Page 41 of Slay Ride

As I lower myself to the quilt, Bennett is right behind me. He drops to his knees between my legs and tilts the jar over my stomach. Golden warmth blankets my abdomen and cuts a lazy trail down my side.

We’ll have to burn this quilt. It’s evidence now.

Bennett leans down so that his mouth is beside my ear. “Turn over,” he whispers. “I want you covered in this before I demolish you.”

Being destroyed has never sounded so good.

I flip onto my stomach, and warmth coats my back. His tongue follows the trail. From between my shoulder blades to the crack of my ass, he doesn’t miss a drop. His arm slides beneath my pelvis, and he raises my ass in the air before drizzling honey into my ass crack. I don’t have time to object, and then his mouth is on my asshole.

This is a first for me. I’ve done a fair bit of anal, but ass-to-mouth is new. And kind of hot. As long as he doesn’t expect me to return the favor, that is. Even with honey to sweeten the task, I don’t think I can lick a butthole.

There’s no hesitation from Bennett, however. His tongue swirls through the honey and knocks at the back door. My eyes roll into my head and I moan.

“You’re fucking filthy, and I love it,” Bennett groans before diving between my cheeks again.

I push into him, wanting more. “Not sure why you’re calling me filthy when you’re the one eating ass,” I moan.

He slides two fingers into my pussy, stroking me inside while he continues licking me. “Oh, I’m filthy. I’m fuckingdisgusting, and you’re about to let me inside you.”

More honey coats my back. Instead of licking it away, he rubs it in with his hands, massaging sweet warmth into my sore muscles. Maybe this food kink isn’t so bad after all.

I’m just about to tell him to fuck me, but a distant sound pushes my lips together. Was that a voice?

“Bennett?” I whisper.

He keeps eating my ass.

I turn to look at him, and his eyes are closed. I never knew a butt buffet could bring such bliss, but there’s no time to think about it now. Someone is definitely outside.

“Bennett, stop!” I whisper-shout. “Someone is outside! We can’t let them find us like this!”

He freezes and listens, and sure enough, someone is shouting our names nearby.

“Why would they come for us at”—he looks at his watch—“nearly five in the morning?”

I turn onto my side, and the quilt sticks to me everywhere. “Oh, shit, shit, shit! The evidence!”

I scramble to my feet and snatch the quilt from under him. He turns to the side and tries to grab the jar of honey before it topples over, but he isn’t quick enough. It rolls into the stone hearth, bursts into fine shards, and coats the hardwood in its golden blood.

No use crying over spilled honey. I toss the quilt into the fireplace and hurry to get dressed.

It’s hard to see what I’m grabbing in the dark, but it doesn’t fucking matter. Once we get our big coats on, no one will be the wiser. I cram my head into the armhole of a sweater, then find the neck on my next try. Dressing by firelight should be an Olympic sport.

Bennett is just pulling on his coat as the door flies open. I drop to the couch and try to pretend I’ve been sitting here allalong. If I can stop breathing like I just ran a marathon, I might even pull it off.

“Cat? Cat, are you alive? He didn’t kill you, did he?” Kindra rushes toward me.

Ezra stops in the doorway and sniffs the air. “What is that smell?”

“Honey?” Bennett says as he looks at me.

What the fuck is he doing? He’ll blow our cover right here and now if he uses sweet pet names in front of them!

“We, uh, got in a fight over the honey jar,” Bennett says when I don’t speak. “I dropped the jar, and it made a mess. That’s probably what you smell.”

Oh. He meant that.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m a real butterfingers. We had to burn the quilt because I dropped it right on top of it.”

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