“I’m going to shower.”
I toss the bag into the trash and walk to the bathroom, fox pacing beneath my skin.
The water takes only a minute to heat up, and steam begins to fill the space as I step under the stream. Sugar dissolved and swirls down the drain in pale ribbons. There’s a thick dollop of frosting still on my chest, and the sight of it makes my chest constrict.
She made it for us.
God, he’s one track right now, but I can’t deny the restless heat burning through me.
I swipe my finger through it and bring my it to my mouth.
It’s sweet and complex with browned butter, a hint of salt, and real vanilla bean. But underneath is a taste that raises every hair on my body.
Lila.
Sugar and butter and lemon.
My dick throbs.
More.
And who am I to deny my inner beast?
There’s more frosting on my stomach. I scoop it up with two fingers and push them into my mouth.
The sound I make is pure animal.
Lila is in my mouth, on my tongue, sliding down my throat, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough.
I brace one forearm against the wet tile. Water beats my back as I close my eyes and give in to envisioning her bent over on herhands and knees, her sundress rucked up around her hips, that highlighter yellow thong stretched between the fullest, roundest ass cheeks I’ve ever seen. I’d watched as a smear of buttercream slid down the back of her thigh and?—
Fuck.
My hand finds my dick where I’m already so hard it aches, the head slick and flushed. I stroke once, twice, picturing her there on my floor. Picturing her looking back at me over her shoulder with her mouth open in an O of surprise.
If I’d moved forward, if I’d put my hands on those hips, if I’d pressed my thumbs into those soft curves—would she have let me?
Rough and fast, I pump into my fist, the water and melted sugar making everything slick.
Lila on my floor.
Lila in my bed.
Lila bent over the kitchen counter.
Lila in my shower, her golden hair dark with water, her skin pink from the heat, the vanilla scent of her amplified by steam until I can’t breathe without tasting her.
She’d be soft. Softer than buttercream. Her thighs would dimple under my fingers. Her belly would quiver when I put my mouth on her clit. She’d be loud. I know she would. She seems like someone who wouldn’t stay quiet, who’d gasp and whimper and say my name in that creamy voice of hers.
I flatten my palm against the tile, hips thrusting into my grip, and the mental image shifts.
Lila on her hands and knees but this time I’m behind her. This time I’m pulling those panties aside. This time I’m sinking into her and feeling her clench around me, hot and wet and absolutely perfect?—
The orgasm hits me like a fist to the spine.
I groan, my forehead pressed to the tile, and come in thick pulses against the shower wall while my fox howls in satisfaction.
Mine,he growls from deep within my chest. The primitive part of me that has fur and claws and instincts that don’t give a damn about social niceties.
