“Noted. Deeper is good, and very deep is even better. Can you put your foot on my shoulder?”
“Like that?”
“Christ, Caroline, yes, like that. So…new countertop, you say? Marble might be a little cold, don’t you think?”
“Yes, yes, yes! What? I mean, what? Cold? Wel , since I’m not usual y laid out like a jel y rol on the counter, the cold won’t bother me. Besides,
marble countertops are the best for rol ing out dough.”
“Don’t,” he warned, turning his face to kiss the inside of my ankle.
“Don’t what, Simon?” I purred, my breath hitching as I felt his pace begin to quicken slightly, unnoticeable to anyone but me, the one he was
currently inside of.
“Don’t try to distract me with dough talk. It won’t work,” he instructed, letting go of the countertop with his left hand and running it lightly over my
breasts, back and forth, teasing my nipples into hard peaks with his fingertips.
A frantic energy began to settle low, low in my hips and in my thighs, the pit of my stomach and points in between. “No dough talk? No dirty
dough talk for Simon? Mmm, but don’t you think a little distraction is good from time to time? I mean, can’t you just imagine me, bent over the
countertop, working so hard for you…” I trailed off, running my fingers through his hair, bending him to me to kiss him with a wet mouth, tongue and
lips and teeth intent on bringing him deeper into me.
I was perched on the edge of my kitchen island, very much naked, as was our fair Mr. Parker, buried inside and determined to make this last
as long as possible. We wanted to see how long we could carry on a conversation while…wel …doing it. So far seventeen of the most intense,
sensual, fantastic minutes of my life, and that wasn’t counting the foreplay. O was dancing in the periphery, wondering why she wasn’t being granted
immediate access. But now I had control of the bitch, and this sweet torture was incredible. Worth enduring.
That is, until Simon asked me to place my foot on his shoulder. Holy hel , he was wrecking me. One leg on his shoulder, the other leg he held
open to one side, his hips rotating in maddeningly tiny circles, increasing in the smal est of increments. He was the one who insisted on the
conversation, and I’d been able to keep up, until the foot on shoulder. Suddenly, parts that hadn’t real y been a part of it before were now being
stimulated, and it was getting harder and harder to keep my wits about me. But real y, who needed wits? I could be witless. As long as I could be
under Simon, I was okay being witless.
But I could stil play this game right now, while a few lingering wits remained.
“Don’t test me, Naughty Girl. I wil dirty talk you right off this island.”
“Mmm, Simon, can’t you just see me? Bent over, little apron with nothing underneath, rol ing pin in hand, and a bowl ful of apples?”
“Apples? Oh boy, I love apples,” he groaned, picking up my other foot and placing it on the opposite shoulder, his hands roughly pul ing me
even farther toward the edge, his pace picking up again just a bit.
“I know you do, with cinnamon? I could bake you a pie, Simon. Your very own apple pie, even a homemade crust…al for you, big guy. You
know al you have to do is ask me…” I smirked, trying to keep my eyes from crossing as he sped up again, the sound of skin slapping not even
funny at al . There went another wit.
“How does that feel, Caroline. Good?” he asked, surprising me.
“Good? It feels amazing.”
“Amazing? Real y?” He pul ed out almost al the way before sliding back into me al at once, making me feel every single inch.
And the wit stands alone. “You know, it does, but back to the apples. Would you like your pie served hot with vanil a ice cream? Warm and
melty with—oh my God…”
“You real y want to talk about this right now? Because if you keep this up, I’m going to be forced to get real y dirty myself.”
“Dirtier than apple pie talk?” I asked, stretching and pointing my toes toward the ceiling, creating a new sensation.
“How about this, if you don’t stop al this apple pie talk,” he started, leaning down to place his mouth against my ear, making me shiver. One
hand grasped my breast, roughly turning and tweaking my nipple. The other snuck down, feeling against me until he found the spot that made me
tense and cry out. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to stop fucking you, and believe me when I say I haven’t even begun to ravage you in al the ways I’ve
dreamed about.”
He stood back up and thrust. Hard.
Last wit? Bye-bye. I ain’t too proud to beg. “God, Simon, I give. Just fuck me.”