Page 8 of Mountain Man's Autumn Angel
He pressed the nozzle, creating a small dollop of whipped cream on his finger. “Hmm, texture looks good,” he said seriously, then brought his finger to his mouth.
I watched, mesmerized, as his lips closed around his finger. “And the taste?”
“Excellent, but I think I need a second opinion.” Before I could respond, he pressed the nozzle again, this time putting a small amount on his finger and holding it out to me. “What do you think?”
My heart hammered as I leaned forward, my lips closing around his finger. The whipped cream was sweet and light, but all I could focus on was the way his eyes darkened as he watched me.
“Perfect,” I said against his finger.
“I was thinking the same thing.” His free hand moved to cup my face. “But you know what? I think we might be able to find an even better use for this whipped cream than just putting it on apples.”
The can was still in his other hand, and the look in his eyes made it very clear what he was thinking.
“Oh really?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Really.” He set the bowl of apples aside, his full attention now on me. “The question is…are you interested in getting a little messy?”
The question hung between us, thick with promise. My pulse thrummed under his fingertips as they traced my jaw, his touch featherlight yet electric.
“Very,” I breathed.
His grin was slow, wicked, as he leaned in, closing the last inch between us. The kiss was soft at first—testing, teasing—but the moment my lips parted, it deepened into something hungry. His free hand slid into my hair, tilting my head back as his tongue swept against mine, tasting of honey and whipped cream and something intoxicatingly him.
I barely registered the can clattering onto the counter before his hands were at my waist, tugging my shirt free from my jeans. The fabric slid up, his palms skimming my ribs, and then it was gone, tossed aside. His breath hitched as he took me in, the thin lace of my bra doing little to hide my peaked nipples.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, shaking the can again before sliding one cup down to bare my breast. The cold spray of the whipped cream made me gasp as he circled one nipple with it, his eyes locked on mine. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Never.”
He bent his head, his tongue hot against my chilled skin, licking away the sweetness with deliberate, maddening strokes. My knees nearly buckled when he repeated the process on the other side, his teeth grazing just enough to make me whimper.
His fingers fumbled with my jeans, tugging them down my hips along with my underwear in one swift motion. Cool air touched my bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as he drank me in.
“Up,” he commanded, voice rough, and I barely had time to process before his hands were under my thighs, lifting me onto the island.
The wooden surface was rough against my bare skin, but I barely noticed. Not when he was stepping between my legs, shaking the can again with a devilish smirk. The whipped cream landed in a teasing stripe just below my navel, and his tongue followed, slow and deliberate, tracing lower, lower?—
I arched off the counter with a gasp as his mouth found me, his tongue circling, tasting, devouring. My fingers tangled in his hair, holding on as pleasure coiled tight in my core. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, not even when my thighs trembled around his shoulders, not even when my breath came in ragged gasps.
When the orgasm hit, it stole my breath. A wave of heat and light washed over me, leaving me boneless, his name a broken plea on my lips.
Luca pressed a kiss to my inner thigh before straightening, his own breathing uneven. “Bedroom,” he rasped, sliding his hands under me to lift me again. “I want to make love to you properly.”
His words sent a fresh thrill through me, but I wasn’t ready to move just yet. Not when I still had unfinished business.
With a slow, deliberate smile, I slid off the island, my fingers closing around the discarded can of whipped cream. Luca’s brow arched, but before he could speak, I stepped into him, my free hand settling on the button of his jeans.
“I want to taste something first,” I murmured, popping the button free.
His sharp inhale was all the encouragement I needed.
5
LUCA
The whipped cream was chilly, but somehow, that only turned me on more. Maybe it was because my body was burning up, the contrast making every sensation sharper. The cold against my heated skin was electrifying.
Whatever the reason, it threatened to make me come before I was even inside her.
