She leans back into me instantly, a soft sigh escaping her. “Morning, sunshine.”
My hands roam over her hips, her belly, slipping under the warm cotton to cup her bare skin.
My fingers meet nothing but heat and smooth flesh.
“No panties?” I groan, rolling my hips into her. My cock glides between the swell of her ass cheeks and my spine prickles, my balls tightening. “Always tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you?”
She giggles, but it cuts off with a moan as my hand slides up and cups her breast, thumb brushing over her hard nipple.
“Kade,” she gasps, hands still planted in the dough. “I can’t stop. The dough will go bad.”
“Then don’t,” I murmur against her neck, my fingers teasing the flannel’s buttons. “But I can’t stop either. You—lookin’ like this? Sunlight in your hair, wearin’ my shirt, settled and comfortable like you never wanna leave this place…” I swallow hard, lips ghosting her throat. “Like you never wanna leave me.”
Her breath catches and she whimpers, melting against me. “Maybe I don’t.”
“Baby,” I choke out. “Say it again. Say you wanna stay.”
“I do,” she’s quick to breathe, her heart racing under my hands.
“Fuck. Could come just from hearin’ you say that.”
“That sounds like a personal problem,” she pants, her eyes fixed on where the flannel slips open, revealing soft, freckled skin and the tight peaks of her nipples.
“No,” I groan, sliding my hands down her body, pushing the shirt so it falls, catching on the crooks of her elbows. “Sounds like my favorite kinda good morning.”
“Sounds like every morning with you.”
“Like I said. My favorite.” My hands drift over the counter, brushing cinnamon-dusted bowls and a mixing spoon, but I pause on a bowl full of something white and sticky that looks sweet. “What’re you makin’, darlin’?”
“Cinnamon rolls.”
“So,” I mutter, smiling in her hair. “This is icing?”
Georgia nods, voice cracking as she whispers, “Vanilla. It’s so good.”
She shifts her hips back, grinding against me deliberately, and I groan in actual pain.
I drop a hand between her thighs, sliding my fingers along her lower lips, already wet and slick, teasing her clit as I rock my hips forward. My cock catches between her ass cheeks, pressure building with every stroke.
Her head drops back, breath catching. “Oh god… that feels so good.”
“Can you come like this, baby?” I whisper against her ear, sliding my fingers deeper, my cock throbbing against her. “Can you come on my hand with my fingers buried in your pretty cunt, my cock rollin’ against your ass?”
“Yes,” she chokes out, no hesitation.
“Don’t stop what you’re doin’, then,” I murmur, curling my fingers inside her, my other hand spreading over her lower belly. “Don’t make a sound. Just keep your hands on the counter, fingers in that dough, and let me feel you. Can you do that, Georgia? Can you let me taste what’s mine?”
“T-taste?” she stutters, voice wrecked.
“Yeah, baby.” I bite down gently on her shoulder, licking where I leave the mark. “Come all over my hand, and I’ll eat you for breakfast while you make yours.”
Her whole body tenses, trembling hands kneading the dough in ragged, uneven strokes.
“That’s it,” I murmur, rolling my hips harder, grinding against her with every motion. “You’re soaked. You love this. Love makin’ a mess in our kitchen, moanin’ my name while you pretend you’re busy.”
“I’m not—pretending,” she says with a sharp gasp.
“No? Then why’re your hands barely workin’, baby? Why’s that pretty little pussy of yours clenching around my fingers like it knows what’s comin’?”
