Page 206 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
“Such a good cock,” Alex continued, fingers slipping lower to cup my balls. “Sweet little balls too. God, you’re a gift, you know that? Not a single inch of you that’s not perfect. My pretty, cute lil Georgie. My precious little sweetheart, aren’t you? So obedient for me. Such a tight, pink hole you have.” His hips flexed, and I sighed, full and happy and content.
No worries or thoughts of the future plaguing me.
Dazed, relaxed, and sated, there was no denying the fact my feelings had grown far more than was natural in such a short period of time. It wasn’t until I was half-asleep, my eyes catching on a wayward pair of socks I’d missed, that I realized why Alex’s flaws didn’t bother me.
Because I loved them.
Just like I loved his strengths.
Just like I loved him.
Dirty socks and all.
“No.” George slapped my hand as I tried to sneak another slice of bread from the pan he was using on the stove to toast it. I’d already snuck two slices from it. The first one had been because I wanted to see what he’d do. The second had been because seeing his “grimple” this early in the morning was an absolute treat.
I reached again, slowly—then dropped my hand when he outright glared.
“Alex.” George huffed at me, his cute scowl made the balloon in my chest expand once again. I leaned against the counter at his side, far enough from the flames not to get scolded.
“Can I help?” I offered, even though I was pretty sure I’d ruin anything I touched.
“No.” George’s brows were furrowed as he glowered into the pan of eggs he was scrambling. “If you help, you’re only going to steal more food and spoil your breakfast.”
He’d somehow…miraculously found ingredients in my fridge to make a classic American fry up. Hash browns, buttery toast, eggs, and sausage. All sizzling on different burners. Like he was that muppet—with the zillions of arms—he managed to flip and stir and scowl every food item into submission.
“Are you?—”
“Stop asking.” George grumbled to himself, something about me and my “sneaky, greedy hands” and “nibbling problem”.
“What if I promise not to steal food from the pans?”
George paused, his angry stirring halting as he considered. Then he shook his head. “No,” he said, softer this time. “I’ve got it covered.”
His back looked lonely, despite being drowned in a borrowed t-shirt from my closet and nothing more. It hung past his cock, and I was half-tempted to yank it up so I could see what was mine beneath it. But I didn’t. Instead, I latched on to his back like an overgrown barnacle, hands at his hips.
“This okay?” I confirmed, lips finding his nape—my favorite place to sate my “nibbling problem”. “Not too distracting?”
“Is this your version of offering moral support?” George’s response was dry.
“Maybe?” I squeezed his hips, unfairly turned on by how good he felt like this. Domestic. Like this was our everyday life—and not just a blip in the monotony of my world. A single bright, delightful moment.
I ran my fingers along his hip bones, tracing them beneath the fabric before enveloping him in a tight hug, my teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder. “Or maybe…” I murmured after releasing him from my bite, tongue soothing the sting. “Maybe I just want to hold you.”
Way too fucking close to the truth, Alex, Jesus.
“Oh.” George’s ears flushed and I had no doubt his cheeks were an even ruddier pink. I grinned, hiding against his nape again.
“Maybe I…love holding you.”
You are playing with fire.
“Alex.” George’s voice quaked.
I didn’t know whatthattone meant. It was certainly needy. A plea. Maybe it meant that he needed me to sink to my knees, pull his ass cheeks open and—no.No. He was cooking. With flames. Flames that could hurt him—and he’d already been burned once this week. Distracting him, even with my tongue in his ass, was dangerous.Later. Later I’d eat him out till he cried, one long leg anchored on the counter, my t-shirt shoved up his back.
Except…
Would I?
