She bites her lip, hips jerking, breath catching. “Because you’re insatiable.”
“So are you,” I murmur, fingers barely moving, just letting the pressure against her clit and g-spot be guided by the slow, torturous grind of my hips.
“I-I’m not.”
“But you are, baby. Think I haven’t noticed your body’s never satisfied with just one orgasm or two? Your pussy clenches and begs again and again until I’ve wrung you dry and you're passed out.”
Georgia tenses, but I shake my head, sucking hard on her throat. “Don’t you dare apologize. Getting you off isn’t work for me, it’s a fuckin’ gift. And I’ll do it as many times as it takes for you to feel good.”
“I always feel good with you.” She whimpers, little fingers digging holes into the poor dough. “I can’t… Kade… I’m gonna—”
Her thighs quake, her body locking around me, and I tilt her head back just in time, catching her loud moan with a deep kiss. My hips never stop, hand never slipping free. She’s dripping all over my palm, pussy squeezing the hell out of my fingers.
It’s hot as hell.
When our mouths separate, I don’t move, don’t stop or release her. Instead, I reach to the icing bowl and dip two fingers into the thick, sugary glaze.
She pants, watching me in the sunlight, dazed.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh,” I whisper. “Just watch.”
I trail the icing down her throat, letting it drip slow and thick. Down her chest. Around her nipple. Over the curve of her belly, circling her navel. Down, lower still—following the same path I took with honey the first time I ever touched her like this.
She shudders violently, breath stuttering as I pull my fingers from her and suck them clean, moaning around the taste that is solelyher.
Then I flip her around, kneel, and lick every drop off her skin. From collarbone to breast, to stomach and between her thighs. I lift one of her legs over my shoulder and bury my tongue inside her pussy, groaning at the taste of her and sugar and morning sun.
She cries out again, one hand gripping my hair, the other flattening against the counter for balance.
While I work her with my mouth, I reach down, grip my cock, and stroke myself slow, matching the pace of her moans.
As soon as her second orgasm hits, I rise, flip her around again, and bend her over the counter.
“Cover your fuckin’ mouth, darlin’,” I grit out, on edge. “I’m not coming on my hand.”
She bites her own fist just as I slam into her, burying myself to the hilt in one rough, deep thrust. Her body bows, little whimpers and moans slipping free around her flesh, and I grip her hips, fucking her hard, fast, relentless.
When I feel the edge start to crash over me, I press her tighter to the counter, hips locked to hers, and come hard, filling her with everything I’ve got. She shudders under me, breath catching again.
I rub her clit in slow, tight circles, still rocking my hips.
“I can’t,” she cries. “Not again.”
I drop my lips to her ear, low and dark. “Want my cum as deep as it can get, baby. Need you to come before I pull out.”
“Kade,” she pleads, shaking her head. “God, it’s so good.”
She clenches around me with a broken whimper, her body giving in before her mind can fight it.
“I told you,” she pants. “I’m on birth control. Your efforts are a waste.”
“Making love to my woman could never be a waste,” I murmur, kissing down her spine, still buried deep inside her. “Never.”
Sighing, she melts into the counter with a quiet giggle. “I take it you want more kids, then.”
Only if they have your smile.
