by Dakota Gray
“So...how was your mother?”
I can almost feel my mother’s small, strong hand cupping my cheek again. That helps my painful erection deflate. “She needed help dealing with my cousin. I'm going to...do what I do.”
“And that is?”
“Remind him he's not the only living Alexander.”
Her brows go up but she only sips her wine for a second. “What does that involve?”
“A lunch at a high priced restaurant is the start.”
“That, right there, is why you often come across like a mob boss.” She sticks out her chin and curls her lower lip. Her voice is raspy like the Godfather when she says, “We will come to an understanding as we break bread.”
“I am descended from a long, prideful lineage of black Irish immigrants. Catholic to the core, who would never break the law or their mother's hearts.”
“Right,” she says in a droll tone. “Proudly religious people never break the law.”
I only smile. “Flour?”
She points to one of the many jars she has lined up near the fridge. “It's the second biggest one.” She crosses her leg at the knee and leans back on her palm. “I can see you know your way around a kitchen. That's strange for me.”
“Why?”
“Food is a necessity, and I sort of imagined you dealt with eating efficiently. You also work too much to have the time. You suffer from sporadic impatience.” Her grin goes wide. “I could go on.”
I have zero doubt she could. I roll my shoulders of all the truths she just laid on me. “I like being good at whatever I do.”
She sips her wine. “Should have seen that answer a mile away. What else are you good at? No. What do you do for fun?”
I add a half a cup of flour the broth that's simmering. When it boils I'll add the chicken, and the rest when it's ready. Her food simmers on the back burners, and she doesn't seemed worried about it.
“What's fun?”
She snorts. “It's something you do in your free time that's not work...or in any way an obligation.”
“I spend time with my friends. Nate likes building shit, so I build shit with him. Tarek does this sports trek thing in desolate places for himself and for clients at the gym. When I'm wrangled, I do that with him.”
She's shaking her head. “Nate builds. Tarek explores. You do?”
My mind draws a blank at the question. I rarely have the time to indulge in anything. Fucking doesn't count. Reading, though enjoyable, isn't what she means.
I frown as I search for the answer. There's no one thing that I consider fun. Fishing bores me. I've learned to begrudgingly like golf. I watch whatever catches my interest on television, but I’m not a fan of one show in particular. In the last six months though I can list a lot of things I tried because it caught my interest.
“Challenge myself, I guess. Learn something I don't know.”
“What was your last challenge?”
“Rock climbing. I hate it.” I laugh remembering all the bitching I did until I got it. “But I can do it now.”
“You veni vedi vici in your spare time?” Her laugh spills warmth into me. “I love it.”
“I guess I do.” I add a few spices to the thickening broth then I use a wooden spoon to catch a mouthful. “Taste this.”
I hold my hand beneath her chin to catch any stray droplets but I watch her eyes as she tastes the concoction. Her lashes flutter, and her cheeks flush when the full-bodied texture hits her. I nod.
“That's...pretty good.”
“I haven't added the actual food yet. Just concede now we'll be fucking at my place.”
She glances down and uncrosses her legs. “Are you sure about that? You haven't tried dessert yet.”
There's no better time for the lesson than now. I lower the heat on the pot and offer my hand to help her down from the counter. Her eyes light with the taste of her win. She's got me. I'm going to do what she wants.
I tell her, “I was reminded how important it is to be clear about what I need.”
“Sex? I want you to take me on my kitchen table. The counter. I haven't been subtle about the fact I want to fuck you. I'm okay with that, Duke. You have my consent. Tenfold. I know...what you need.”
Her mouth says that. I don't think she gets how deep, dark or twisted the rabbit hole can get. She should know before she jumps in. She caught a glimpse and ran. Smart fucking woman.
I hesitate and realize I'm being the good guy again. It's such an uncomfortable skin.
Needing a moment to shed him, I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss her knuckles. Each one, slowly. My heartbeat remains on full-throttle, but my skin no longer feels tight.
“What did I tell you the first time we fucked?”
“You said a lot, Duke.”
“When you're in my bed, you're mine. I will never leave you wanting. Never.”
“Okay,” she says, sounding breathless.
“I also told you this morning I needed time to do everything I wanted to do to you. Did you not trust me?”
She worries her lip before saying, “And what do you want to do to me?”
“Everything.” I inhale to beat back the need to do it all now. “Slowly. With care. Then again and again.”
Her mouth parts. “And my being naked under this apron stops you...how?” Her lips quirk up. “I'm even going to feed you first, so you don't run out of energy when you have to do it again and again.”
I drop her hand to grab a handful of her hair. “That mouth of yours.”
Her eyes brighten at the possessive hold. “And still you like it.”
I fucking do. I'm not sure if that's the problem or the solution. “Despite my better judgment, I'm going to give you one last chance to run. I still might chase you. Fair warning.”
She puts her hands on my shirt then flicks open a button. “Run from what?”
“Me.”
She opens another until her fingers brush over the hair. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not afraid of you?”
But she had been. If not me directly, how I made her feel, or even what being with me could do to her. I gently tug her head back and bring her mouth level to mine. She leans forward to kiss me, and I pull back, shaking my head. Heat flashes in her golden gaze, but she remains still, waiting for me. I run my tongue over her top lip. Her eyelids lower as she moans.
“Bend over the table.” I drop my hand from her silky strands and wait.
She brings her fingers up to her mouth. “That's it?
“I'll tell you what to do next.”
She puts a nice little hip roll in her walk as she does what I ask. Kennedy places her forearms along the table, rests her palms flat, and then glances behind to look at me with hooded eyes.
I keep harping on the three years, but something has happened in that time. She's always been a vixen. She has always seemed willing to jump head first even if she's scared or unsure. But now there's a certainty in the way she's glancing back at me. As though she understands I need control, not as a game, but a need. Control doesn't just get me off, it's my safety net. It's how I can function in any given situation.
I could also be projecting, wanting her to understand more than she does.
Doesn't matter at the moment. She's bent over with her ass arched up. Her naked I could ignore, painfully, yes, but I could have. This is my siren's call. I pluck the wooden spoon from the counter and walk over to her.
CHAPTER NINE
Kennedy’s gaze falls to my hand and what I’m holding. “Shouldn't we have safewords for this? A contract?”
I trail a circle along her left ass cheek with the wooden spoon. I flick my wrist and give her a taste of what I plan to do. She only hisses. Her skin turns pink where the wood met flesh.
“'Stop' will do for now.”
She resituates her legs, spreading them just a few inches wider. I tilt my head and enjoy the view. Her ass is an upside down heart. The swell starts just below the dimple of her lower back an
d curves out deliciously.
There's a thin, square patch of red hair framing her pussy lips. They glisten and pucker out as though unhappy with being ignored. I'm tempted to press my mouth to her and whisper promises.
And because I do, I flick my wrist again. Again. Again. I rub the wood against along the reddened skin to soothe the sting. “Did I make you come when you were in my bed?”
“Yes.”
Whack. Whack. “Did I not promise you more in time?”
“Yes.”
Whack. She lets out a whimper. I switch sides for the next hit. “Then why weren't you patient?”
She glares at me. “This is punishment?”
I shake my head, switching the spoon to my other hand. I slide my palm over her pussy. “It's an understanding. Do you want to come again? Do you need more?”
She closes her eyes and arches her back a little more for me. I play with her clit, letting her enjoy the pleasure for a moment. And, fuck, enjoy it myself. Her lips are so plump and slick from her cream.
“Kennedy...” I warn after a minute with no answer.
She clenches around my fingers. “How often do you want me to say it?”
“Every time.”
She gasps, bending her head forward. Her hair slides over her shoulders in a silky curtain. As I wait for her to get the courage, I pet her, explore the wet flesh of her slit. She looks good enough to eat. My mouth waters at the thought.
“All you have to do is ask,” I growl at her.
Her groan scrapes over me when I push two fingers into her cunt. If she doesn’t answer soon, I’ll give her a third until she can’t speak.
“Can you make me come?” her voice is a whisper.
I curl my fingers inside her and rub in slow circles. She balls her hands against the table and presses her face into it. She's the prettiest picture. I can close my eyes and hold the image of her in my mind and come without touching myself. I'm so fucking tempted as she squeezes my fingers, soaking them.
But a lesson needs to be taught, and I'm an unrepentant taskmaster. I drop my hand and land another blow with the wooden spoon. Her sharp cry digs into me.
“What do you want, Kennedy?” I slide the spoon down over her pussy lips. The threat is unspoken. “This or my hand.”
She's quiet for the longest moment. “Your mouth.”
Her answer is why I don't do safewords or live in the lifestyle. I'd be a shit Dom. I'm ready to buckle at her request. She can have anything she begs for. Fuck the lesson. I want her come dripping down my chin. “It's you, not steak that's for dinner?”
“God, please,” she murmurs.
She wins. Hands down. I suck in air to hold onto the control I do have. It fucking hurts to not do what she wants then and there, but this is the warning I’m trying to give her. The reason she should run. This is what I need sometimes—the pain. Hers and mine. I'll negotiate on how—I'm not that hard-core.
But she’s still too much of a good girl for me to tell her what I want, in detail.
I breathe through my nostrils until I can say, “Then let me be a good guest and pull up a chair.”
I help her turn around and lay on the kitchen table because there's still some good guy buried in me. But I do grab a chair and sit with her pussy right there in my face.
“Spread....” She shifts and her clit sits out to say hi. “Just like that.”
Without napkins or utensils, I have Kennedy for dinner. I ignore all etiquette. I make a mess. I loudly slurp my meal. I use my hands. I lick my fingers when it's so damn good. I don't stop when I'm full. From the way she lifts her hips half off the table and moans I don't think she minds my manners.
I have to say, best meal I've had in a while.
She serves me about three courses before I seat my fingers deep and stand. The way her pussy clenches around the digits, I know she's a come here away from soaking me up to my wrist. She's flushed from head to toe and looking at me as though I'm the only man in the world.
I can't describe how that feels, but it sinks into me until all I can feel is my heartbeat in my temples and my cock.
“Is there anything else you want, sweetheart?” I'll give it to her. I'd give her anything as long as she keeps looking at me like that.
“Yes,” she pants.
“What?”
I know the answer the moment her gaze travels down. My dick strains against my pants and is willing to answer for her. Because my sadistic streak runs a mile long, I curl my fingers and rub her sensitive spot. She can't answer if she's singing for me.
And I know if I let her speak, she'll win. I can give her pleasure that breaks her, and she'll still find the words that weaken me, that remind me no matter how smart or cunning I can be, Kennedy is...she lives in the black and white.
A decent man fucks a woman who greets them in just an apron. A decent man would have shoved his cock deep into her by now. How couldn't he? She's dripping and tight. She's begging in soft sobs as I make her come. She's tugging on her nipples in a way that lets me know I'm going to decorate them in charms the first chance I get.
The lesson isn't for her, but me. I have to drag her to the gray area before I can let my dick taste her again. That might take a while.
As she pants Duke, Duke, Duke, I can't find the guilt for that.
*****
There's something inherently soft about a woman who has just come. Kennedy is the epitome of that as she sits on my lap and feeds me steak. The small fit of the apron still gives me all the side boob I could ever wish for, but the heels are forgotten as we eat. She's enjoying my chicken and pasta, which I can attest is not better than the meal she fed me. But it's close.
“I'm surprised it's still tender,” I tell her.
“The beauty of medium rare. Believe it or not, I used to hate it.”
I scowl at her. “You mean to say you ruined steak until you started to eat it medium rare?”
She laughs, and yeah her eyes sparkle. “Have you ever eaten a well-done steak?”
“Blasphemy. My mother would have never let me.”
She purses her lips. They're kiss-swollen and I can't help but stare. She's right on that account—I am fixated with her lips. After I was done with her, I pulled her into me and used my mouth on hers. Had I not put the broth on the lowest setting, I might have burned my portion of dinner just trying to get my fill.
“You're a mama's boy, aren't you?”
“I left my mother in the dust to get over here. I very much doubt that makes me mama's boy of the year.” I tip her head back and nip her bottom lip. “My friend Nate gets that award.”
Her gaze lights with another laugh. “Nate's the manwhore, right?”
“Retired. He retires from a lot of things.” I push away a strand of her hair.
I've noticed we never talk about her. I'm not so filled with my own hubris to believe I'm just that interesting. She does it with a sleight of hand. In a roundabout way I know she's an only child like me. I know what school she went to—the local Cal State. She has a degree in Criminal Justice she never did anything with. I know these things, and I know her, but the devil is in the details.
I hold her stare. “What type are you?”
Her smile falls away, and I can almost see her close down. “Daddy's girl.”
I raise a brow when nothing else comes after her statement. “Your mother?”
“It's only been my dad since I was little.”
I shift her on my lap trying to parse through what she said, and what she didn't say. “I'm sorry to hear that.”
She blinks at me. “We have that in common now, don't we?”
“No.” The single word comes out harsh. “I'm pretty sure you have a mental treasure trove of hazy memories of a loving mother.”
She brushes a finger over my lips. “And you don't have any of your father?”
“No.” She opens her mouth to dig for more. “No.”
She sighs, and there's the disappointment. It digs in. “Did you stil
l want dessert?”
“I ate that first.”
“I do make it easy for you to say obscene things.” She shakes her head. “It's some Greek yogurt concoction I came up with a few years back. I have all the fixings.”
“Chocolate syrup?” I glance down at the apron. I've yet to give the proper praise to her breasts.
“Cherries and whipped cream...”
Things are going to get messy. So messy. A loud buzz from my pants waylays the mental images. “I have to answer that.”
She sighs and straddles my lap, facing me. “I already know it's going to be something you can't put off. You're going to have to leave.”
“It'll be nothing.”
Her brows go up. “Is that—no. It can't be hope I hear.”
Told you hope is a bitch. “You had a point?”
“I want to make you come,” she whispers. “That's the next thing I want.”
Three ways I can give her exactly that immediately comes to mind and two involve her tits. “All you have to do to get that is touch my dick.”
“Really?”
“No.”
She shifts and starts with my belt. For a moment I consider not answering my phone. It's pushing ten at night. My client, whoever they are, can survive a night in lock up or the drunk tank or whatever trouble they've found themselves in.
The button and zipper goes next. My phone stops begging for attention or my attention is too focused on her hand closing over my cock. Likely the latter. And maybe I’m wrong about only needing her to touch my dick.
Precome rises to the slit and she runs her finger over it, so fucking slowly. She spreads the liquid over the tip until more spills out. I tug at her apron to pull her closer, my cock gets trapped between us.
“Kennedy, your mouth isn’t on mine.”
“I’m considering putting it somewhere else.”
My dick twitches, and my goddamn phone goes off again. She drops her hand away with a sigh.
Let's pause here.
What sane heterosexual or bisexual man walks away from a naked and willing woman? You can't relive some moments, so when one comes along and promises the best sex you'll ever experience, you fuck your genitals off.