Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
She looks keenly at the two forks. “Why two, then?”
“In case I drop one on the floor.”
“Oh,” she says with a laugh. “Then in that case, why use forks at all?”
I smile. “I like the way you think.” I take the chocolate trifle out of the box. It’s in a small plastic bowl with fluted edges, decorated with shaved chocolate and billows of whipped cream.
I place the flat of my palm against her back, holding her in place, while I offer her the trifle on the palm of my right hand. “Would you like to try some?”
She nods.
“Have at it, then. No need to waste any time. It looks delicious.” It does look delicious, but nowhere near as much as she does.
“Just… eat it?”
I swallow hard, my dick poking against her arse. “Yeah, darlin’. Just… eat it.”
She licks a pretty tendril of fluffy whipped cream, then I watch as the pink tip of her tongue laps at a little chocolate shaving. She sighs and takes a bite. “So yummy.”
I kiss her, tasting the rich, creamy sweetness.
“Yes, you are.”
She smiles.
“Another bite, then?”
She takes another lick, until she gets to the layers of chocolate cake with chocolate cream, and she bites it. Her lip’s coated in the creamy concoction when she looks at me. We’re so close, her breath warms my cheek. I lick the chocolate off her lip, suckling the chocolate right off her.
She sighs, moaning into me as I lean in to give her a kiss.
We play this game for a while until the trifle’s half gone.
“Next, the mousse.”
“Mmm,” she whispers. “The mousse.”
I nestle the half-eaten trifle back in the box, then remove the white paper flute of mousse.
“Lick this, too?” she asks.
“Oh aye,” I whisper. “I want to see you do it.”
I’ve forgotten who we are, or why we’re here, and anything that is going to happen next. All that I can think about is watching her tongue dart out and lick the decadent treat. All I can think about is where else that tongue could be.
I’m not breathing when she laps her tongue around the very edge of the swirls of mousse, the tip dragging along while she releases a moan. Oh fuck is that hot. I’m shaking my head, watching her as she laps at the treat, the fluffy dessert on her lips, and at the corner of her mouth.
I take it away from her, and she blinks in surprise.
“Hey! I wasn’t quite done with—”
I silence her while I lay her out on her back, my mouth on hers capturing the sweet, rich flavor of chocolate mingled with the soft, sensual touch of her tongue against mine. I run both of my hands up and down the length of her body, pressing my erection hard against her belly.
I fucked her not half an hour ago and I’m ready to go again, to lay her down and make her come in every fucking way possible. My tongue between her legs, my fingers in her pussy, fucking her perfect, pert little arse until she screams.
Her hands are around the back of my neck, scrambling for purchase as we drown in this kiss, the dessert forgotten, when her bag starts to buzz.
Fuck.
I know exactly what call she's going to get. I know what’s going to have to happen next, what I have to do. But I already fucking regret it. I don't like knowing that I'm manipulating the situation. I don't like knowing that I'm responsible for even the tiniest bit of fear she's going to feel. I don't like knowing that I'm going to be the one that rescues her, because I don’t want it to be a farce when I do.
Her hands on the back of my neck still, and she pulls away with a groan.
“I have to get that. Fuck.”
I force a sigh of reluctant agreement, even though the reluctance bit isn’t part of the routine at all.
“It’s alright,” I say, gesturing to the phone. A part of me hopes that I'm wrong, that this isn't the phone call I'm anticipating. A part of me hopes that she misses it, that we can go back to being who I want to be when I'm with her. Both of us, together, fucking enjoying ourselves for once.
But when she picks up the phone, I know that every hope is in vain.
She stares at the text, her hand wrapping around her chest as if to cover herself. I don’t even know if she does it on purpose, or if there’s something about the reminder of her father that makes her feel as if she needs to hide.
“I have to call him,” she says on a sigh. “I’m so sorry, Mac, he says it’s urgent. And if my mum’s hurt again—”
She dials, and I steel myself for what has to happen next.