Chapter 31

I woke up late, still lost in the warmth of the sheets, with the strong smell of garlic sizzling in the pan and something hot bubbling in the kitchen. Hunger hit me too, tearing through the laziness I still felt. I stretched out slow, my body all loose, and dragged my bare feet across the cold floor. I stopped in the doorway, quiet. He was there, facing away, shirtless, in that old pair of shorts that never hid a damn thing. He was chopping veggies with the knife in a rhythm almost like music, each move firm in those strong arms. The light streamed in through the window, sliding over the sweaty skin of his back as it rose and fell, like the effort of cooking made his muscles even more alive. My eyes dropped down, inevitably. Those shorts. Tight in a ridiculous way. Trying to hide, but failing. The curves of that delicious ass — what a bulge…

I crept up slow, without him noticing, waiting for the right moment. When he set the knife down on the cutting board, I leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his nape. I saw his body react, shivering in a goosebump that ran through every muscle in those broad shoulders.

“Hey, babe… look at this,” he said, lifting his arm to show me the raised skin. His voice came out deep, with a muffled laugh. “Get outta here, before you cause an accident.”

I didn’t leave. I got closer, pressing my body against his. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him tight to me. My lips trailed over his bare shoulders, tasting every bit of skin while my nails slid lightly over his strong, firm chest. He sighed, soft.

I started moving, in a slow rhythm, almost imperceptible, like a dance. My hips sought his, teasing, and I felt the pressure of his body responding. My desire grew, fueled by the heat coming off him, by the smell of the food, by the sweat in the small kitchen. My hands explored every inch. I slid up to his shoulders, squeezing, massaging, while the kisses turned into gentle bites. And then I went down, slow. My palms glided over his back, like worshiping the lines of his body, every curve I already knew so well.

I gave a sly smile from the corner of my mouth and let my hands, turned to claws, slip inside the old shorts he was wearing. He jolted, his body reacting to my touch, but then he laughed, trying to keep control.

“Stop it, girl, I won’t finish like this…” he said, his voice husky, with a muffled laugh.

I leaned in closer, my lips so near his ear he felt my breath.

“You really want me to stop?” I whispered.

He hesitated for a second, then murmured:

“No… but don’t distract me.”

I smiled again, in no rush. My firm hands grabbed the soft, full flesh of his ass cheeks. I squeezed slow, massaging, feeling how he started to give in to my touch. I saw his body relax, shoulders dropping, while he subtly arched back, pushing out for me. Accepting. My touch drew silent sighs from him, the heat building between us, until the tension in the air seemed like the only thing in that stuffy kitchen.

My hands kept moving, while my lips approached his nape. I blew slow against the hot skin, and he shivered. His hairs stayed raised, like I’d taken possession of his whole body.

Then I played.

“Police,” I said in a louder tone, breaking the heavy silence.

He turned his face, surprised, but before he could say anything, I went on, with a teasing smile.

“Spread your legs for the search, punk,” I said, giving little light kicks to spread his feet, laughing low as he obeyed.

With more space between his feet, I kept exploring. My hands sank into the soft flesh, squeezing slow, feeling every round curve that seemed sculpted. It was almost feminine, so round, so smooth to the touch. Parting the cheeks with my fingers, I teased, letting the tip of one slide along the hot inside, until I found what I was after.

It was rough, a texture that woke something in me. My finger paused for a moment, just to drag out the tease, but when the nail grazed there, I heard a hiss escape his lips. I couldn’t hold back the laugh.

“Hmm, what a little fag…” I teased, drawing out the word in my voice.

He squirmed, trying to keep control.

“Cut it out, I’m cooking.” His voice came out tense, like he was fighting his own body.

Getting closer, I blew against his nape, lowered my tone, and whispered, almost like a command:

“Like hell you are. You’re getting searched by the police now.”

Without warning, I shot my hand forward between his legs, rough. I found what I wanted and grabbed his balls firm. Hot, heavy, swollen against my palm. He arched his body in an involuntary move, like protesting, but he didn’t do anything to pull away. His body gave in, slow, surrendering to what was coming.

I squeezed harder, tugging lightly, feeling the hot weight against my hand. He let out a low groan, almost inaudible, but enough to make me smile. My palm now felt everything — the texture, the heat, the shiver climbing through him.

While keeping him trapped in my arms, pressed to his back, my lips kept leaving hot trails on the sweaty skin, and my free hand took the place of the other, exploring without hurry. My fingers now played, alternating between soft scratches and firm squeezes around that vulnerable spot, while my touch provoked the shiver that rose and took over his body.

Then, I felt it. Something growing.

“Well, well…” I murmured with a smile cutting through my voice. “Wouldn’t you know, the little punk’s packing heat?”

In a decisive move, I yanked the shorts down, freeing his cock, and let my hand close around it. Firm, hot, throbbing, and big. I started feeling it up slow, almost reverent, while my lips moved between kisses and bites on his nape.

The moans came right after, hoarse, drawn out, messy, filling the kitchen air like an improvised symphony. A primal melody, dissonant notes exploding in my ears like pure pleasure. It was the sound of my man, surrendered, and I savored every second.

“Don’t cum in the food, okay, babe?” I threw out, mocking, as I started jerking him off, my fingers wrapping around with teasing lightness.

He laughed, short, but his voice came out choked, almost a moan.

“Okay… but don’t stick your finger in, please.”

That submission, that pleading voice, sounded like a hungry dog begging for a full bowl. I laughed again and decided to ignore the request. I squeezed harder, picked up the speed, each move a precise combo of strength and rhythm. I had to adjust my grip for more control, my fingers now sliding with more intent. He started letting out loud roars, desperate, like he couldn’t hold back.

“I’m gonna cum, babe…” he moaned, the words dissolving into the sounds of pleasure.

“Put your hand in front or we’re gonna have extra seasoning in lunch,” I replied, mocking, as I ramped up the strokes.

He obeyed, quick, and the instant his hand covered the tip, a yell escaped him. First a thick roar, then a thin moan, almost like his soul was leaving his body. I felt when the hot jet exploded, strong, in big waves, soaking the fingers he used to catch it. His knees buckled, no strength left, and he leaned on the counter, body shaking, panting, lost in the intensity of the moment.

“Give me that sticky hand,” I murmured, laughing low. “I want an appetizer before lunch.”

I grabbed his hand and licked the fingers slow, the palm, tasting the hot, slightly salty liquid that still dripped. When I finished, I turned away without a word, satisfied, and went to take care of my day.

I left him there, shorts tangled around his knees, cock still hard and that gorgeous round ass catching the breeze from the window.

haha