Jack grabbed another muffin, and I sighed. "I guess I'll just send the tomato soup muffin, the French onion soup muffin, and the potato-and-cheddar soup muffin."
There was a knock on the door. "At least we're all dressed," Jack said.
Eddie was there with another package.
"Another present from Chloe's fans," he said.
Jack gave him some cash, and I took the package into the bedroom and opened it. Inside was a ridiculously skimpy outfit. I stripped then put it on.
"I think it’s a little small," I said when Jack walked in. Jack looked like he had just been run over by a reindeer.
It was a glittery little outfit. The skirt could barely count as a skirt. The red-and-white top had little zippers over the boob cups, not that the outfit needed them. My breasts threatened to spill out.
"I think it's supposed to fit like that," Jack mumbled.
"Try not to drool," I said and pulled a giant lollipop from the box and pretended to bop him on the head with it.
"What is this, some sort of Christmas candy slut outfit?" he said.
I reached down to try and adjust it. "I think there's a rip," I said. "Oh wait, nope, just crotchless." I looked at Jack's crotch—his cup also runneth over.
"I’m glad we're in the bedroom," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "I need to stop fucking you in the kitchen. It's dangerous. Someone could get burned."
I leaned back on the bed, and one boob popped out of the cup. He went after it, kissing the soft flesh. I shivered from the slight scrape of his teeth.
"The nice thing about this outfit," Jack said, his fingers slowly spreading the slickness between my legs, "is that I don't have to rip your clothes off to fuck you."
He moved down and hooked my legs around his neck. He kissed me, the slit giving him an all-access pass to my pleasure center. He licked me, his tongue teasing me. I strained against him. I felt a little slutty between the outfit, the gorgeous man, and the high-pitched moans and little screams that came out of my throat.
Jack pulled his mouth away, and I groped for his head.
"Don't stop!" I begged.
He flipped me over so I was on my front on the bed, my legs splayed for him. His fingers were back, dipping into me then teasing my clit, bringing me close to the edge then back.
"I can't believe how wet you are," he murmured in my ear. He put his hand in my hair then moved behind me.
"Are you ready for my cock?" he growled.
"Yes," I choked out.
"Tell me what you want."
I moaned. "I want you."
"Beg," he ordered, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand, his other stroking me forcefully.
"I want your big thick—"
I let out a cry of pleasure as he entered me, and sugarplums danced around my head. I felt totally dominated by him. Every thrust was accompanied by a high-pitched cry from me.
I came with a scream. Jack was still hard. I felt him fucking me, and I strained against his hands on my wrists. I felt raw with pleasure.
"Can you come again for me?" he asked. One hand was back teasing my clit. My hips rotated in little circles, and I wanted to feel that same wave of pleasure wash over me. He moved his hand to the scrap of a skirt. I heard it rip.
"Fuck," he said, his voice low and ragged, rubbing his hands over my torso and hips.
I needed his hand back on my clit.
