Page 40 of Root

For the first time in my life, the cookies are a distant second, so far down I can’t even see them.

Jess leans in and her breath mingles with mine, it’s like a kiss from a living ghost, the tease against my mouth, and she curls her hands in my hair. Mine are sliding higher, heading to the prize. I stop just shy of it, and her breath is ragged.

Or maybe that’s mine. It’s hard to tell.

“The cookies,” I say, “are from scratch.”

I turn, skimming my nose and mouth up along the column of her throat, nuzzling against the wild burst of beats from her artery, and then across to her lips, brushing against them with my cheek.

She pushes against me, almost like she wants to pull away and get as close as possible, all at the same time. My cock’s fucking beyond hard and her thighs part a little more letting me press closer.

A soft moan escapes her. “I like from scratch.”

“Be good then…” This time, our lips touch, and I kiss a soft line across them. She follows like she wants more. Fuck, I want more.

“But I’m never good.”

“I know. That’s why I like you.” I lean my head back and her eyes are closed. I grab a cookie and slide it over her mouth and she shudders, lips parting as I feed her a bite.

I deliberately smear chocolate and a few crumbs on her lower lip. The cookies always have that melting property about them like Mia’s a witch when it comes to chocolate.

She looks divine like that, a slightly sullied goddess.

It’s so perfect that I lick it up, taking my time, sucking on her lower lip. She moans, her lips parting, and I slide in my tongue.

The kiss is slow, meandering a drawn-out meltdown that ends in flame. It’s the kind of flame a man doesn’t mind being consumed by, one that’s soaked in need and want, one that promises death by desires fulfilled.

I lift my head. “Chocolate is a perfect accompaniment to you, Jessie.”

“I’m not food.” She lets go of my hair to run her fingers along my chest, over my nipples and I may as well be naked in this kitchen, that’s how much I feel the slip and scrape of her touch.

The rough edge is exactly what I need, desire, and I feed her a little more cookie, licking her lips and into her mouth right after I do. I don’t have even the remotest hint of food fetish. I’ve never covered a girl in cream and licked her clean.

Not even my own.

But with Jess? Fuck, I want to paint her in chocolate and lick every inch of her. I want to dive into the layers. I move my fingers up against her cunt and she thrusts into me, her hand at my fly, her palm against my cock.

I lick all the chocolate from her mouth, her tongue, and it’s no longer just chocolate. It’s Jess and chocolate.

There’s a sound, a rumbling, like my motor’s revved all the way to a thousand, like the blood roaring in my ears and—

“Rush?”

Jess goes stiff, which is my job. And I will the owner of that voice away.

When Rose doesn’t say anything else, I lick a spot behind Jessie’s ear, and she melts.

“Rush.”

Fuck.

“Stop,” Jess whispers. “We’re not alone. I mean, we shouldn’t be—”

“It’s fine.” I don’t want her words. I know we shouldn’t be doing this. I’m not sure she likes me. She wants me, but it’s not the same and I don’t care.

“Rush.”

“Rose?” I ask.

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