Baking Lessons

by Katie Allen

  Dropping to her knees in front of him, she admired his cock up close before flicking her tongue over the head, and he made another one of those wonderful growly sounds. “I wanted you. You wouldn’t have been—” she licked him again, and his hands knotted in her hair, pulling the strands just tight enough to be exciting without hurting “—taking advantage.”

  Except for the sexy, excited sounds he made, he was quiet for a long moment while she played with him, his fingers working against her scalp. “I wasn’t sleeping. I didn’t want to bother you.” The last word was a groan as she took him deep into her mouth as a reward for telling her the truth—all of the truth. Pulling back, she kept her lips tight around him so his cock finally left her mouth with a pop. His fingers clenched in her hair, and she smiled, loving that she could make him as crazy as he made her.

  “I wasn’t sleeping either.” She shoved his boxer briefs down the rest of the way and held them down as Hamilton stepped out of them, as well as his shoes and pants. “We could’ve had fun together, at least, rather than being sleepless and lonely apart.” Pulling off his socks one at a time as he raised them, she admired his feet. There wasn’t one part of Hamilton that was unattractive.

  “Look at you.” His voice was rough, and she tilted her head to look up at him. From her angle, kneeling at his feet, he looked enormous, from his tree-trunk legs to his erect cock to his furry barrel chest. He was huge and hard and all hers to play with, and the thought—and view—made her smile. “You’re so beautiful.”

  Her smile widened, and she stood, running her hands over his calves and thighs and ass as she did so. His muscles twitched and trembled under her touch, and it made her feel as powerful as he was, despite being a foot shorter and many pounds of muscle lighter. He cupped her face, leaning down to kiss her, and she stood on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss.

  Immediately, just from a kiss, her desire blasted back, as strong and wild as before. She wrapped her arms around him, stroking her palms over his naked back, loving the play of muscles under his skin. His hands slid down her neck and over her shoulders. She thought he’d head for her breasts, but he skipped to her sides, instead, leaving her nipples pointed and aching for his touch.

  His fingers slid into the sides of her panties, and he slid them down her legs, crouching in front of her to push them all the way to her feet. It was her turn to step out of them as he undressed her, and then his hands hesitated on the ankle strap of her shoes.

  “I can’t decide if I want you to take these off or leave them on,” he said, and she laughed, surprised by this tiny bit of kink. The shoes were adorable, so she couldn’t blame him for his indecision.

  “Leave them on, then.” Her voice was husky as she thought about the possibilities for dress-up later. For now, though, she was getting more than desperate. It felt like she’d waited forever to feel him inside her, and her patience was gone. She gave him a push, and he rolled onto his back. It was too graceful for a fall, so she had a feeling that he’d let her shove him to the floor, but that didn’t matter. He was down, and she was going to take full advantage of that.

  She straddled him, ready to lower down on his hard cock, but he caught her hips.

  “Condom.” His teeth were gritted, and he was sweating, as if it physically hurt him to wait.

  She stared at him, a wave of disappointment and frustration flooding her. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Do you have any?”

  “Yes. In my pants pocket.”

  Relief hit her, and she scrambled over to his pile of clothes to dig them out. When her fingers closed on a packet, she grinned, holding it up. “Thought you were getting lucky today, did you?”

  Before she could blink, he’d snatched it out of her hand and was tearing it open. “Yes.”

  She watched him roll it on, and any urge to tease him about keeping condoms in his pocket disappeared, leaving only desire. Then he was on her, rolling her beneath him in a move so fast and effortless that it made her dizzy.

  Finally, finally, he slid into her, and it was perfect. She was surprised she didn’t hear a click of two parts fitting together. It was like he was made for her, and she was made for him, and she wished one of them had figured it out months ago, because they’d wasted too much time sparring when they could’ve been doing exactly this.

  Bracing his arms on either side of her head, he kept his gaze locked on hers as he pulled partway out and then thrust in again. “Fuck, LeeLee,” he said, his voice harsh but the words gentle. “You’re incredible. This is the best feeling in the world.”

  Her legs wound around his waist as he slid out of her, only to drive his cock home again. Lowering his body down, he pressed her into the floor with his weight and another thrust, pinning her in that secure way she loved, and then he kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer as his hips moved faster, his cock drove deeper, and she kissed him back, letting her lips and tongue and her clutching pussy tell him exactly how she felt about him.

  She could tell that he understood, because his kiss grew more intense, more possessive, and his breathing grew rough and uneven. Every stroke bumped her clit and dragged his cock against her sensitive walls, driving her higher than she ever thought she could go. He broke the kiss, burying his face in her neck. Everything—the rub of his scruff on her throat and the brush of his wiry chest hair against her erect nipples and every pull and slide of that beautiful, huge cock inside her—wound her tighter until she climaxed. Pleasure buried her in wave after wave, aftershocks rippling through her as his thrusts grew frantic and fast, bumping against her ultra-sensitive clit and burrowing through her clenching, rippling pussy, stretching out her orgasm endlessly.

  He stiffened, his body going rigid, and he groaned, a long, deep sound that came from the bottom of his chest, vibrating against her throat where his mouth was pressed. He seemed to come forever, and Leah held him close, not wanting the moment, the blissful, amazing moment, to end. Slowly, his muscles relaxed, and more and more of his weight pressed her into the floor. It felt comforting and safe, but there came a point where it was difficult to breathe. Leah pushed on his shoulder, and he seemed to understand immediately, rolling them over onto their sides.

  His octopus arms wrapped around her, and one of his legs lay over hers, and she let out a small laugh.

  “What?” he asked, pulling his head back a little to look at her, his mouth crooking up at the corners as if he was ready to smile at whatever she told him.

  “I missed my horny octopus,” she said.

  “Horny octopus?”

  “That’s you.”

  “I figured that, but why is that me?”

  She smiled at him sleepily, still floating in the residual pleasure. “Because of the way you wrap your entire body around me in bed, like a form of aggressive cuddling.”

  When he gave her a wary look, as if he wasn’t sure how to take it, she laughed again and gave him a pat. “I love it. It makes me feel safe. Besides, I think everything you do is adorable.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.” Looking at him, she didn’t hesitate, didn’t agonize about whether to tell him or not. He was Hamilton, and she trusted him. “That’s how I realized that I love you. Even little silly things, like the way your left eyelid twitches when I annoy you, or how you put so much cream and sugar in your coffee. There’s no one else in this world, not even my grandma when she was alive, who I found universally adorable. Not until you.”

  He went still for a long time, long enough for her to wonder if it had been too soon to tell him. She didn’t regret it, though. She’d never regret telling him how she felt.

  “I love you, too.”

  She tried to sit up, but his octopus limbs kept her down, so she turned her head to stare at him. “Really? You don’t have to say it back just because I did.”

  “How could I not love you?” His face was more open tha
n she’d ever seen it before. That look and his words made her heart squeeze in the very best way. “Even when you couldn’t stand me, you still fed me cupcakes.”

  “With extra frosting.”

  “The extra frosting is the best part.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Leah jerked awake. The strange surroundings confused her for a moment until her brain woke up enough to remember that she was in Hamilton’s loft. She grinned at the thought of the previous evening. Every sexy daydream about him had paled in contrast to the reality of Hamilton and his magnificent penis.

  He was sleeping next to her, not aggressively cuddling her for once. His breathing was heavy and deep, his face more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. Moving carefully so as not to wake him, she reached for the nightstand and checked the time on her cell. It was barely two. She made a face, knowing that she was too wound up to sleep.

  Sliding out of bed, she padded silently down the stairs. The city lights illuminated the loft, and she grinned at the sight of their clothes scattered around. It looked like a closet exploded, and she loved that Hamilton—her adorably uptight Hamilton—had just left this untidy mess and stumbled upstairs to fall into bed with her. They hadn’t even showered after rolling around on the floor, and Hamilton had seemed unconcerned that they were sticky with sweat when he’d wrapped her in his arms and fallen into a heavy sleep.

  She snagged his dress shirt from off the floor and pulled it on, fastening a few buttons to keep it closed over her breasts. Not even bothering to search for her panties, she stayed bare, liking the touch of cool air on her damp, swollen pussy.

  Thinking about Hamilton, she smiled, moving aimlessly through the living area. She was not surprised when she ended up in the kitchen. She needed to bake. The urge was pushing at her, telling her that she’d be twitchy until she started mixing some flour and sugar and butter and eggs. Frowning at his refrigerator door, she realized that she couldn’t make anything here. She could almost guarantee that the man didn’t have even half the ingredients she needed.

  She glanced up at the loft. Even if he had the most well-stocked pantry in the universe, it wouldn’t be right to wake him by banging around in his kitchen. He’d admitted that he had sleep issues, so the heavy slumber she’d left him in was precious to him.

  There was only one solution, and it was freaking her out.

  She was tempted to sneak back up the spiral stairs, cuddle against Hamilton, and forget that she’d even thought about baking, but she knew that would be impossible. She’d just lie there, growing more and more agitated, until she gave in, got up and made something sweet.

  Stiffening her shoulders, she crept over to the entry, grabbed her bag and slipped out the door. It wasn’t until she was halfway down the stairs that she realized she was in Hamilton’s shirt and nothing else—no shoes or pants or even underwear. She didn’t dare return to the loft, though. If she did, she’d never leave, and her bakery business would wither and die.

  She couldn’t let that happen. It would mean that her grandma’s small inheritance, all the hours, all the early mornings, all the burns and cuts and bruises—they would be wasted if she let the bakery fail. Stupid Jude wasn’t going to ruin her favorite non-human thing in the world, not if she could help it. She’d had days to wallow in her fear and anger. It was time to take her bakery back.

  Allowing her renewed anger and determination to push her, she sailed down the remainder of the stairs and unlocked the back kitchen door. As soon as it swung open, she questioned her decision, fear creeping back in. Shaking off her doubts, she forced herself to step into the bakery, shutting and locking the door behind her.

  Instead of feeling safer with the door secured, she felt more afraid now that there were two thick doors between her and Hamilton. Shoving away her anxiety, she reached for the light switch but hesitated before turning them on.

  She didn’t want to give up her ability to see outside. There was enough ambient light filling the bakery that she wouldn’t run into anything, and she’d memorized most of her recipes, so she let her hand drop away from the switch.

  It was almost painfully hard to step away from the door, but she forced her feet to move. It helped that the lighting was dim and she was barefoot, the tiles unfamiliar and cool under her soles. Instead of being the place where Jude assaulted her, it was a new place, somewhere mysterious and exciting and filled with possibilities. Her heart rate sped up, but it was from exhilaration, rather than leftover fear. This was going to be an adventure, baking almost naked in the near dark.

  She moved tentatively across the floor, turning on the oven and collecting everything she would need for a simple white cake. As she started to weigh out her ingredients, her movements loosened, became more natural. She quit glancing over at the back door, quit remembering how the gun had felt pressed against her temple, and just sank into the process, weighing and stirring and pouring the batter into the cake pans.

  As the layers baked, she took her time cleaning up and making frosting, not wanting there to be a lull. That would offer too much time to dwell on what had happened in this very room, and she wasn’t going to slip back into that, not after she’d managed to push it away long enough to mix a cake in the dark.

  The timer beeped, making her jump and spill some powdered sugar. All three layers were the necessary temperature, so she slipped them in the freezer to cool. It was cheating, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to sell this cake that she’d made barefoot and hairnet-less anyway. If she wanted to be sloppy about it, she could.

  Once the layers were cool and stacked and had the base coat of frosting, she started decorating it, squeezing plump cherries and dark stems from the piping bags onto the top and sides of the cake. It was almost done by the time her phone buzzed with a text from Hamilton.

  Coming in the back door.

  She heard the click of a key in the lock and was thankful that he’d warned her. If he hadn’t, she would’ve thought all kinds of nightmarish things by the time he’d gotten the door open. Since he’d given her a heads-up, she just glanced over at him and smiled. “Hi.”

  Even in the dim light, she could tell he’d been sleeping just a few minutes earlier. His lids were heavy, and his hair mashed down on one side. All he wore was a pair of athletic pants. “What are you doing?” His voice was rough from sleep and irritation, but Leah found him too adorable in his sleep-rumpled state to get upset about the latter.

  “I’m baking you a cake.” She piped another round, fake cherry out of bright red frosting. “Well, icing you a cake. The baking part’s done.”

  “In the dark? Without shoes? Or pants?”

  “Yep.” Despite the lack of artificial light, the cake was turning out beautifully. “I don’t have panties on, either.”

  In less than two seconds, he was right behind her, pushing up the tails of her shirt—well, his shirt, technically—and squeezing her ass with both hands. “Why...?” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat. When he spoke again, he still sounded hoarse. “Why are you making me a cake in the dark wearing just my shirt?”

  “I needed to.” She knew she’d just make a mess of the cake if she tried to continue with his hands on her bare ass, so she withdrew the piping bag and tip and leaned into his touch. Tipping her head back so she could see him, she held up the frosting. “Open your mouth.”

  He ignored the command, continuing to frown down at her. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I would’ve come down here with you.”

  “You were sleeping.” Since he wouldn’t cooperate, she squeezed a tiny rosette of frosting onto his lower lip. When he used his teeth to scrape it into his mouth, she grinned. She had him now. “And your cake wouldn’t have been a surprise if you’d helped make it.”

  “What’s the cake for?” The question was absent as his fingers worked on her ass and his gaze locked on her mouth.

  She gestured at i
t. “I put frosting cherries on it. Your cherry cake.” He’d missed a small swipe of frosting on his lip, so she stood on her tiptoes, tugging his head down until she was close enough to lick it off. “Since we popped your cherry last night.”

  He stiffened for a second in surprise and then laughed, a happy sound that echoed through the dark kitchen. Leah smiled. Despite what Jude had done and tried to do, this bakery would never be his, not when Hamilton’s rare, beautiful laugh filled the space, clearing out all the shadows.

  With a pretend growl, he pulled back a hand and smacked her ass sharply enough to make her yelp. Heat spread through her, and she pushed back into him. “We’ll have to share the cake.” His voice was dark with delicious promise as he latched his hands around her waist and lifted her feet off the floor. He carried her over to the dish sink with an effortless ease that stoked the fiery need building in her. Evidence of her desire dampened her pussy and wet her bare inner thighs.

  “Why are we sharing?” A delighted shiver rippled through her. “You didn’t pop my cherry last night.”

  Instead of answering, he reached around her and undid the few buttons she’d fastened. Sliding his hands down her arms, he pushed her sleeves down before gently extracting the piping bag filled with frosting that she still clutched. The shirt fluttered to the floor as he urged her to bend at the waist. She felt so exposed, standing naked in her bakery kitchen, but it just added to her excitement. Laying the bag on her flat back, he lifted her hands to the edge of the large, square sink. She gripped tightly, knowing that she’d need to hold on to ride out whatever mind-blowing plan Hamilton was concocting.

  He leaned over her, not quite touching. His heat covered her from neck to heels, and she had to stop herself from squirming closer to him. His hands trailed lightly from her shoulders, across her back and down to her ass cheeks. When he gripped them tightly, she moaned, the sudden change from his barely there touch to direct, hard contact overwhelming her with desire.