by Shandi Boyes
“Any old kitchen will do.” Her husky reply has pre-cum seeping into my pajama pants.
I drag my hand down her stomach before cupping her pussy. The generous spread of her thighs gains me immediate access. “Can I have the pleasure of crossing that item off your list?”
She moans as her hips gyrate. The dampness of her panties makes me want to accept her nonverbal reply, but I can’t. I need words. I need confirmation. I need her.
“Words, Harlow. I need to hear your words.”
Faster than I can snap my fingers, she spins around to face me. The vein feeding my cock throbs when she hooks her thumbs into the spaghetti straps of her nightie to drag them off her sun-kissed shoulders. The material slips down her delectable body without a single hang-up. Her panties are removed just as swiftly.
Stripped as bare as she makes me feel, she raises her eyes to mine. “Yes, Cormack. Always yes.”
My pulse increases when she falls to her knees as if the wooden floorboards are made of silk. I groan when my cock slaps my stomach, its buoyancy a credit to Harlow's eagerness to have it between her lips. My pants aren't even huddled around my knees when her tongue delves out to lick a bead of pre-cum on the crest of my cock. My head falls back as my hands dive for her hair. I need to dampen her eagerness or I'm going to make a fool out of myself, and there is no chance of that happening. I didn't hold back my desire to cum for every minute of every hour we've fucked to ejaculate within seconds of having her mouth wrapped around my cock. Even when she is giving head, her pleasure must come first.
“Slow down. You’re the one who is supposed to be fucked senseless.”
My demand doesn’t weaken Harlow’s resolve in the slightest. If anything, it makes her more determined. She hollows her cheeks before taking her lips to the very base of my cock. The little gag she releases when my crown hits the back of her throat inflames my cheeks. I shouldn’t love the sound of her choking on my cock, but I do.
After flattening her tongue along the vein feeding my manhood, she slowly drags her lips back to the tip. She glances up at me, loving that I'm utterly defenseless to her onslaught. She could do anything she wants, and I'd never stop her. She's got me by the balls—literally.
I rock my hips forward, evening the playing field. I may be utterly defenseless to her, but I’m not the only one being ruled by my libido. The power Harlow has granted me the past week only occurred in the bedroom, but just knowing someone as independent and strong as her was willing to relinquish her power to me made me feel invincible.
I feed my cock in and out of her mouth, taking back some of the control while also cherishing her gift. She works my manhood in a way no woman ever has. She worships it for how it makes her feel, not with the hope it will move our exchange to the next stage more quickly.
“Hmmm,” she hums against my sack when more of my pre-cum seeps onto her tongue.
Usually, at this stage I'd start pulling back. It isn't because I don't want to come in her mouth; I'm just greedy. I want both her mouth and pussy to caress my cock, but this morning, I'm going for a different tactic. I want her to taste me as I have her the past week. I want to see her nostrils flare when my cum pumps onto her tongue. I want her to see what she does to me, to experience it firsthand.
“I’m going to come in your mouth, Harlow.” A bit of hesitation thickens my veins. I didn’t mean for my suggestion to come out sounding like a demand.
Before I can voice my suggestion more respectfully, Harlow moans, “Please do.”
I take in a quick breath when she accepts me back into her mouth. She watches the prompts of my body, sucking harder at the point that expands my lungs and more carefully at the points my jaw quivers. It isn’t quivering in pain; it is pure, unbridled sensitivity. She has her lips fully drawn over her teeth and is sucking like she is removing the marrow straight from my bones—that deserves no less than a shuddering, incoherent response.
I coach her for the next several minutes, telling her to go harder and faster with every suck. She obeys my command by hollowing her cheeks even more and quickening her pace. She sucks my cock with greedy slurps and moans for several intoxicating minutes before the sensation shooting from my balls to my crown becomes too great to ignore.
“I’m going to come,” I warn her seconds before cum rockets out of my knob.
She purrs as her throat works hard to swallow. With my hand gripped in her messy locks, I continue pumping into her. I give her every drop of my spawn, my orgasm long and draining. It is the most blindsiding I’ve ever had, but it doesn’t stop my recklessness.
Harlow releases a little squeal when I hook my hands under her arms and hoist her from the ground. Her squeal shifts to a moan when I lift her onto the serving counter in the middle of my kitchen. Her naked ass sits where I usually consume my breakfast, so it is a prime location for what I am planning to do.
"Spread your legs for me, Sugar." I don't know where the term of endearment came from. I've never called Harlow anything but her name, but considering she tastes as sweet as the nickname I just called her, it feels right.
“Wider.” Harlow doesn’t miss the demand in my tone, but she sweeps her legs wide all the same. “Now ask me to touch you.”
My chest swells as quickly as my cock when she says, “Please touch me, Cormack,” without pause.
Her breaths come out in a quiver when I swipe my thumb over her clit. It is swollen with need, begging for attention. “Where do you want me to touch you?”
“There. Right fucking there.”
I flick her clit again, producing a hearty moan from her lips.
“More?”
“Yes.” Her hair falls from her shoulders when she nods her head rapidly. “Please. More. Everywhere.”
I spread her pussy lips with my fingers. My resolve waivers when the inside of her pretty pink pussy is exposed to my ravenous eyes. The image is erotic, cock-thickening, and one I’ll never forget. The sun is hanging mid-sky, ensuring no shadows are cast over Harlow’s body. She is naked head to toe. The visual couldn’t get any better.
“Do you want me to touch you here, Harlow?” I use my tongue to mark out the area I am referring to.
Her head flops back as a brutal groan rolls up her chest. “Yes. Oh god, yes.”
I hover within an inch of her pussy before silently demanding the focus of her eyes. When she gives it to me, I drag my tongue up her glistening slit for the second time. The frantic thrusts of her nostrils triple as she watches me devour her. She is sucking in breaths so sharply, I’m afraid she is hyperventilating, but I continue devouring her sweet pussy for breakfast, certain she’d request I stop if I was doing anything she didn’t like.
Mere seconds later, her angelic voice breaks through her boisterous moans. “Oh god. . . Oh my. . . I’m. . .” She grinds against my mouth, her grip on my hair a little rough.
“Give it to me, Harlow,” I command against her drenched lips.
Her sweaty palms slip out from beneath her at the same time her shoulder blades meet. Although her change in position steals her eyes from my view, the arch of her back makes up for the loss. And don't forget the sweet taste overpowering my taste buds.
She has barely stopped shaking when I grip her hips and drag her off the kitchen counter. Although I’d like to fuck her where she lies, the counter is too high. Even being on my tippy toes doesn’t help the situation. Mercifully, the dining table doesn’t have the same issues.
Harlow's smile competes with the sun when I swipe my arm across the wooden table, clearing away the dishware with the brutality of a starved man. I place her on the very edge of the table, ensuring the sturdy material doesn't hinder her ass and pussy.
“Lie down and grip your tits. This is going to be rough.” I’m not afraid her breasts are going to bounce off her chest. I just want to watch her fondle herself. “Fucked senseless, right?” I double-check, suddenly hit with a bout of worry.
After the charges, I never fucked for pleasure. It was more n
eed than anything. I needed to release tension, so the entire event centered around the final act instead of the buildup. Now, I’m not just enjoying every minute, I want it to last forever.
Can you imagine the hardship? I have a lady who fuels my desire to come with nothing but a smile, lying before me as naked as the day she was born, glancing at me with admiration. But instead of letting my desires override me, I place them on the backburner. That’s a fucking hard feat—one I never accomplished before I barreled into Harlow’s life with a heart made of steel and my morals on the blink.
She reminds me there is more to life than just acquisitions and money. That the number of digits in my bank account have no bearing on the quality of my life. One glance into her eyes has me recalling the freedom I felt when I walked away from my family inheritance nearly a decade ago. I want to live. She revives my campaign.
“Come with me to Mummo Koti?” Although my tone sounds demanding, the sheer plea in my eyes reveals its falseness.
Harlow glances at me, shocked. I've asked her this question many times the past week but not once has it been when my cock is braced at the entrance of her pussy.
“I want to spend time with you. I just don’t. . .”
I stuff the first two inches of my shaft inside her, stopping her refusal midsentence. She’s worried it is too early in our relationship for the dreaded “meet the family routine.” I don’t think it is. If you exclude our little hiccup last week, we’ve known each other for two months and been official for two weeks. To an average, everyday American, that may not seem long. But for a man who’s never shown anyone this side of him, it feels like a lifetime.
"Please, Harlow. This isn't about meeting the family. It is about showing you who I am striving to be. Besides, you've already met Clara and Colby; there aren't that many members of my family left to meet."
I slide in another two inches, persuading her in a way I should be ashamed of, but I’m not. Her pussy sucks around me, appreciating my intrusion, but her eyes are the clearest they’ve ever been. She’s not being coerced by lust. Her romantic heart, on the other hand. . .
“Isaac is going to be there. He has shares in my corporation. He asked yesterday if he could extend an invitation to Izzy. I’m sure his invite would sound more appealing if it came from you.”
Harlow sucks in three rapid-fire breaths. It isn’t just my confession stealing the air from her lungs. It is my cock fully sinking into her heat.
“So what do you say? Will you come with me? Ask Izzy? We’ll make a long weekend of it.” My words are strained through gritted teeth. I can’t be balls deep inside of her and think straight. If she doesn’t answer me soon, I’m going to drop my campaign and pick up a more exciting, pussy-worshipping one.
With silence comes more recklessness. Not from me. From Harlow.
“You’ll come?” I confirm, not wanting the lust hazing my mind to misconstrue her nod.
Smiling in a way that makes me forget I came twenty minutes ago, Harlow nods again.
“But on one condition.” A flame sparks in her eyes as her wicked side comes out to play. “You’ve got to fuck me senseless first. If you fail, our deal is off.”
I slant my head to the side and arch a brow. “Is your bakery wheelchair accessible?”
Although confused by my question, Harlow still nods.
“Good, because you’re not going to be able to walk by the time I’m finished with you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Harlow
I'm drawn from my wicked thoughts when Izzy's massive sigh booms into my ears. We've spent a majority of our morning moving Izzy into her swanky new apartment. Although my muscles should have been used more than my brain, my thoughts have shifted continuously to Cormack.
That thrilling morning in Cormack's kitchen was a little over two weeks ago, but I remember it as if it were yesterday. My god—the past two weeks have been a modern day fairytale. Usually, I'd cringe at the mention of knights in shining armor and helpless princesses, but for some reason, the idea of being swept off my feet by Cormack riding in on a white horse doesn't sound as daunting.
He treats me like a princess seconds before fucking me like a wench. My life is a fairy tale. Perhaps that's why I've been reluctant to share news of our blossoming relationship? I don't want the bubble to burst. I'm not even close to getting my fill of him, so the last thing I want to do is encourage interference. If we come out as an official couple, we'll be required to do all the things standard couples do: double dates, leaving the bedroom for more than an hour each weekend and meeting the family.
Speaking of family get-togethers. . .
I flop onto the sofa next to Izzy, hoping the novelty of her new apartment will weaken her resolve. Ever since Cormack invited me to his family estate, I've been nagging Izzy to come along. She’s been as reluctant as me. Not because she knows of Isaac's plan, but because her hard-ass boss is more demanding of her time than I am of Cormack's.
“Can you smell that?” Izzy eyes me suspiciously when I inhale a large breath through my nose. “That’s the smell of freedom!”
She giggles, knowing every word I’m speaking is gospel. Izzy loves her friend/somewhat aunt like a mother, but there is an immense amount of freedom that comes from having your own space. That is why I live above my bakery. With rent in Ravenshoe at an astronomical price, I either moved in with my cousin or moved into my loft. I love my cousin—she is more of a friend than a side effect of my father’s large family—but I wanted my own space. My loft might be tiny, but it is still mine.
“Speaking of freedom, did you get your hard-ass boss to give you the long weekend off?” I ask Izzy after twisting my torso to face her.
She screws up her nose, responding more to my accurate description of her boss than my question. “Yes.”
The eagerness in her tone surprises me. The expression on her face is anything but pleasant, but there is a certain amount of hope in her tone that can’t be missed.
My eyes roll skyward when, for the umpteenth time the past two weeks, Izzy asks, "Where are we going again?"
I give her my best stink eye before moving to a stack of boxes balancing on a side table. Izzy likes Isaac, that is as much gospel as me declaring my love of sugar, but if I spoil our ruse, she’ll never come on our weekend getaway.
Although I hate lying to her, I must. I’m scared shitless of meeting the rest of Cormack’s family alone. Colby was a bundle of mischief two weeks ago, but the two times I’ve met Clara were the equivalent of swallowing bread without butter. It was stiff and highly awkward. I can only hope Cate takes after her brothers.
At the exact moment I secure two dusty old mugs in my hand, Izzy arrives at my side. “What are you looking for?”
"We need something to wash down this totally overpriced bottle of wine with," I reply, raising the bottle Cormack left on Izzy's doorstep this morning.
I'm not going to lie. When I first spotted the bottle, my heart skipped a beat. It is the same wine I stole from Matthew when I ended our date by introducing him to Cormack. It wasn't a very polite thing for me to do, but at the time, I was painting Cormack and Matthew with the same brush. My logic was correct; I just didn't notice their different strokes. Cormack was avoiding me so he wouldn't act on his desires. Matthew pursued me so he could.
I glare at Izzy like she is insane when she asks, “Do you think we should drink it? It looks very expensive.”
She'd have a coronary if she saw the price tags on the bottles in Cormack's fridge. This bottle cost in excess of two hundred dollars, but Cormack didn't gift it to her to see it sitting on her mantelpiece. Something so exquisite shouldn't be glimpsed from a distance. It should be devoured and enjoyed—cherished, even. That’s what I do to Cormack, so why can't we bestow the same privilege upon this equally scrumptious bottle of wine?
I answer Izzy’s question with a pop of the cork. After pouring a generous helping into the mugs I discovered, I hand one to Izzy. “To freedom and expensive
bottles of wine.”
A fire blazes through Izzy's chocolate brown eyes. "To freedom" she mimics before taking a mouthful of the aromatic wine.
And getting tied down in a way you’ll never see coming. . .
“Table 23 said they haven’t received their skinny chai yet; can you check how long Renee is going to be?”
Phoebe, my latest recruit, nods before heading to the coffee machine that's been working nonstop the past two hours. The breakfast rush hasn't been this hectic in months. I love my bakery's sudden revival, but I am exhausted. I need to hire more staff, but my worry that this sudden surge has more to do with the upcoming long weekend makes me hesitant. Even though I could put my new team on temporary contracts, I crave stability, so I can imagine how it would feel not knowing if your job was still going to be there tomorrow. With dependency comes capability. I want to offer my staff both.
After dragging my sweat-coated hands down my apron, I raise my eyes to the next customer in line. Yes, I have a line today.
“Welcome to Harlow’s Scrumptious Haven, how can I help you?” The cheer in my tone chokes when my eyes lock in on a pair of icy baby blues. “Clara, hi. What can I get you?”
She looks seconds away from barfing when I wave my hand to the cases of sweet treats. “My trainer would have a coronary if I ate any of those.”
I nearly drop the line that a little sugar never hurts anyone, but I keep my mouth shut. The tension radiating off Clara is so intense, I’m beginning to wonder if my AC is on the blink. It isn’t hot today, but she eliminates the need for a furnace.
“If you’re not here for cake, why are you here?” I bite on the inside of my cheek. My tone was way too snarky. Even though she ruffles my feathers, I am still at my place of employment, so the least I can do is be polite.
"I'm swamped at the moment, but if you're happy to wait until it slows down, we can sit and have a chat." That’s better. My tone was professional, yet friendly.