Page 13 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“Sort of. But I don’t mind.” I’m getting impatient now and lift my breasts higher to encourage him. “Go on hot stuff, take it off.”
He lowers to his knees and rubs his stubbly cheek against my cleavage. It’s an odd move for sure, but damn, it feels good.
“Gosh, I’m just amazed it gives you the support you need.”
Alright, I’ve had enough.
I run my hands through his dark hair, gather a clump, and give it a playful tug, forcing him to look up at me. “Are we going to keep talking about my bra, Bacon? Or do you plan on taking it off at some point?”
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” he says with enthusiasm.
“Apparently, I do, sir, since that was the third time I asked.”
“Ooh. Sir,” he says as he reaches for the ribbon tied behind me. “I like that.”
With one pull of that taut pink bow, my breasts tumble free.
Bacon circles the woolen bra over his head like he’s preparing a lasso, then lets it sail across the room, his eyes never leaving my chest.
“Wow.” His breathing is shallow as I stand there in all my topless glory.
“Wow good?”
“Wow un-fucking-believable.” He lowers to his knees again—what is it with this guy and getting on his knees for me?— and proceeds to lavish my breasts with attention. His tongue circles the nipple of one breast while his thumb caresses the other.
“Fork me, you’re good at that,” I moan.
“Fork you?” he says as he moves his talented mouth to my other breast.
“Fork me, shuck me, fuck me, I don’t care, just get inside me already, will you?”
Bacon releases my breast and rises to his full height. He must be at least six foot one, so he towers over my tiny five foot three. He doesn’t say a word, but a devilish smile crosses his face, and he shakes his head.
“What?” I ask. “Why are you shaking your head at me? You don’t want to be inside me?”
“Are you kidding me? I’ve wanted to be inside you since the moment I spotted you in that studio audience.”
“So… what’s the problem?”
“No problem.” He hoists me up in a fireman carry like I weigh nothing and whispers in my ear, “I just need to take a bite out of your ooey-gooey center first, Cookie.” With that, he walks me down a short hallway, takes me into his bedroom, and lowers me onto his king-sized bed.
Three things happen in my mind at that moment. First, I inwardly cringe hearing my words quoted back to me—bite my ooey-gooey center? Really? Second, I desperately want to tell him my real name. Cookie felt so fun before, but the more time I spend with this guy, the more I hate that I ever lied to him. And third, I thank my lucky stars that I met this man today.
Bacon slides my thong down my legs. “You’re incredible,” he says on a reverent exhale as he takes me in, lying there completely exposed to him.
“You are too,” I whisper.
And I mean it.
He is.
In one swift motion, he pulls me by the hips so my ass lines up right at the edge of the mattress and my legs dangle over the bedframe. Maintaining eye contact with me, he lowers himself to the ground, lifts my left leg, and gently places it over his shoulder.
“Is this okay?”
When I nod in response, he embarks on a steady path of open-mouthed kisses, starting at my knee, climbing up my inner thigh, taking a delicious detour to tease my hip bone, then he finally makes contact with my clit.
It's official, this man is an expert at pleasing a woman. He starts slow and sensual. He somehow knows exactly what I want, and he’s so eager to give it to me. I gasp. I moan. My back arches. He’s perfection… and I can’t handle it for a single second longer.
