"Up for a different kind of dinner?"
"I'm always up for dessert for dinner. What flavor?"
"Chocolate chip cookie dough, the best kind."
"Can't argue with you there." I pat my lap. "Have a seat, beautiful."
She raises an eyebrow at me. "You expect me to just sit on your crotch?"
"Normal people call it sitting on a lap, but if you prefer to say crotch, we can lean that way."
"It's your crotch," she replies with indignation before letting out a heavy breath, as if my request is borderline torture. Regardless, she straddles my lap before sitting down, and I didn't miss the little smirk on her face as she did so.
She places the ice cream in front of us and holds out the spoon for me. Not wanting to prolong my dinner much longer, I remove the oven mitt despite her protest, snag the spoon, and take a big scoop and plop it in my mouth.
"Hey, I thought we were wearing the oven mitts."
"It's getting in my way of ice cream time."
I take another bite and relish in the cold, creamy taste of the vanilla base. When I swallow, I notice Emma's eyes trained on my throat, her lips wet from her tongue, and I can't help wondering what's going through that pretty head of hers.
"Want a bite?" I ask her.
She nods and licks her lips again. Despite her sitting on my lap, she's still at eye level with me, which I enjoy because it's like I can see straight into her soul, into her desires. Right now, without a doubt in my mind, Emma isn't just thinking about ice cream.
I scoop some ice cream out with the spoon and feed her a bite. I watch in fascination as her mouth closes around the spoon and sucks the ice cream off with a more powerful force than I was expecting. Hell, this woman surprises me every single day.
Sweet, motherly Emma- the girl I knew in high school and at our parties-is not in the house tonight. When it's just us, there is this electric energy about her. It floats between us. Masked is the girl who holds back the hair of her friends. Disguised is the girl who warns us about using coasters, or the selfless girl who's busying herself cleaning up after others rather than enjoying the moment. Instead, I'm graced with this lively spirit who is sucking me into her little world of sassy imagination. I want to get lost and live on nothing but her smile, her jokes, and her incredibly beautiful charm.
When I pull the spoon from between her lips, I watch her mouth expertly work the ice cream around, and when she swallows, all I can think about is what it would be like to see that sinister mouth wrapped around my cock, taking everything I can give her.
Eyes trained on each other, Emma takes the spoon from me, scoops a ball of ice cream and brings it to my mouth. I don't break eye contact with her; instead I stare into those pools of blue, and open wide, letting her slip the spoon into my mouth. I close around the utensil slowly and pull the ice cream off. Her eyes widen and then turn heady when I lift the spoon vertically and lick the metal. Her spare hand that isn't holding the spoon with me floats down her neck, her fingertips grazing her long column until they get to her collarbone. Oh hell. That's sexy. And she has no clue.
I follow her fingertips with my eyes, watching how they graze tenderly across her skin. I imagine my tongue following the same route. When she starts to plunge her fingers down toward the buttons of her top, the pit of my stomach rumbles to life with heat and my cock starts to strain at the zipper of my jeans.
Expertly one-handed, she undoes the top button of her shirt, and then the second and third. Before she goes on with the fourth, she parts the shirt ever so slightly so I can see the swell of her cleavage. Her hair floats like a fucking cloud over her shoulders, cascading down to where her shirt is open for me. How can I not imagine what she would look like with just her hair covering her breasts? The image in my head makes me even fucking harder.
Not feeling like ice cream any longer, I take the spoon, put it in the carton, and set them on the ground next to the sofa. When my hands are free, I immediately grip Emma's waist and reposition her on my lap so she's a little closer and so her pussy is lined up perfectly with my erection. When I settle her down, she gasps, her eyes widening and her breath uneasy.
I bite my bottom lip and look down at her, nodding at her shirt for her to continue. A small smile slides across her mouth as she starts to unbutton the rest, button by button, deliberately taking her time, which I can appreciate because this girl is worth taking time with.
When she reaches the bottom, she doesn't open her shirt, instead she leaves it so I can only see two inches of her soft skin peeking through. She leans forward and the fabric dips with her as she places her hands on my stomach and slowly works them under my shirt. Her palms feel like fire against my skin, igniting me with a sexual awareness I haven't felt in a very long time. As she moves her hands up my stomach, her fingers inspecting every contour of my abs, she brings my shirt up with her until her hands are on my pecs.