Page 6 of A Taste of His Angel
Mr. Fischer flattens them, and I silently plead with him to open his mouth. I blow out a puff of air when he finally does, and pleasure rockets through me when he allows me to feed him. He moans as I slide the fork out, and I cut another bite, ready to feed it to him again.
Mr. Fischer shakes his head. “Better not.” He pats his belly, which I realize he does quite often when I offer him one of my desserts. Add in the way he frantically covered his broad upper half when he was shirtless, I finally put two and two together. I’d bet my bottom dollar he’s self-conscious about his body, which makes my heart sore for him.
Deciding that questioning him about it might do more harm than good, I offer, “How about we split the rest so it doesn’t go to waste?” I don’t wait for his answer. Instead of dragging the other chair around to sit next to him, I boldly shuffle between his legs and sit sideways on his hard left thigh. I was right.Comfiest seat in the house.
Mr. Fischer sucks in a harsh breath, his hand coming to rest on my lower back. With my heart beating out of control, I bring a bite of pie to my mouth, licking the fork clean before nervously handing it back to him, wondering if he’ll accept it now that I’ve used it.
His right hand trembles as he cuts a piece. I’m even more nervous—and entirely thrilled—when I lay my left palm on the middle of his belly, slowly rubbing circles over it. His hand trembles worse than before as he brings the bite to his lips. I nod in encouragement, stroking up and down his torso, leaning in closer when he finally puts the fork in his mouth.
When he tries to hand me the fork afterward, I don’t stop rubbing him. I part my lips, silently suggesting he feed me himself. Mr. Fischer doesn’t blink once as he cuts a bite and brings the fork to my mouth, his left hand drifting lower toward my bottom. I moan when he slowly slides the fork in and out, my hand smoothing up the middle of his chest and back down again. I push past his belly button toward the hard bulge in his jeans before I lose my nerve and bring my hand back up, shakily reaching for the fork.
Mr. Fischer’s thigh flexes beneath me, and I lean in, pressing my breasts against his front after cutting another piece for him. My breath comes faster when his hand drifts further down, now resting on the top of my butt.
I tease the seam of his lips. “Would you like another taste of my pie, sir?”
“Oh god, angel, yes,” Mr. Fischer says with a groan, his hand now squeezing my backside.
The fork clatters on the floor when I drop it, palm the back of his head, and kiss him. His taste, sugary sweet, is as delicious as my pie.
Chapter 7
Sherman
The way Miranda touches my stomach as if she doesn’t care that I’m turning soft, her plump ass beneath my hand, her breasts pressed against me, her little tongue playing with mine, her cherry pie flavor overwhelming my senses…It’s all too much and too little. I’m hungry for more.
I slide a hand up her bare arm to thumb the left strap of her cute tank top, gently tugging on it. Knowing I’m going too fast, I stop myself from pulling it down. I need to be content with kissing her, which is more than I deserve, instead of pushing her further.
Miranda ends the kiss.Damnit, I did push her too far just by touching her strap. I should have known better. I should have given her a few kisses before stepping away and keeping my distance. But after weeks of pining for a taste of my angel every moment of every day, I’m starving. Ravenous. And I lost control.
I lean back in my seat and pinch the bridge of my nose, mumbling out an apology.
“Sir?”
My eyes snap open, seeing hers are bright but hooded, her cheeks as heated as mine. She grabs my hand and brings it back to her strap, arching her back. When I pinch the material, she smiles and draws my hand down.
I don’t miss the way her eyes flare as I pull the material lower, discovering that she’s not wearing a bra again, and I get my first glimpse of her full breast and hard, pink nipple. She’s as turned on as I am, and my cock swells larger against the zipper of my jeans.
I can’t decide where to look—her angelic face or her cherry tip begging for my mouth. “Angel?” I croak out the question, still looking up and down.
Miranda straightens her back, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I watch, utterly entranced and at her mercy, as she swipes her index finger through some of the pie filling and slowly teases her nipple. “Taste me, sir,” she whispers.
One second, I’m staring at the most beautiful woman ever to exist, and the next, I have my mouth wrapped around the sweetest, most heavenly dessert known to man, swirling my tongue around her bud. Miranda gasps and palms the back of my head, pressing on it to bury my face in her supple breasts.
I tug the other tank top strap down, kissing across her chest until I can draw her untouched nipple deep into my mouth.
Miranda moans and wiggles on my lap. “I didn’t know it would feel this good.”
I pull back, hardly able to catch my breath. “This is your first time having a man kiss you here?” I rub a circle over her wet nipple with my thumb.
Miranda stands between my thighs, and I reluctantly drop my hand when she tugs her tank top up and over her head. “My first everything, sir,” she says with a sultry smile. She leans back against the table and lifts her skirt up to her hips, propping her right foot on my left knee, giving me a glimpse of her white panties.
I slide my hand up her leg and tease the middle of her panties with my thumb, finding the fabric wet with her arousal. I should be ashamed of the filth that spills out of me when I ask, “No one’s ever tasted the sweet cherry between your legs?”
Miranda shakes her head and arches her back, swiveling her hips to chase my thumb. “Do you want a taste, sir?”
She moans when I sweep the pie plate to the side so I can grab her waist and set her on the edge of the table, her legs spread to fit my hips. I start with her lips, then kiss my way down, toying with each nipple as I slowly lower her on her back. She makes a squeal of surprise when I tug her skirt and panties down her legs and off her feet, tossing them behind me, and then grab her ankles to set her heels on the edge.
Yanking my chair closer, I sit down and palm Miranda’s inner thighs, spreading her wide enough to bury my face in her short curls, closing my eyes as I take a long inhale of her feminine scent. I roll my eyes up to meet hers, seeing her propped up on her elbows as she watches me with feverish eyes as I take my first taste, licking a long line up between her pussy lips.
