Page 59 of Revenge Cake

I’m perplexed by the longing in his eyes until full understanding hits. He doesn’t miss Lani of two weeks ago—the girl who took Ativan with alcohol and spilled wine over random guys’ shirts. He misses the Lani who called him weak on the night she met him. The Lani who mauled him in the stairwell.

In a sudden motion, he yanks me against his chest, his face crushing mine. My eyes pop open when his tongue plunges deep into my mouth. His own eyes are clenched shut, looking almost pained. His desperation leaves me breathless. I’ve never seen him like this before. Like he might die if he doesn’t kiss me.

Without warning, he pulls away, and I moan at the loss of him. His face inches from mine, his breath coming in pants, he searches my face. “Can we go to your room?”

In a daze, I stare into his eyes. I’m confused by the uncertainty I find in them until I recall that, of course, he doesn’t know I planned to seduce him today.

“Okay,” I say softly.

He smiles in what looks like relief. When he bends his knees and reaches for my body, I realize he’s planning to lift me into his arms.

“Stop right there,” I say. He halts before standing back up, his eyes filling with apprehension, as if he thinks I’m going to call it off altogether. I stare at him quietly for a few seconds, fighting the rising guilt. “Did you forget that I have fucking chocolate between my boobs?”

He smiles wide.

“It’s all over your shirt now too.” I point to his chest. “I don’t want to get it on my bed.”

“No worries.” He grips my waist and pulls me closer to him. “I’ll lick it off.”

He bends down, his breath heating my chest. He extends his tongue and takes a quick lick, the slippery warmth sending a tickling sensation into my belly. He pulls away quickly, frowning. “I’m going to be totally honest, this frosting is not your best work. It’s… I don’t know. Too strong or something.” He wrinkles his nose. “Kind of bitter.”

“I made it that way intentionally.”

He smiles warmly. “Sure you did, my know-it-all.”

He steps away and grabs a dish towel near the sink. He turns on the faucet, testing the temperature with his fingers before soaking the towel. “Come here,” he says.

“No.”

His eyes lift to mine, a questioning frown forming on his brow.

“I don’t want to be clean. I want to be dirty. None of my roommates are home. Who needs a bedroom?”

His eyes spark just before his eyelids grow heavy again. He steps closer, lifting his hand to my thigh and slowly trailing it up under my dress. I suck in a breath when his finger slips between my lips. His heavy lids drift even lower, nearly shutting. “You’re wet already.” The whisper is breathless. “And you’re not wearing underwear. You were planning this.” It doesn’t sound like an accusation. On the contrary, his tone is almost reverent, like he’s thanking the heavens for his good fortune.

I don’t deny it. He seems lost in thought as he stares down at my hips. Suddenly, he grips my butt with his palms. I squeal as he lifts me into the air and plops me onto the counter. My eyes level with his, he stares at me steadily. “You won’t regret this.”

I stare back at him, keeping my face blank in an effort to hide my thoughts. I won’t, but you probably will. Without looking away from me, he reaches his arm to the side. In confusion, my eyes dart to his hand. My eyes widen when he sinks his fingers into the sparsely frosted cake. He lifts a dark brown chunk up to my face, and I open my mouth at his cue. He lowers his hand slowly as if to feed me, but then abruptly smashes it into my face, rubbing his thumb into my mouth and across my tongue. When he removes his hand, he stares at my face for a moment, a tender smile in his eyes.

As if satisfied with his work, he leans in and kisses me hard, sifting his tongue across my lower lip before pulling away. He reaches his hand out and grabs another chunk of cake. This time he holds it in the air for a few seconds, as if to heighten the suspense of what he plans to do with it. He lowers his eyes to my parted legs. I resist the urge to pull them together. He wouldn’t do that. No way. As if reading my thoughts, he lifts his eyes to mine, his smile growing. He lifts one brow just before plunging the lump of cake into my crotch. “Is that dirty enough for you?”

My lips part as I stare at him. I glance down at the splattered mess between my legs and back up at him. His shoulders shake in silent laughter as he watches my consternation grow. “Too dirty!” My voice is shrill. “As in unhygienic dirty.”

At my outburst, he gasp out a laugh. Lowering his head, his shoulders continue to shake.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I’ll probably get a yeast infection.”

His head jerks up, his lips parting. “You mean like from cake yeast? Does it really work like that?”

I shut my eyes tight. “No, Logan. I mean from having something on my vagina that isn’t supposed to be there. From having a dirty vagina. That’s how you get yeast infections.”

He grins. “Well, I’ll make sure it gets all…cleaned up.” With that he lowers his head between my legs. The heat of his mouth makes me cry out in a whimper. It’s been so long, and the last time he did this I was in such an Ativan haze, I was hardly there, sensing his touch as if from a distance. This time I feel every warm, slippery sweep of his tongue as he licks the smashed cake from my inner thigh to my clit.

By the time he settles into the rhythm his tongue seems to have memorized, I’m almost over the edge. Seeking more of it, I rock my hips into his head, nearly tipping off the counter. I lean back to catch my balance. The motion makes me cry out, my legs involuntarily clenching around his head. I feel large hands part my thighs as he pulls away. “Not yet. I want to torture you more before I let you come.”

Feeling bereft from the loss of his tongue, I lower my head to glare at him. “You’re the one who needs to be punished!”

He makes a deep sound at the back of his throat before he launches upward, grabbing my face and pulling me in for a kiss. When his tongue brushes mine, I catch the metallic, faintly sweet taste of cake and my own pussy. He pulls away abruptly and stares into my face, his palms still bracing my jaw. “God, I’ve missed you,” he says with an aching tenderness that almost steers me from my purpose.

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