Page 41 of Corkscrew You
“Is ‘douche’ one of your acceptable swears?”
“I don’t have many. Make the most of it,” I say. “Well? Code word or not?”
“Jesus.”
I nod, slowly. “Could work.”
He’s grinning now. “Did you get the inspiration from BDSM?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “Only time I’ve been tied up is when I got tangled in a sports bra.”
“You,” he states, with affection I’ll choose to believe, “are a piece of—”
“Pie!” I just remembered. “We can have pie for dessert!”
I fetch the pie, and a second spoon, which I offer to him.
“Want some?”
He tries a tiny amount, and his eyes widen.
“That,” he points with the spoon, “is fucking amazing.”
And then I do something I’ve never done in my life. I stick my finger in the pie and curl it into my mouth. And I suck on it, slowly, with my eyes all the while on Nate.
Whose own eyes darken instantly.
“Nom de Dieu,” he mutters. Which I guess is French.
I stand and scoop up the pie box. Then I do a wiggle walk out the door. I hear his chair scrape as he pushes it hastily back.
We reach the bedroom – I kept the door closed, so no cats. In seconds, we’re naked and I’m lying on the bed, placing a dollop of cream and pie on each breast, watching Nate’s cock reach an impressive full salute as he stands above me.
“Holy shit,” he says.
That’snotFrench. I know that much.
He lowers himself over me, and slowly begins to lick the pie off my skin. My nipples are so sensitive, they’re almost painful. I donotwant him to stop.
But then my breasts are clean of pie. The box is next to me, and propping himself (athletically, I have to say) above me, Nate scoops pie with his own finger and hovers it around my lips. I take his hand and guide his finger into my mouth, sucking its whole length, slow as I can.
His eyes close, and he stifles a curse word (language indeterminate). Having felt like he was the one in total control earlier, I amrelishingthis sense of power.
With a quick, sneaky manoeuvre, I manage to overbalance him, so he’s forced onto his back. And before he can protest or shift, I have a scoop of pie and I’m straddling him with evil intent.
There’s a fractional second where I can see him mull his options. He chooses wisely, lays back in surrender on the pillow, and lets me get down to it.
“Shit,” I hear him mutter, as I spread Iris’s best key lime and a whole lot of cream over the head and down the shaft of his cock.
I follow the pie with my tongue, and his whole body tenses. I take the base of the shaft in one hand and work my tongue up and down the underside ridge, flicking it over the head, which makes his cock jump like it’s afraid I’ll hurt it. I won’t. Maybe alittlenip just so it knows who’s in charge.
“Fuck … Shelby…”
It’s a feeble protest, and I ignore it. I place the head in my mouth, just the head, and start to tongue and suck it. My hand slips down to his balls and I cup them, because balls need love too.
He’s making some kind of noise up there, but I can’t make out actual words.
I should stop tormenting him, fun though it is. I take him all the way into my mouth and apply myself seriously to making him even more inarticulate.
