Page 129 of Faking All the Way
“You’re alittleoff-key.” He catches the towel. “But I think it sounds better that way.”
“Well, maybe my boyfriend can come taste one of these cookies instead of critiquing my singing,” I say, gesturing to the cooling rack. “Some are done. Tell me if they’re any good.”
He comes over and picks up one of the cookies, a snowflake shape with white frosting. He takes a big bite, making an appreciative noise.
“Really good.” His expression shifts, his head cocking slightly to one side. “Although there’s something in this kitchen that tastes even better than these cookies.”
I frown, looking around. “What do you mean? I didn’t make anything else yet.”
He puts the half-eaten cookie down on the counter, backing me up against it. His hands come to rest on either side of me, caging me in, his voice dropping low as he murmurs, “You.”
I laugh, but it turns into a gasp as he lifts me effortlessly onto the counter, pushing my legs apart so he can step between them.
“Wait, Asher! The cookies!” I protest weakly. “I’m in the middle of baking.”
“The cookies can wait.” He doesn’t even pause, his hands sliding up my thighs. “This can’t.”
He pulls my shorts and panties off in one quick move, his eyes going dark as he looks at me spread out on the counter for him. As I gaze down at him kneeling between my legs, it hits me how much has changed. I used to feel self-conscious about this, about my body, about letting anyone see me like this.
But the way he looks at me now leaves no doubt about how much he loves my body. How much he wants me.
Feeling bold, I reach down and grip his hair, guiding him to exactly where I want him.
He goes happily, burying his face between my legs with a groan that I feel all the way through my body. His tongue works me slowly at first, taking his time until he’s got me gasping for breath, my hips shifting on the countertop.
The timer on the oven is still ticking down in the background. I can hear it counting, marking the seconds. When he reaches for the bowl of cinnamon-sugar frosting sitting nearby on the counter, my breath hitches.
“What are you…” I start to ask, but the words die as he smears some of the frosting along my inner thigh.
Then he licks it off, his tongue hot and wet against my skin. “You’re sweeter than any Christmas cookie,” he murmurs between licks. “So much sweeter.”
The combination of sensations is overwhelming. His mouth on me, the sticky-sweet frosting, the knowledge that anyone could theoretically see us through the windows. The timer keeps ticking down, adding urgency to everything.
He alternates between sucking my clit and licking frosting from my skin, painting it on with his fingers and then cleaning it off with his tongue. The contrast between the cool frosting and his hot mouth making me shiver and gasp.
“Asher,” I breathe, my hands fisting in his hair. “Oh fuck, Asher.”
Just as the timer goes off with its loud, insistent beep, I come apart. Crying out, my whole body shaking. My back arching off the counter.
In the aftermath, as I’m still trembling and trying to catch my breath, he grins up at me. There’s frosting on his chin and satisfaction in his eyes.
“The cookies might be a little overdone,” he says, not looking even slightly sorry. “But it was completely worth it.”
I laugh, still breathless and shaky as I pull him up to kiss him, tasting sugar and cinnamon and myself on his tongue. He quickly helps me hop down from the counter, and as I tug my shorts and panties back on, he takes the cookies out of the oven. They are, in fact, a bit too brown on the edges. But they still look edible, thankfully.
“What was your errand about?” I ask as he scoops them off the pan and onto a cooling rack.
He only gives me that sly smile again, the one that tells me he’s definitely up to something.
“You’ll find out tonight.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Asher
After spending a lazy, fun day together, we package up the cookies and head out to Kat’s grandmother’s house for Christmas evening with her family. It’s an informal gathering, so we’re not dressed up or anything. Just casual and comfortable. Kat’s wearing jeans and her new jersey under her coat, and I’m in dark jeans and a sweater.
Every time I catch a glimpse of “BRIGHT EYES” on her back, it sends this surge of possessive happiness through me. She’s wearing my colors. Well, technically the Aces’ colors, but close enough. And seeing my nickname for her printed there, claiming her as mine in a way that has nothing to do with our fake arrangement and everything to do with what we’ve built together… I can’t fucking wait for her to have one of my official jerseys once I’m actually playing for them.
