He unwound his scarf and shed his dripping coat, hanging both over the register in the front hall. His snowy boots and holey socks came off next. He wrung out the hem of his shirt as he walked down the hall to her, his nose already perking up at the smell of fresh, hot coffee.
She stood at the stove, shaping dough in a round pan. He watched while she ladled on tomato sauce, using her fingers to smooth it in. Next came the cheese she’d grated from the block he was reasonably sure he’d had since the beginning of time.
“Like what you see?”
She wiggled her heart-shaped butt, drawing his attention to the fact that his apron parted over her bare ass. The sides of her breasts swelled out beyond the edges of the front panel, and her nipples pressed against the stiff fabric.
Taunting him. Prodding him to act.
She was right there, everything he’d wanted and dreamed of. And he wasn’t even taking her the way she said she needed because he was afraid of losing her, when she wasn’t even his to begin with.
The breath he’d drawn in to answer her question stalled out, and he stared, fisting his hands at his sides.
Her questioning smile faltered. “Justin?”
He stepped forward and took hold of her wrist. Cheese clung to her fingertips, and he brought them to his mouth, nibbling off the cheddar and tasting the leftover spices and tomato from the sauce. “You’re a miracle worker. That tastes like real sauce.”
“I found a jar.” Blushing, she leaned back against him. “Your pantry still has some unexpired stuff in it, thank God. Though I’d really expect more from a master chef like you.”
“Who am I supposed to cook for? Usually it’s just me.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of those hot, young teachers at school who’d be happy to sample your creations.” She said it lightly, but he heard the undercurrent in her tone.
It matched the undercurrents rolling through him, growing in strength and intensity with every passing moment.
He gripped her hips, pressing his thumbs into her soft skin. Not too hard, just enough to clue her in to the direction of his thoughts. She was probably still sore, and he knew it was too soon, too fast. But the part of him that sensed the hourglass draining minute by minute didn’t care.
If he made a mistake, at least he’d made it.
“I’m not looking for a hot, young teacher. That’s not what—who—I want.”
She looked back at him, her hair falling low over her eyes. “Sometimes you settle for the best option out of what’s available,” she said quietly.
Rather than toss back a retort heavier than the moment warranted, he drew her closer and pressed his lips against her ear. “I’m not settling when I have what I want in my sights.” He bit down, softly but firmly, on her earlobe, her small hoop clinking against his teeth. “And maybe I need to claim her the way we both need.”
If she’d given him any indication she wasn’t ready, that he was pushing her too hard, he would’ve backed off. She didn’t.
A quaver went through her as she reached up to stroke his jaw. “Let me put the pizza in. Then we’ll…discuss.”
He stepped back, waiting while she fiddled with dials and pulled down the oven door. Bent as she was, the tie of his apron dangled over her ass, bringing his focus to the soft pink slit beneath. As she pushed the pan across the grill rack, he knelt and pushed his tongue inside her, wrapping his hands around her thighs to hold her still. She let out a relieved moan and grabbed the stove, holding it as he surged into her without pause, dragging the bead over her damp flesh.
“God, your mouth and your cheeks are so cold…” She reached back and framed his face in her hands, keeping him right where he was.
Leaning in, he nipped her clit, rasping his piercing over it while he parted her wet folds. He traced her opening with his thumb, giving her just a little of it to clench.
Even in the faint light over the stove he could see the glistening moisture he couldn’t lick fast enough. More and more slid over his tongue, so he fucked her with it again, striking that spot inside her that swelled so readily and warned of her impending orgasm. He felt it building in her tensed thighs, heard it in her agonized breaths.
He palmed one swell of her ass, releasing a groan of his own at how perfectly it fit in his hand. He did the same with the other, spreading her pussy wide for him. Instead of diving back down, he rimmed the pucker between her cheeks with the tip of his tongue, smiling at her ragged whimper.
He’d take her there too, after he pinked that beautiful bottom until her arousal dripped down her inner thighs.
“You get so wet for me.” He rolled the bead over her ass. “Do you want my cock?”
She shifted her hands into his hair, yanking hard. “I want it. I want you. But first…” A gasping giggle escaped her. “I want to shut the oven door before my pussy incinerates.”
Laughing, he pulled back and rose, following the line of her spine with his tongue while she shut the door. He grasped her breasts under the apron, pinching the tight tips, making them tighter.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised before heading down the hall to quickly take care of business.
And to gulp down about a gallon of cold water. He had a feeling he’d need the hydration.
As soon as he returned to the kitchen, he whirled her toward the center island, hooking a hand under her leg and lifting it onto the lower bar meant for wine. As soon as she was open to him once again, he sought her clit, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. She braced her elbows on the island, jutting out her ass, and he didn’t think.
All he could hear were her pleas. All he could see was that taut flesh, just waiting for his hand.
He smacked her softly, testing them both. Then harder and harder, switching sides. He could smell her now, her need subtly tingeing air already full of the scents of rising dough and spicy sauce. She widened her stance, rocking into his hand, begging for it even as pale pink marks rose on her skin. The bruises from her fall were already beginning to fade, the mosaic of mottled colors blurring as he made her his the only way that would last longer than the sound of his words.
For the next day, every time she sat, she’d think of him. Maybe then she’d experience a fraction of what he’d gone through every night he’d laid in bed and tried to scrub her image from his brain. She’d remember him alternating his sharp slaps with the slide of his fingers along her sopping pussy and the press of his thumb over her pulsing bundle of nerves. The questing finger he worked into her tight ass, easing past the ring of muscle to help spread the warmth from his hand into her core.
Pressing his face into her hair, he slid into her pussy, plunging into her without hesitation. He alternated his thrusts with smacks on her ass, and she tilted her hips into his sensual blows.
Perspiration blurred his vision, but he blinked his eyes clear, desperate to see her arch her back and grind into his groin as if she couldn’t get enough. He rubbed her bottom, shocked by how warm it was, then let out a groan once he let himself look. Her inflamed skin had passed pink into red, and his fingers had imprinted her skin just the way he’d envisioned.
She squeezed his cock where it was embedded inside her, trying to clasp him deep. He pulled out and rammed home again, losing the thread of anything but the blind need to keep pumping into her. She arched, acceding to his unrepentant thrusts.