Smiling, I tell her, “I don’t anymore. She died when I was twelve. She was the one who insisted I know how to wash my own clothes, sew my own buttons, and cook my own food.”
“Wow, a man who can cook and sew? How did I get so lucky?” As soon as her words register in her own mind, she stops, a look of panic crossing her face.
I know why. She’s worried about the implication we’re together.
Deciding not to let her dwell on it, I give her a teasing grin. “Well, you’re not lucky yet, but you will be soon.” I toe off my shoes, shove my pants down to my ankles, and sheath my cock in protection, while stepping out of the bunched material at my feet.
Lyndee unhooks her bra, scoots forward, and tilts her hips my way. I can see the wetness of her beautiful pussy glistening under the fluorescent lighting. My mouth waters. If I weren’t already so crazed to get inside her, I’d take my time, teasing and licking her until she was boneless and sated beneath me.
But now’s not the time.
Now, my need for her is too great to ignore.
I take my place between her thighs and stroke my cock through her wetness. Goosebumps rise on her delicate skin. They make her nipples pebble even harder. I push forward, filling her completely in one thrust. Our moans fill the space as I reach for the back of her neck, needing to feel her skin under my hand.
I set a fast, possessive pace. I can’t help it. She brings out this side of me, this desire to claim. I need to have her, make her mine. Make her come around me. It’s quickly becoming an obsession.
She’s my obsession.
Lyndee leans back on her hands and locks her ankles behind my ass. The angle sends me deeper, allows me to drive harder. Placing my hands on the cool steel, I thrust forward, feeling the way her body starts to grip me. “Are you going to come, sweets?” I ask, mesmerized by the look of euphoria on her gorgeous face.
“Yes.”
“Do it now,” I direct, swiping a thumb over her swollen clit. The result causes her to clamp down on me like a vise. The squeeze makes it hard for me to move inside of her, but the feel of her tightness strangling me is enough to bring my own release to the surface.
“Ahhhh,” she cries out, rocking her hips as she comes on my cock.
My balls tighten and tingles race up my spine. I rocket forward, hollering out as my release ricochets through me, completely out of control. The hand still holding the back of her neck tightens, but not enough to hurt her. My mouth descends, covering hers, as we both gasp for oxygen and ride out our orgasms. When my hips finally stop moving, all I feel is a sense of wonderment and satisfaction, both because of the woman and not just the sex.
“Well, that’s something I’ve never done in the kitchen,” she whispers, humor laced in her words.
“No?” I ask, smiling as I slide my lips across hers.
“Uh, no,” she states, running her fingers across my shoulders.
“Well, me either, sweets. Probably has something to do with health code violations,” I tease, remaining perfectly still to keep myself buried inside of her as long as possible.
Lyndee groans. “Oh my God, I can’t believe we just did that here. In my kitchen. I’m going to have to do a deep clean and sanitization.”
I can’t help but snort. “You said deep.”
She swats at my arm, causing me to step back, dislodging myself from her body. I reach for her hand and help her up, though her legs resemble that of a baby deer trying to stand for the first time. They’re all wobbly and unsteady.
And cute.
So sexy, with wetness dripping down her thighs, making me want to fuck her all over again, location be damned.
Fuck, I have it bad.
“Let’s get cleaned up so we can disinfect,” I state, leading her to the small bathroom.
Inside, she grabs a towel and wets it with warm water, while I remove the condom and wrap it in toilet paper. The last thing we need is for someone like her brother to find it tossed in here. I make a mental note to take the small trash bag with me when I leave.
Once we’re both cleaned up, I retrieve our discarded clothes. As I dress again, I can’t help but steal glances of her. She’s quickly turning my entire world upside down, and even if I wanted to, there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it. I think about her day and night, and now that I’ve been inside her, it’s worse. I crave her, like an alcoholic needs booze. She’s my hit.
My drug.
I’m dressed first and go in search of her cleaning supplies. I find the closet beside the bathroom and get to work on sanitizing the workspace we just contaminated with potential bodily fluids, all while smirking, because I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.
Lyndee grabs the mop and Lysol, cleaning the floors until they shine. When we’re done and all the supplies are put back where they belong, I pull her into my arms. “This was the most fun I’ve ever had baking a cake.”
She giggles, resting her cheek against my arm. “I’ve made a lot of cakes in my time, but never like this.”
“We should do it again, don’t you think?” I ask, only partially kidding.
“Maybe at your place next time.”
“Deal,” I reply, kissing the top of her head. “What do you say we finish up so we can head out. I’m really looking forward to you sleeping in my bed with me tonight.”
She glances up, her eyebrows drawn together in question. “I don’t recall you asking me.”
“Did you not sleep well the last time?” I ask, realizing I’m more concerned about her comfort than my own.
“No, I did,” she says, a coy smile spreading across her lips. “Too well.”
“Me too,” I confess, reaching for the bowl of icing and giving it a stir. “I slept better those few hours than I have in years.” It’s not a lie, and I’m hoping tonight would have the same effect.
She gives me a soft grin that makes my heart skip a beat before turning her attention back to the cake. I watch as she retrieves the three pans from the freezer and plops them down on a piece of round cardboard that sits on a spinning tray. She trims the tops so they sit flat and fills a bag with icing. Then the real magic happens.
Lyndee moves efficiently and quickly, layering cake and icing until it’s complete. “You want to do this part?” she asks, handing me a flat scraper tool.
“Tell me what to do.”
She starts to slowly spin the cake, squeezing the bag and zigzagging a thick line of icing on the side. Then she does the same to the top, making circles nestled inside each other. “Gently place the spreader like this,” she says, demonstrating, “And smooth the icing while it spins.”
I take the spreader and step up to the tray. I give it a gentle spin and give it a try. The icing is wavy, but it’s there. “Well, looks like I won’t be inducted into the cake decorating hall of fame,” I state with a laugh.
“It’s not tt-terrible,” she stutters, trying to cover a giggle with a cough.
“It looks crooked,” I insist, smiling.
“Here.” She takes the spreader and gets to work, righting the horrible job I did on the icing. She has the sides and top smooth in seconds like the true professional she is. Leaning against the counter to watch her work, she places a star-like tip onto the bag and adds piping along the bottom and top of the cake. “Will you cut those cherries in half?” she asks, pointing to the remaining cherries.