“All right, so we get a little frosting involved. I get to have fun, too.”
“Where would you like to put it, Mr. Dvornakov?” she asked, the epitome of innocence.
He turned her so she faced the table, her back to his chest. Hands on her shoulders, he moved them to her collarbone, slowly down to her breasts, stopping at her nipples to rub circles there. “Maybe here?”
“Hmm…” She dropped her head against his pecs.
He continued lower, his hands pulling her against him. He stopped at her navel, rubbing more circles. “Here.”
“You’re getting warmer,” she said in a singsong voice.
“And it’ll feel so good, but your hands will be like this.” He pulled the pastry bag from her grip. Then he raised her arms so they stretched around his neck. “Don’t move them,” he whispered in her ear. “See, they’ll be here. And you’ll want to touch yourself, but you’ll have to wait, because I’m going to be enjoying the frosting.” His hands continued their lazy journey down to the skirt covering her outer thighs. Stopping there.
“Where would you like me to put the frosting, sugar?” He brushed his lips against her ear.
She moaned, her hands still at his neck, her back still pressed against him. “Jase,” she said quietly.
Carefully, he lifted the edge of her dress so it was up around her hips before returning his hands to her thighs.
“Little to the left.” She squirmed against him.
“Then do I get my cookie?” His voice was rough.
“Then you can have all the cookies,” she replied.
He moved his hands to her inner thighs, rubbing there with the pads of his fingertips—just inches away from where he knew she wanted it. Drawing it out, making them both squirm. His erection pressed against the seam of his jeans, right against the outline of her ass.
Whatever this game was they were playing, he wasn’t ready for it to end.
She started to pull her arms away from his neck. Quickly, he moved his hands from her thighs to adjust her hands back to his neck again. He held them there. “Now we have to start over. It’s a good thing I like frosting.”
She made a gurgle sound in the back of her throat.
“Let’s go back to the beginning. And this time”—he began his slow descent down her body once more—“don’t move your hands.”
He brushed the hair from her shoulders, a light touch down the inside of her arms with his knuckles, over the slope of her breasts, pausing at her waist. She parted her thighs, but her arms didn’t move.
“See, you’re good with games. You learn fast.” He nipped at her earlobe. “Be a good girl, and drop your arms to the table, but don’t move them once they’re there.”
She did as directed.
“Do you want to do this here or upstairs?” He lifted her skirt, tracing the edge of her thong with his index finger.
“Here.” She gripped the table harder, grinding her core against his finger.
“Good choice.” He removed his hand from her skirt so he could free his erection.
He didn’t go right back to the heat of her, first he pulled her thong down to her knees, then he grabbed the pastry bag and squeezed a dollop of frosting onto his fingertip.
“Jase, please.”
She didn’t have to ask more than once. With his not-frosted hand, he tested to be sure she was ready, and thanked the gods of kitchen fucks that she was. Slowly, because that seemed to be the name of the game that night, he entered her.
He’d never been so ready for a woman before.
She moaned, dropping her head. But she knew the game and she didn’t move her hands from where he’d directed. He lifted the frosting on his fingertips to her lips. She opened her mouth, licking at the icing before he slid them into her mouth. She sucked harder and he started moving inside her to the rhythm she set with her mouth.
Time slowed further. The only thing that mattered was the two of them.
