Page 58 of Without Bound
I walk up to him and run my hands up his back and around to his chest, where I finger the short coarse hairs. I place a kiss between his shoulder blades and rest my cheek against his hot skin.
“Yeah. I’m sure. Buuuut,” I start. “Can I have blueberries?”
He looks over his shoulder, his eyes downcast and finding mine. “Of course, my little butterfly. You can have whatever you want.”
I smile wide and kiss his back again before releasing him and making my way closest to the cooktop.
Bishop goes about combining the pancake mix and water and eggs, and whisks them together.
“Baby girl,” he says and I look him in the eyes. “Can you open that drawer and pull out the cast iron griddle and just plop it on the stove?”
I follow his line of sight to a large drawer. I open it and see an incredibly organized collection of pots and pans. I spot the large griddle and do exactly as he has asked. I take it a step further and turn the burner on then search his countertops for butter.
Like we’re on the same wavelength, he nudges his chin in the direction of a tray that sits on the counter with a butter dish, napkins and salt and pepper. I retrieve it and wait until he’s ready to pour the batter on the hot griddle.
We move together like fine choreographed dance, him pouring and flipping, me stacking and plating, until everything is ready. I take our plates to the long counter and set them down in front of two barstools. He steps up behind me and places honey, a container with blueberries and forks next to the plates. I grab a couple of napkins, he grabs glasses of coconut water –per my request– and we settle into our seats.
Bishop scoops a handful of blueberries and piles them on my stack of pancakes, then pours a heavy helping of honey over them all. I lick my lips and wait for him to do the same to his, then pick up my fork and dig in.
“Ohmigah,” I mumble through a mouthful of deliciousness.
I pile another large bite into my mouth and can barely keep my lips closed as I chomp down. I groan and close my eyes with each bite. At one point I open them to find Bishop staring at me, not even having touched his food.
“Why aren’t you eating?” I ask him between bites.
“I like watching you.”
My tongue swipes over my bottom lip, gathering the honey left behind and leaving a sticky coat. I set my fork down and pick up his. I cut into them and poke at a bite of pancake and plenty of blueberries, then bring it to his mouth.
He slowly opens his mouth and I slide the fork between his full lips. Those lips wrap around the tines of the fork and I slowly pull it away. He chews and swallows and I do the process all over again. The third time a drop of honey sticks to his bottom lip and without thinking, I lean over and lick it clean.
“Mm. Tastes better that way,” I tell him.
“Hm. I better try it for myself.” He slides his finger through the puddle of honey on my plate and wipes it all over my mouth.
He sucks on my lips and swipes his tongue between them. I taste the sweet honey lingering on his tongue when ours touch. My eyes are closed so I don’t see it when he swirls his fingers through the honey once more. But I do feel it when he draws a sticky line down the column of my neck.
His tongue follows the same path and when he’s done licking me clean, he says, “You’re right. It does taste better that way.”
We go on feeding one another bites and exchanging kisses under the guise of helping clean up, until our plates are empty and our tummies are full. I push the empty dishes aside and tip back the last of my drink.
“That was yummy. Thank you,” I say and move to stand.
I don’t make it far when his large hands circle my waist and he picks me up and plunks me down on the counter in front of him.
“It was. But I’m still famished. So spread those beautiful thighs and let me get my fill.”
My hands come to rest behind me and I languidly spread my legs, torturing him with small movements. When my legs are just wide enough, he tugs me to him, resting his arms under my knees and titling me up to his mouth, and I fall back against the counter.
Filthy sounds fill my ears as he buries his face between my legs, and sensations overwhelm me. I drop my head back and my hair hangs over the edge like a waterfall. My body feels like water, free and flowing and charged.
“Best fucking meal,” he growls, and doesn’t come back up for air until the sun rises above the horizon and he’s taken me back to bed.
20
Bishop
Dusk begins to push the day away, and Anais and I still lay here in bed after eating and napping and sleeping and eating again. I thought it best to give her a break to recover and after eating her on my kitchen counter, so it’s been strictly talking and laughing since then. But I have a feeling that may change as darkness takes over.
