothing, the emptiness a physical ache. She needed more.
“Come inside,” she whispered.
“I, er, didn’t come prepared.” He looked slightly abashed. “Shall we go upstairs?”
