Page 60 of Take A Number
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she exclaims, and a rosiness crawls up her cheeks as she fails to hide her smirk. “It’s obvious you slaved away at those tater tots. Did you peel the potatoes yourself?”
She’s patronizing and smug, and I fucking love it. “I didn’t realize you were such a food snob.” I dip my finger into the cake and help myself to another sample.
She presses her lips together. “I make you filet mignon, and all you can muster up is a casserole. I bet you didn’t even make it. I bet you had your mother make it, and you just staged this mess to make it look like you actually put some effort into tonight.”
Her sass hits me right in the nuts, and without pause, I dig my finger into the fluffy white topping of her cake and swipe it across her nose.
Her blue eyes fly wide. “Did you seriously just—”
I do it again, this time hitting her lips and cheek. The smear looks like the outline of a seahorse.
“Dean,” she squeals and wipes the dollop of topping off her cheek. “I spent time on this!” She puts her finger in her mouth, and my eyes zero in on her lips as she sucks it off.
There’s that zipper again.
“You were being a snob,” I state firmly and take another lick. Damn, this is good.
“Takes one to know one,” she snaps and takes the cake from my hands, holding it behind her with one hand as she presses her other to my chest to hold me back. “Stop picking at my dessert. You don’t deserve it.”
“Aw, don’t be like that.” My hands clench around her waist, and she bites her lip excitedly, clearly not opposed to the close contact as I pull her flush against my body. I dip my head down and lick the topping off her nose. “It tastes too good not to be sampled.”
She squeaks and struggles to hold on to the cake behind her as I press my whipped-cream-covered lips to hers.Fucking hell, my zipper is going to break soon.
She breaks our kiss, a little breathless as she says, “Fine then…you should just have it all.” She pulls back just enough to bring the cake in front of her and shoves the entire thing in my face.
The room goes black and all I can hear are the sounds of cake flopping onto the floor and Norah’s giggles echoing in my kitchen. With pursed lips, I remove my cake-covered glasses and eye her with disdain. “I hope you’re happy because now we’re going to have to eat my shitty Jell-O.”
She covers her mouth, and her giggles turn to full-on belly laughs. “My cake is too good for you anyway.”
I flick my tongue out to lick a dangling strawberry off my chin and nod. “Truer words have never been spoken.” In a flash, I reach out and grab her by the waist, hoisting her away from the cake mess on the floor and up onto the counter in one fluid motion. She smiles and grabs the towel she used earlier to wipe my face off and hers. When we’re both relatively cleaned up, I pin her with a look and add, “But you signed up for this, right?”
It’s a loaded question I hope she reads the subtext to because I’m suddenly feeling the need to reconfirm this arrangement. We’re back in Boulder and back to our real lives. Can a woman as sexy and fun as Norah really only want casual sex?
She bites her lip and moves her hands down my chest before wrapping her legs around my waist. “I signed up for fake sex with my fake boyfriend, so what are we waiting for?”
Her eyes dip hungrily to my lips, and in one fell swoop, our mouths collide, and we’re a mess of sticky whipped cream residue, tongues, and hot air as we make out like it’s been weeks since we last touched each other instead of hours. We break apart, and I hurriedly attempt to unbutton my dress shirt as Norah rips off her cardigan and tosses it onto the floor. She then peels off her white tee to reveal a red lace bra that shows her nipples through the sheer fabric and a deep, animalistic groan vibrates through my chest.
I got to know Norah’s body quite intimately in Aspen when I kissed every part of her on the bed and when she let me suds her up in the shower. She’s narrow but curvy with an ass and tits that were made for rap videos. And she has a heart-shaped birthmark on her hip that I now know is called a “café au lait” birthmark because of that stupid podcast we listened to together. But staring at her as she sits on my kitchen counter, lips raw, chest heaving, and denim-clad legs spread open for me…I feel like the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.
I step between her legs and dip my head to suck one of her nipples into my mouth through the fabric. The texture of it, along with the softness of her skin, tastes like the perfect mix of naughty and nice. Goddammit, she feels so good—soft and supple and sweet. Maybe the sweetness is leftover whipped cream, but either way, I need to taste more of her.
I pull back, my dick throbbing as I anticipate my tongue on her clit again. I try to rid her of her jeans, but Norah clearly has other ideas. She slips off the counter and turns us around so I’m pressed against the countertop. Her hands move to my fly, and she frees me in a matter of seconds. Before I realize what’s happening, she’s on her knees, and my eyes are fixated on her in shock as she wraps her large lips around my girth and pulls me to the back of her throat. She sucks and licks and makes these little noises in the back of her throat like she’s appreciating a slice of her delicious cake instead of blowing my rock-hard cock.
This is definitely a first. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had blow jobs before. Plenty of them. But never from someone as sweet and innocent as Norah. Fuck, I need to cement this memory to my brain for future spank bank material because…It. Is. Everything.
I comb my fingers through her hair and rock my hips into her, my abs contracting with every thrust. This seems to excite her more as she sucks harder, pulling me deeper down her throat, and I have to bite my lip and stare at the ceiling to stop myself from blowing my load too soon.
When I can’t take another second of it, I pull out of her mouth and yank her to her feet. Her jaw is dropped in confusion, and I could climax at the sight of her mussed hair and raw lips.
“I need to be inside you.” I grunt and turn her around and flatten her on my kitchen counter. I can’t look at her anymore. If I stare at her face, I’m going to fucking come in two seconds just like the first time we fucked.
In a quick maneuver, I pull a condom out of my wallet and roll it onto my wet cock before reaching around to help her get her jeans off. I pause to relish in the dainty red lace thong I tell myself she wore just for me.
I dip my hand inside her and cup her mound while sliding my finger along her slit. “You’re fucking soaked,” I growl into her ear, turning my nose into her hair to inhale her scent.
“I know,” she groans, undulating her hips against my fingers, practically begging me to touch her deeper.
I thrust a finger into her core and bite my lip at her tightness. God, she’s so fucking snug. So fucking wet. So fucking perfect. I need to be inside her.
