“Mmmm…” She’s damn near purring now, as I tease my fingers along the band of her bra.
“You’ll get my hands,” I tell her, as my palms cup her breasts, their fullness spilling out over the cups. My fingers knead her soft, sensitive flesh, earning me unintelligible sounds of pleasure.
“You’ll get my lips,” I feather kisses along the base of her neck, my hands still on her breasts. Every part of me is focused on every part of her.
“You’ll get my words,” I suck the curve of her shoulder, surely leaving a mark. “All my dirty words. All the ways I want to fuck you,” she presses back again, cradling my dick, “and suck you.” She moans. “And lick you,” I trail my tongue across the milky skin I just marked as she shivers against me.
“But you won’t get my dick.” She pulls away, as if to turn toward me and scold or beg, and fuck me, but I’m already on the goddamned edge, and this little game has barely started. “Not yet, anyway.” I turn her to face the sink again. My hand snakes around to her back and the gods of sexy times are smiling down on me as I unlatch the hooks of her bra with ease. “When that timer dings, you’ll get the food out and turn off the oven. And then I’ll carry you to bed and fuck you here.” I trace the valley between her breasts with my left hand. “God, I want to fuck you here.” I bend lower, my lips press against her ear. “You want that, Lain? You want my dick here? You want to watch me cup these gorgeous tits as I work my dick up and down?” My fingers trace her areolas over and over as she moans. “You want me to stroke my cock in and out?” I pinch the buds of her nipples as her cries pierce the silence of her kitchen.
She reaches up to cover my hands, but I stop her and redirect them back to the counter. “Hang on, pretty girl.” She releases another cry of ecstasy and a gasp of indignation when my hands fall to her waist as I drop to my knees to worship that sweet spot at the base of her spine.
My lips caress her lower back, and my right hand reaches up her skirt to cup her sex. Fuck. She’s soaked. It’s my turn to moan. My hands leave her body for a moment and make quick work of my belt. My jeans and boxers drop to the floor, and I kick them aside to join my abandoned t-shirt. I grip myself and pump slightly, just to relieve some pressure. God, I’m so tempted to take her like this. To bend her over the sink and take her from behind, but a glance at the timer tells me I’ve got nine minutes left and I’m going to spend that time making her beg for it.
“Simon,” she whimpers as I fall to my knees once again. “Right here, Lain. Just took a second to fulfill the naked portion of my boyfriend duties.” She angles her head for a peek, and I shove her skirt high, so it hugs her waist, granting me full access to her beautiful ass. A thin scrap of purple lace spans the length of it, and I channel my inner sex god, fist the fabric, bracing my hand against the small of her back, and pull.
“Did you just—”
“Rip your lacy thong like a fucking animal? Yes. Yes, I did.”
“Holy fuck.” She’s panting and she’s gripping the granite edge like it’s the brink of a cliff.
“Is this the part where I promise to replace them? Because I can definitely carve out some time to go lingerie shopping with you.”
“Men don’t—I’m not—” She’s stumbling over her words, and though I’m kind of done with all the talking, I know the words I say next need to be said.
“You are, though.” The pads of my fingers trace a path along her inner folds, grazing her clit. “You’ve been the star of my fantasies for an indecently long time. You’re fucking exquisite. The way you tremble under my touch. How you get so fucking wet for me.” I taste her to prove my point. And then, gripping her ass with my hands, I tilt her up and spread her wide to plunge my tongue into her hot, wet center. She rocks her body against my mouth, fucking herself with my lips and tongue. “Oh, god! Oh my god, Simon!” Her unholy prayer fills my ears and nearly masks the loud beeps emanating from the stove.
She leans forward against the counter as reality descends around us.
“Dinner’s ready.” I smile. Like I said, it’s only Monday, but it’s a hell of a good week.
“IF YOU WERE ANYONEelse, I’d want to rip that smile right off your face. But you’re you and you deserve it, so, by all means, smile away.”
I laugh at Molly’s approval and refill my coffee cup. It’s a tall mug and the front reads:
They’re: They Fucking Are
Their: Shows Fucking Possession
There: Specifies Fucking Location
My brother, Ev, gave it to me last Christmas, and it’s my favorite. Typically, it gathers dust on my shelf since I prefer my caffeine to come in a 31 oz dome-lidded cup with extra whip, but that wasn’t in the cards today. I woke Simon up an hour early this morning, and we were still a solid twenty minutes late. And I don’t regret it one bit.
“Oh my god, Elaine. You need to stop daydreaming about your boyfriend. You’re gonna spill that coffee and burn your hand.”
Oops. I filled my cup to the brim without even realizing it. “Gah! I need to focus.” I scold myself and pour the extra coffee down the drain. It’s a necessary sacrifice: there must be adequate room for creamer.
“So, I was right, right?”
I can hear the smugness in Molly’s voice, but I can’t answer. The upper half of my body is enveloped by the fridge right now. I can’t find the creamer. What the hell? I scan the shelves again, moving a suspiciously sticky bottle of mustard out of my way. Nope. Nothing. No vanilla, no hazelnut, no salted caramel. There’s a jug of skim milk, and I can’t decide if that’s someone’s idea of a cruel joke or a legitimate attempt to encourage healthy choices in the workplace.
“Molls, what the hell? There’s no creamer!”
“Oh, yeah. I heard about that. Apparently, Linda was in charge of stocking it, but she retired, and her replacement thinks caffeine and sweetner are the devil’s playthings. So, now you’re supposed to bring your own and label it.”
“What? That’s madness! And how am I supposed to drink my coffee now?”
“Um… black?”
