CHAPTER TWELVE | CASSIDY
“Shit!” I hissed as I released my grip on the metal skillet handle and let it fall back onto the stove with a loud clunk. In the absence of proper potholders, I had tried to use a thin dish towel to lift the hot skillet off of the stove, but the heat had singed straight through the rag and burned my fingers.
I hugged my wounded hand close to my chest as I hobbled across the kitchen, then I used my elbow to turn on the sink faucet. I shoved my burned fingers under the stream of cold water, and felt an immediate sting… followed relief.
I sighed, leaning forward on the basin of the sink. The kitchen was a complete mess.
So much for surprising Brady with a home cooked meal, I thought darkly.
My mom had been the one who suggested that I sneak into Brady’s house while he was at work, and prepare a nice dinner for him to come home to. Ok, she hadn’t told me to sneak in… she had assumed that, as Brady’s fiancée, I would have my own key to Casa Hudson.
I didn’t have a key, but I did remember that the Hudson’s always kept a spare under their welcome mat. So, I proceeded with the plan. I browsed Pinterest and selected the perfect romantic recipe for two -- stuffed chicken breasts, white wine sauce, and a side of steamed spinach -- then I went to the grocery store and stocked up on supplies, operating on the assumption that Brady’s kitchen would be reasonably stocked with the essentials.
Then, with a paper grocery bag on each hip, I had trudged across the yard to the Hudson’s house.
Sure enough, the key was right where I expected it to be under the rug. Unfortunately, that was the last thing that had gone according to plan; after letting myself into the house and setting up in the kitchen, things had gone from bad to worse.
First, I couldn’t find anything to flatten the chicken breasts I had bought. Then I over-boiled the spinach, causing it to wilt. Next, I realized that I had forgotten to turn on the oven before sliding in the chicken -- meaning they had been sat in a cold oven for thirty minutes. And finally, there was the white wine sauce.
I had stood over the gas range, whisking the watery mixture dutifully as it simmered over the blue flames of the stove. But try as I might, I couldn’t get the damn sauce to thicken. I was in the process of moving the skillet to another burner on the stove, when I had burned my fingers on the handle.
Yep, I thought grimly as I watched the water stream down on my burnt finger. This is a full-blown disaster.
I was trying to decide whether I should try to salvage the meal or pack everything up and order a pizza, when I heard a sound that made my heart drop: the front door opening.
I spun around just in time to see Brady stride into the kitchen.
“Cass!” he jerked back when he saw me, looking shocked. “What are you doing here?”
“Surprise!” I said weakly. “I made you dinner!”
“Cass, that’s so…” he started to say, but then he froze. “Is something burning?”
My eyes shot to the stove, and I saw bright orange flames devouring the dish towel that I had left behind.
“Oh, shit!” I cried, running towards the stove. The towel must have fallen onto the gas burner when I dropped the skillet!
“Let me,” Brady insisted, pushing past me. In one swift movement he expertly lifted the burning towel and flicked it into the sink.
The flames instantly extinguished, but there was little that could be done to repair the damage to my ego. My shoulders slumped down and I felt my eyes burn with hot, embarrassed tears.
“Crisis averted--” Brady said playfully, then he saw my face. “Cass! Are you crying?”
“No,” I choked out as a fat tear rolled down my cheek.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice filling with concern as he pulled me towards his chest and wrapped his thick arms around my shoulders.
Oh, nothing… I’ve just made a total and complete fool out of myself, and nearly burned down your kitchen in the process… I wanted to say, but instead I shook my head and buried my face in his firm chest.
“I can’t believe you did all of this for me,” Brady said gently, holding me tight. It was impossible to stay upset with his arms wrapped around me; all of my embarrassment started to melt away, replaced with a flock of butterflies that fluttered through my stomach and tingled through my skin.
“I mean that,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “I can’t remember the last time someone made me a home-cooked meal in this kitchen.”
“Well I’m not sure you’ll enjoy this one,” I said, glancing meekly at the stove.
“That’s ok,” Brady whispered. His hands were already snaking down my waist and gripping onto my hips. “I kinda have an appetite for something else, anyway…”
Then, without warning, he hoisted me over his shoulder.
“Brady!” I squealed. He kept a tight grip around my legs as he marched through the kitchen, then climbed up the stairs two at a time. I knew where he was taking me, and the rush of excitement was enough to make me forget all about that damn white wine sauce and wilted spinach that we had left behind in the kitchen…
He carried me all the way to the bedroom, then he tossed me down on the bed and towered over me.
“Brady Hudson,” I scolded playfully, “You know better than to eat dessert before dinner…”
“I want you for dinner and dessert,” he growled, tugging off my camisole and devouring my bare chest.
He kissed his way across my chest, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses as he worked his way between my two breasts, then down my stomach.
When he got to my hips, he sat up and tugged the waist of my denim cut-offs. My shorts slipped down easily, revealing my fire-engine red thong. I had worn the lace panties with the hope that Brady would strip them off, and the devilish smirk on his face confirmed that he was happy to make my fantasy a reality.
He bent down, running his tongue along my sticky wet mound through the thin red lace. I moaned; one lick was enough to make my heart race from 0 to 60.
Brady sat up on his knees and started peeling back my thong, but I stopped him.
“What are you going to feed me for dinner?” I asked softly. I wasn’t used to being so bold -- especially in the bedroom -- but being with Brady brought out another side of me; a confident, crazy, wild side…
“What are you hungry for?” Brady asked, raising an eyebrow.
I answered with my eyes, lowering my gaze down to the thick bulge that protruded from his pants.
“That’s a lot of meat,” he warned me playfully. “Are you sure you handle it?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I rolled forward onto all fours and crawled towards him. I undid the zipper of his jeans and his fat cock immediately sprang free.
“I had to change at work,” he admitted sheepishly. “My clothes got soaked, and I didn’t have any dry briefs…”
“I haven’t been able to keep a pair of panties dry lately, either,” I teased. Then I wrapped my hand around his thick shaft.
He was too thick for me to wrap my fingers entirely around his girth, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining as I stroked my hand up and down.
A milky pearl dripped from his tip, and I bent down to lap it up with my tongue. His body seized, and he grunted, gripping onto my hair. I teased him some more, flicking his opening with the tip of my tongue, then following the pink ridged skin all the way to the underside of his head.
“Your tongue feels amazing,” he muttered.
I ran my tongue over my lips, then I gripped onto the base of his shaft and brought him into my mouth.
He flinched as I squeezed all of his head into my mouth and clamped down with my lips, holding him snug over my tongue. Then I started to slide down slowly.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered under his breath, panting as I sunk down lower and lower.
I had only gotten a few inches down when I felt his cock strike the back of my throat, triggering my gag reflex. I resisted the instinct to choke, then I kept going.
He dug his hands through my hair and tugged. I felt my own excitement building as I took more and more of him in; my pussy was burning for a turn to take all of him in.
I felt his length fill my throat as I slid my lips all the way to the base of his shaft, and I moved my hand away to take in the last couple of inches.
Once I had tasted all of him, I moved back to his head and made a few quick, shallow thrusts. I could feel a quiver in his thighs, and his balls were starting to clench up. He was close...
“Cassidy,” he hissed, gripping onto the handful of hair that he clenched between his fingers, “I need you to sit on my cock right now.”
I reluctantly released him from my lips. He fell back onto the pillows and reached for a condom while I stripped off my panties and flung them towards the floor. Then he gripped my hips and guided me to straddle him.
I positioned myself over his bare cock and he gripped his shaft. He pressed his head through my lips and teased my clit with his head, flicking up and down. Each flick sent a wave of pleasure through my body.
When neither of us could take the teasing anymore, he slipped on the condom and grabbed hold of my hips, then he pulled me down.
His cock spread my folds apart and forged a path through my tight walls. I rolled my hips back, controlling the angle so that it was all pleasure and no pain.
As I thrust up and down, he planted his hand over my pelvis and used his thumb to work my clitoris.
“Brady, I-- I--” before I could finish that sentence, it was all over: my body was dissolving into a million tiny fragments of euphoria, and it took everything I had to keep riding his cock.
When the room finally stopped spinning, I realized that he had pushed me onto my back and hoisted my legs up around his waist.
“That was only round one,” he grinned down at me. “You’ve gotta come two more times if you want dessert…”
“What’s dessert?” I breathed weakly. I couldn’t imagine anything beating the orgasm I had just experienced.
“There’s only one way to find out…” he winked.