“Over medium?”
“I can do that, Noah. I can make you breakfast like that,” I said seductively, making a play on his words from the night before. You’d have thought I was offering him the same damn thing he had been offering me, because I swear he got a hard-on.
“Sweet! I’ll just go grab a shower and get dressed.” He was out of bed in the blink of an eye, and I was left to stare after him. Yes, I was ogling the ass masterpiece, the assterpiece.
I slid out of bed as well and threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top. It would do until I was able to take a shower myself. Once downstairs, I grabbed a skillet from one of those fancy-schmancy thingamabobs that hung over the center island and put it on the stove. The stove. Let me tell you about this thing. Gordon Ramsey himself wouldn’t be able to figure it out. There were buttons and knobs that went on for days, and I’ll be damned if I knew what any of them were supposed to do. So, much like with the universal remote, I just started pushing anything I saw. I had a brief flashback to that day and shuddered, but I was relieved when I pushed the right one on the second try. The first try? Let’s not even go there. My eyebrows were still relatively intact, and there was only a slight smell of singed hair lingering in the air.
I danced my way over to the refrigerator and had to push a few things aside to find the—get this—butcher-cut bacon. Mmm-hmm. Apparently Noah Crawford did not do run-of-the-mill meat. I shook my head at the absurdity and grabbed the eggs. After washing my hands thoroughly, I prepared my station.
The bacon was in the skillet and almost in need of a turn when Noah’s arm encircled my waist from behind. I felt a brush of his hand against my shoulder, and my hair was pulled back to reveal my neck. Instinctively I cocked my head to the side to tempt him and shivered in his arms when the tip of his nose ran along the length of my neck and he inhaled deeply.
Noah
“God, that smells good,” I whispered into her ear. “And the food doesn’t smell too bad, either.”
It smelled fucking delicious, but there was something about seeing her at my stove, cooking breakfast for me, that made me want to taste her more. I sucked her earlobe into my mouth and teased it with my tongue while my hands began to roam over her silky skin.
“Noah, I’m trying to cook.” She giggled, and the sound sent shock waves to my cock.
“So cook.” My hand slipped under her shirt and I played with the waistband of her cotton shorts. I could feel her pulse quicken under my tongue as I placed sensual kisses along the tender flesh of her neck.
“Unless you like burnt bacon, you might want to stop that. It’s incredibly distracting.”
“Don’t burn my bacon, Delaine.” My voice was seductive yet commanding, the way I knew she secretly liked it. I slipped my hand inside her shorts and cupped her with my massive hand. She gasped and tried to turn to look at me, but my hold kept her in place.
“No, no, Delaine. You need to watch the skillet,” I reminded her. “Because if you burn my bacon, I’m going to have to punish you.”
She gave me a seductive little half smile. Yeah, she wanted to be punished almost as much as I wanted to fucking punish her. Jesus, I loved our little games.
I parted her lower lips and slid my long fingers between the already wet folds. I loved the way she was always so receptive to my touch. So I pressed my entire body against her back to give her more of it. I knew she could feel my dick hardening against her, and I also knew she got off on that shit every bit as much as I did. I continued my assault on her neck, letting the fingers of my other hand do the walking to find a pert nipple. She arched her back and pressed her ass against my erection when I gave it a slight tweak.
“Noah—”
“Shh … bacon,” I whispered against her ear.
I wanted to play with her, see how good a multitasker she was. So I withdrew both of my hands and slowly pushed her shorts over her curvy hips and down her legs.
“What are you—”
I answered her question when I spread her legs and inserted two fingers into her from behind. As I worked her with my right hand, the left made fast work of my pants and my cock sprang free. I was perfectly aware that I would probably forever associate the smell of bacon with what was about to happen. And much like Pavlov’s dogs, I’d likely get a massive hard-on anytime the scent permeated the air around me. But it was a chance I was willing to take.
“What about my eggs?” I asked as I curled my fingers back and forth inside her. “Come on, Delaine. I’m starving.”
Shaky hands picked up the two eggs and cracked them against each other to break the shell of one. She was going to play. I loved how adventurous she was.
I pulled my fingers out as she carefully dropped the first egg into the skillet. She cracked the shell of the other egg against the rim while I pulled her hips back and lightly pressed down on her lower back to get the perfect arch.
“Don’t break the yolk,” I warned, then pushed into her at the same time as she dropped the second egg into the skillet. She jerked and nearly broke it but recovered nicely, managing to keep the yellow center intact.
Fucking Delaine was un-goddamn-believable. In all my past endeavors, I had never come across a pussy as sweet as hers. It was hot with silky flesh that hugged my cock tighter than any other I’d had the opportunity to infiltrate. It drew me in and squeezed possessively like it never wanted to let me go. I was a slave to it, which was ironic since she was supposed to be my slave. She played her part well, make no mistake, but that little pussy of hers owned me. And I didn’t mind one motherfucking bit.