Page 41 of My Irish Mafia King

"Killian," she moans.

"I know," I say between hungry kisses. "I should stop. But you're too damn addictive."

I carry her to the counter, sitting her down and pushing my groin against hers, feeling her lips kissing my stiff length through the fabric of our clothes. She sinks her fingernails into my chest, pushing herself away, pouting beautifully at me.

"I'm in charge, remember? And step one to making Irish buttermilk scones isnotgetting the food prep surface all... messy."

I smirk. "By 'messy', I assume you mean covered in your gorgeous release?"

"Ew," she says.

"Say that like you mean it," I groan, taking her wrist and guiding her hand to the outline of my aching cock. "Try feeling how wild you make me, how hard, and then tell me you seriously think 'ew' is the right response."

When I let go of her wrist, she keeps stroking up and down my length, moaning as she goes from my tip to my base. I take a shaky step back after a minute, seed rushing to my length, obsession gripping me and trying to make me tear down her shorts and reveal her virgin entrance.

"Good call," she says, hopping down from the counter. "Now, are you ready to be my baking assistant?"

"As long as you're okay with distractions..."

She bites her lip, looking down at my manhood making a tent of my briefs.

"I mean, I have to be," I go on, stepping forward and caressing her breasts through her top. "Your nipples poking through are making me so horny. It's like your body is begging for attention, begging me to..."

I lean down and suck her nipples through the fabric, then pull down her shirt and reveal her breasts. She gasps as I suck one of her nipples, then the other, pushing her plump, big tits together, groaning when I feel her trembling.

"Killian," she gasps.

"I know," I whisper, leaning back, finding her lips instead.

As we kiss, her naked breasts press against my chest. I slide my hands down her body and hold her hips tightly, greedily sinking my hands in. She pushes against my chest.

"I think we should get dressed if we have any chance of doing this."

I smirk. "You've got a point, but the issue is, you're just as sexy fully clothed..."

"It gives us achance, at least," she moans.

"Let's try it." I grin. "Then you can boss me around."

We both get dressed. I return wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Lucy has changed into sweatpants and a hoodie. But with the hoodie still outlining her luscious lumps and the gray sweats showing the shape of her round ass, my steel is still solid.

"Job number one, we need to clean and prep our baking area."

"Yes, ma'am," I say, snapping off a salute.

She laughs. "You're such a dork."

"Only when I'm with you."

"Do you do much cooking?" she asks as I wipe down the surfaces. "In your restaurants?"

"I handle the business," I tell her. "I've always been more comfortable with numbers, meetings, that side of things. I'm here as your humble student..."

"First, we need to measure the flour...properly."

"You better tell me what you mean by 'properly' so I don't make any unforgivable mistakes," I say.

She points her finger at me. "It means, myhumblestudent, that we spoon and level it. We don't scoop it. We don't want dense scones. I'll do that. You get the butter out of the fridge. I'll give you the privilege of rubbing the butter into the flour... wash your hands first. You must use your fingers."

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