Page 67 of Goal Line
“Wait, I have frosting right here,” I say, taking the lid off the plastic container bearing a clear sign of my earlier taste test. She laughs quietly when she sees the depression in the yellow frosting from where I dipped my finger in earlier.
Pulling one side of the paper liner back from the cupcake, she takes a huge bite and chews before saying, “It could use frosting.”
I dip my finger in the tub, scooping out a hefty amount of the sugary yellow substance. “Itisyour favorite part.”
I hold my finger out, expecting her to use her teeth to bite the frosting off the pad of my finger. Instead, and without breaking eye contact, she leans forward and sucks my fingerbetween her lips, swirls her tongue over it as she sucks off the frosting, and then sits back.
I’m literally stupefied watching her, so it doesn’t occur to me to pull my hand back. and it falls to her chest, leaving a thin, shiny yellow streak down her breastbone before I pull it away.
My voice is hoarse when I say, “You’ve...got a bit of frosting there.” And without even letting myself think about what I’m doing, I dip my finger back into the tub sitting on the counter next to her and use my finger to trace the streak that’s already there, covering her in more frosting.
She gulps at the same time I lick my lips, and the sound boosts the tension between us as we stare at each other, only a few inches apart.
If I hadn’t smeared more on her just now, we could have laughed about the frosting accident, wiped it off her chest, and then frosted the rest of the cupcakes. Or maybe things shifted the minute she pulled my finger into her mouth and sucked the frosting off while staring me straight in the eye?
Either way, my dick is hard, and the ball is firmly in her court. She can keep saying we’re just friends who got married if she wants, but neither of us can deny what’s growing between us.
“That’s more thana bit,” she says, glancing down at her chest. Then she looks back up at me and licks her lips. “How should we clean that off?”
I step between her legs, grip her ass, and pull her to the edge of the counter so she’s flush against me. “I have some ideas.”
“Tell me about them,” she says, each word a whisper slipping out on labored breaths.
“Tell you? Or show you?”
“Show me.” Her chest is heaving as her breathing becomes more rapid, and the need rolling off her mixes with my own, making the air around us electric with desire.
I lean in, running my tongue from the bottom of the smear of frosting, right near her cleavage, up to almost her collarbone. And then I go back for seconds, sucking up the remains of the frosting as I follow the trail again, the pads of my fingers gripping her ass as I hold her hips still while she tries to squirm.
In general, I’m not a big fan of sweets. But here I am, contemplating smearing frosting over her entire body just so I can lick it off. The inevitable sugar coma would be worth it.
Her small whimper is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, and I groan as she wraps her knees over my hips, links her ankles behind my lower back, and pulls me even tighter, so her core presses right up against my hard length.
I run my hands up her sides, along her ribcage, letting my thumbs ghost the underside of her breasts, and she breathes out, “Yes, Luke.”
And then she’s threading her fingers into my hair, holding me to her as she nips at my lower lip, sucking it into her mouth. The drag of her teeth along the sensitive flesh and the lingering scent of lemon cupcake on her breath unravels the iron grip I’ve used to lock down my desire for her all these years.
Or rather, it’s been unraveling ever since we got married, especially after that night on the air mattress. Now, I’m ready to throw caution to the wind.
The greedy little moans in the back of her throat as Iinvade her mouth spur me on, as does the way she drags her fingers down my spine and around the waistband of my pants, toying with the skin beneath my shirt. Her thumbs trace the ridges of my abs as her fingers curl into my sides, then she stretches her back to push herself deeper into the kiss, her tongue caressing mine as my fingers fist her hair, and she tightens her legs around my hips. All of it has me feeling an overwhelming desperation to be closer to her.
I pull back, just enough to take a ragged breath. I’m pretty sure there isn’t enough oxygen in the room, and if the way she’s also trying to catch her breath as she stares up at me is any indication, she’s feeling that, too.
And then, her eyes locked on mine, she brings her hands up to her shoulders and slowly slides the stretchy straps of her dress down. She leaves them hanging over her biceps as she licks her lips, as if to say,Your move, Husband.
Slowly, I move my hands from her hips to her forearms, trailing them upward at an excruciatingly slow pace...the kind that makes her breathing grow labored from anticipation and her tits strain against the square neckline of her dress. And then, she glances past me, to the wall of windows on the other side of the dining room.
“Luke, do you have shades or something?”
My condo is on one of the top floors of one of the tallest residential buildings in Boston, but from my corner unit, you can see right into the upper floors of the Prudential Building a couple of blocks away.
“Hey, Peaches,” I call out, “turn off the lights.”
My kitchen goes dark, the only light coming from the moonlight streaming in.
“You named your AI ‘Peaches?’” Eva asks with a husky laugh.
When we were little, she wanted her middle name to be Peaches, after her favorite food, and insisted that she was going to officially change her name to Evangeline Peaches Wilcott once she was old enough. Ironically, I have no idea what her legal middle name even is. It’s always been Peaches in my mind.
