“Why do you say shit like that?”
“Like what?”
“Somehow everything you say sounds like you’re talking about your dick.”
“Oh,bella. If it was my cock between your lips, I wouldn’t have to ask how it was for you. My hand would be on the back of your head, making sure you got it all, and Iknowyou’d enjoy it.”
Those eyes turn molten, and I swear I see flames spark to life in her pupils. Something inside me hums in response.
“You are so full of yourself.” The words are hissed, a seething whisper.
This beautiful woman lets her passion take hold of her so freely. It’s fucking gorgeous. No concern for bullshit societal standards or holding herself back to appear polite. It’s delicious. Intoxicating. I need more of her.
“I’d rather you were full of me,” I tell her with a wink, putting another forkful to her lips.
As angry as her face gets, the corner of my eye doesn’t miss out on the way her thighs strain, the way she shifts where she sits, readjusting.
She can act like she hates me all she wants, I know this attraction I’m feeling isn’t one-sided.
I’m a persistent bastard. Life hasn’t been easy so far, but turns out, nothing worthwhile is.
If she’s gonna play hard to get, I’m gonna play twice as hard to win her over.
She refuses the bite, so I shrug, putting it in my own mouth instead, and I can’t help the groan that rumbles down my throat and through my chest when I taste my handiwork.
Damn. That’s not half bad. Mynonnawould be proud.
Creamy. Savory. Salty. Moist. Some spice, some heat, a little fat in there, balanced out with some acidity.
It hits all the spots.
Wilder Amante always does.
“It’s notthatgood,” she spits out, trying not to watch me have a moment with the dish I just created for thefiglio di puttanawho didn’t even bother to show. I’d rather it go to her anyway.
“Take another bite and tell me that again.”
Making aggressive eye contact the entire time—my cock twitches, heavy against my thigh—she grabs the fork back and assembles another bite from what I’ve cut up.
Shoving it into her mouth, I hope she’s getting paid overtime with how hard she’s working to pretend her eyes aren’t about to roll back in her head from my flavors on her tongue.
“You can admit it,” I tell her. “You like the taste of me.”
Her nostrils flare, a large breath coming out of them, like I imagine a dragon’s would. She chews faster, swallowing, and my eyes track the motion. Who knew a throat bobbing could be so sexy?
“There is something so very wrong with you.” She jumps down from the expo, flustered, and swats away my hands that go out to catch her. “I should’ve known when I saw the Crocs. You’re a freak.”
“Only between the sheets,” I tell her with a wink. “Usually not anywhere else unless you ask real nice.”
This sound comes out of her, even though she tries to stop it, it’s like a scream got lodged in her throat, it’s almost a squeal at this point.
Cazzo, it’s fun getting this girl worked up. Wonder what it would be like to let her work all that pent-up tension out. To push her to the breaking point, letting that pressure build and build until the steam starts to come out, and the eventual release changes everything for her.
“You should go,” she says, lips thinned.
“I’ll worry about the kitchen,” I tell her. “Good luck with your flowers.”
She huffs before storming off, and damn if I don’t watch her go. Wide, shapely ass filling out those overalls, thick thighs, it all jiggles with every furious step she takes, and I can’t help myself from enjoying the view.
