Page 287 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“It would be easier if you just took it off.”
I open my mouth and the chocolate melts on my tongue. But it’s hard to enjoy it when her subtle grind sends a jolt of desire through my body, stirring my dick, trapped beneath the fabric of my robe.
“Jade,” I moan, the pleasure a mix of physical sensation and the sweetness of the cake.
She kisses me, her lips tracing the frosting on my mouth, her tongue darting out to lick it clean.
My fingers slide up her sides, but when my fingertips find the bottom of her full breasts, she leans back.
My hands freeze.
“Just cake,” she says, giving me another mouthful.
Her fingers brush my tongue as I take the next bite. I don’t resist licking the frosting from her skin and sucking her fingertip gently into my mouth.
Her hips start to roll again. The next slice is messier, as her finger smears frosting across my lips.
I chuckle. “You’re impossible.” I lick it away, my eyes never leaving hers.
She grinds against me, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “Impossible? Or inevitable?”
I catch her lips again with mine. Her lips taste of sugar and desire. Fuck, she tastes so damn delicious. Her hips move against the roughness of my robe, and the chair creaks beneath us. We’re likely going to break the damn thing.
My hands are everywhere. Roaming her back, her waist, down over the curve of her hips, clutching her tighter, and pulling her into me because I can’t get close enough.
“I told you,” I growl. “You taste so much better than that fucking cake.”
She grinds down with more pressure, and my whole body jerks. My head falls back, and a curse slips out before I bite it back.
Her hair brushes my jaw, her breath hot on my neck, and I’m hanging on by a thread.
I feel every inch of her. Every roll of her hips drags another groan out of me, gravelly and guttural. My robe loosens with each movement, heat surging between us, and I bury my face in her shoulder, teeth catching her skin.
“Don’t stop.” Her voice is shaky and wrecked.
Like I could.
My hands slide up her bare back, fingers tangling in her hair as I kiss her again, harder this time, grinding into her, meeting every slow, perfect roll of her body without penetration.
It’s torture.
It’s heaven.
Another grind, and I squeeze my eyes shut, because one more move like that and I’ll lose it right here in the kitchen chair.
A ragged sound rips from my throat, half a groan, half a plea. “If we don’t stop—” I press my forehead to hers, panting, fighting to hold on to a shred of control. “I’m not gonna make it.”
She brushes her lips over mine, teasing, like she doesn’t care, like she wants me to break.
“The condoms are in the guesthouse.”
She grinds.
That’s it.
“Shit.” I stand, lifting her with me, her legs wrapping tight around my waist.
She gasps, arms locking around my neck as I turn toward the hall.
