Chapter Twenty-Nine
Paul pulls a tray of fruit from the fridge. “Ready for dessert?”
I lean back and groan. “Not sure. Who knew fondue could actually be a full meal?”
He grins and pulls a third fondue pot from where it was hiding behind the coffee maker. “It’s what happens when you eat for three hours.”
“Yeah, well. Not sure I should do dessert tonight.” My palm traces over my stomach.
Paul leans against the table, facing me. His forehead creases. “Why not?”
“I didn’t exactly find this body you love so much at the bottom of a tub of ice cream.”
My cheeks heat under his stare. He rolls his lip between his teeth and nods. “Right. The carrots.”
“What?”
Paul pushes himself off the table. “When we had our no-sleep slumber party. We had desserts and vegetables. Balance.”
“So?”
“Tanya.” He opens a cupboard. Looks over his shoulder, forehead creased. I give him the smallest smile, but he takes the hint. That I want to hear it. About his friends. His life. “That’s what she kept saying when she was trying to lose her baby weight. Balance. That she had to balance the stuff she actually wanted with stuff that was good for her.” He tosses a bag of marshmallows on the table. “But the only thing you should be thinking about balancing is yourself, on my dick. So I’ll make you a deal.”
I laugh. “More deals?”
“You’ll like this one.” He uncovers the newest fondue pot and the sweet perfume of chocolate wafts into the kitchen. “We’ll play with our dessert just as much as we eat it.”
The aroma draws me forward. “That smells so much better than the chocolate fountains that would have driven me to drink if I’d had any time for the hangover.”
Paul skewers a chunk of pineapple and glides it through the melted chocolate. His fingers twirl the fork and spin the dripping chocolate around the fruit. “What did the fountains do to you?”
“They didn’t do anything,” I say. “But drunk brides who refuse to admit they’re wasted are sure a treat when they splash chocolate all over their dresses.”
The corner of Paul’s mouth turns up. “So what you’re saying...” He weaves his fingers through mine and extends my arm. The warm chocolate hits the sensitive skin on the inside of my elbow and trails down to my wrist. He plucks the pineapple between his teeth and moves back up my arm, awaking my nerves with the heat and cold. My breath catches and he hungrily swallows the fruit before returning to my tingling skin, licking me clean. “What you’re saying is this could get messy. And is best done naked.”
I grin. “Yes. Exactly.”
Pants and shirts hit the ground. I press a strawberry to my fork and lean over the table to dip it in chocolate. Paul stands behind me, his heat filling the minuscule distance between us. “Wouldn’t want to wreck this,” he says. He unhooks my bra and spins me so I’m facing him. He slides it down my arms and my nipples pebble in the breeze of our shared breath.
“So considerate,” I tease.
He smiles. “Always doing what’s best for you.”
I rest my hand on Paul’s ribs to steady myself as I twirl the melted sweetness around the fruit. With a toe on a chair, I hitch myself onto the table and pin him between my knees. He tenses when the chocolate hits his nipple, digging his fingers into my legs. “Too hot?” I ask.
“So hot.” His fingers flex and relax, moving higher up my thighs. “Keep going.”
My tongue reaches his pec and circles, slowly tasting the mix of chocolate and him. His chest stops moving and I increase my speed. I twirl my tongue around his taut skin until I’ve licked every trace of chocolate and left us both with the kind of high sugar can’t give.
He bends down and eats the strawberry from my fork. “Lean back,” he rasps. Paul guides me onto the table with a hand behind my head. He squishes a marshmallow between his fingers, and spears a grape with a fork. “Close your eyes.”
Warm softness traces my belly button and I can’t contain my giggles. “Oh god, that tickles.”
But my laughter is cut short as he flattens his tongue and licks me from my navel to the top of my panties. He retraces his path with short flicks of his tongue. I squirm on the hard wooden table and he chuckles. “I’m just getting started, Amy.”
He trails the soft marshmallow over the curve of my breast and drags it over my begging nipple. My back arches, but I slam back to the table with a gasp when the cold firmness of the grape follows its path. Paul teases me with softness and taunts me with hardness that isn’t his until my hips roll without input from me. Until my ankles hook around Paul’s ass and pull him close.
His elbows hit the table on each side of my ribs and he sucks my nipple deep into his mouth, swirling his tongue over my chocolated peak and groaning pleasure against my skin.
“More.” My eyes lose focus and my breath comes ragged. “More.”
The fork clangs against the fondue pot and every nerve buzzes, wondering where he’ll hit next, silently begging for his attention. Paul gently unhooks my ankles from around his back, but before I can form any words of protest, my inner thigh jumps with victory and my legs fall open. He trails chocolate towards my melting core, following it closely with quick, firm licks. “Oh god,” I whimper. “I love your tongue.”
He moves up one thigh and down the other, breathing heat over my already burning center. My fingers curl beside me but find nothing to grab. He draws his tongue over my panties, teasing my opening through the fabric. My muscles bear down, pushing me toward the edge of the table.
The fork rattles onto the floor and he hooks his thumbs into my underwear pulling them up, tugging them into my folds and licking the skin they no longer cover. Shivers run through my sizzling body and I quiver in his grasp. He pulls the smooth fabric tighter, higher, and wedges it against my tight bundle of nerves, kissing and licking my outer lips as he uncovers them.
I writhe against him and swing my leg, looking for a chair, for his leg, for any leverage that will let me raise my hips and get rid of the last barrier between us. “Off. Take them off.”
He whips my panties down my legs and I barely hear the scuff of the chair along the floor over my own moan as my hand rushes between my legs, spreading my wetness over the nerves lavished by his tongue.
Paul’s hands work his way up my thighs, rubbing and scratching the skin as my fingers find their familiar rhythm. His tongue darts inside me and my hand stalls. Creeps away. But he grabs my wrist and holds me in place. “Don’t even think about it,” he says. He kisses my inner lips, sucking on each side, and he presses my fingers back to my clit. He holds my hand in place as he tightens his tongue and traces my opening. My head hits the table and my fingers move beneath his hand.
“Yes,” he says. The vibration of his voice against my skin is a torture only he and I can end together. He thrusts his tongue against my fingers. “Keep going. Show me what you like.”
My heels dig into his thighs and I strain towards him, my fingers switching between smooth circles and hard flicks. His fingers dig into my ass and he holds me to his face, fucking me with his tongue, gliding into me and twisting pleasure from deep within.
The pull between my legs pulses and stretches. It grows unbearable. My fingers work frantically while his tongue licks me like his favorite fucking dessert, but I teeter on the edge of pleasure. My head rolls from side to side and I moan in frustration.
His thumbs rub my inner thighs. “What do you need?”
“You.” The answer is quick. Instinctual. Spontaneous and unrepentant. “I need you to make love to me as sweet as this fucking chocolate, and as hard as I’m going to come when you sink balls-deep inside me. Okay?”
“I fucking love you.” The chair slides back and Paul wrestles his cock from his boxers.
He plunges into me before I can process his words. Before I can recoil, or flee, or tell him he can’t. And as he pounds my senses to their peak and soothes my fiery skin beneath his lips—as I come apart around him and cling to his back when his eyes roll back and his voice moans my name—only one thought is left in my drained and charged body.
“I fucking love you, too.”