She loosens her hold on me and takes a step back, her focus returning to the countertop. “I thought you weren’t coming home for another few hours.”
I swiftly kiss the top of her head and inhale a hint of my shampoo. “I changed my flight. I couldn’t wait to see you.”
Her eyes flutter shut, sending a shot of fear coursing through me.
“Is that okay?”
“Of course.” She shrugs. “It’s your home.”
The way she saysyour homedoesn’t sit right with me. Coming home to find her in my bed a few weeks ago, and now, in my kitchen, wearing my shirt again, makes two words flash in my mind:Our home.
“Hey,” I begin, “what’s wrong?”
“For starters,” she waves a hand across the mess on the counter, “I was supposed to have this all cleaned up before you got here. And I think your oven is on child lock. I can’t figure out how to switch it off.” Her brow furrows and her voice goes up at the end.
She stabs at the button on the panel of the oven, over and over again, like she has a vendetta against the appliance. “How the fuck do you turn this thing off? And why is the child lock even on? It’s not like there are kids in this apartment!”
Pressing my front to her back, I steady her wrist. “You have to hold down the button.”
“I did! I was. I pushed the button, like, a million times!”
She’s riled up and I love it.
I slide my index finger over hers and press, making sure my tone is slow, relaxed, soothing. “You have to be patient and gentle with the button, baby.”
She drops her head back against my chest. “Oh, is that so?” she inquires, nothing but suggestion.
“Yes. See?” The red light next toChild Lockflickers off, and I swirl the pad of my finger on her knuckle, around and around. “You have to wait.”
“What if I don’t want to wait?” Her voice breaks with a sort of huskiness.
Caging her between me and the stovetop, I sigh into the top of her head.
She turns and loops her arms around me, then she’s gripping my ass and pulling my hips into her.
“Seems like you don’t want to wait either.” She angles back and looks down, where the bulge in my pants is growing.
“The cookies can definitely wait,” I say, peppering her lips with kisses.
“You don’t like cookies?”
“Hate ’em. Worst food ever,” I tease into her mouth. Dipping my hand down the back of her shorts, I reach between her ass cheeks and tease her entrance, eliciting a yelp from her. “They’re not what I want to taste right now.”
She nips at my bottom lip in approval and squeezes my glutes again.
Without letting up, I tilt to one side and dip a finger in the cookie dough next to the stove. I bring it to her lips and just about come in my pants when she sucks it deep into her mouth and hollows out her cheeks.
“Mmm, tasty,” she purrs, eyes hooded.
Breaking our seductive seal, I remove my hand from her pants and take a step back.
“Where are you going?”
I exhale a long and strangled breath. “First, I’m going to shower. Next,” I narrow my eyes on her, assessing my prey, “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers. Then you’re going to suck your cum off them and tell me which is sweeter—you or the cookie dough.”
41
Josefine
