Tresca - I hope this day finds you smiling, and don't drink too much champagne at brunch because you'll fall asleep at your desk! :) Happy 30th and best wishes for many many more.
Love, The Fiction Mistress, aka SamanthaC (aka you-know-who)
Tresca watched from the doorway to the kitchen, amused by the sight before her.
Jon was standing at the stove, his back to her as he carefully leveled two cake pans full of chocolate batter, then bent to slide them into the oven. He closed the oven door, rechecked the temperature and consulted the back of the cake mix box, and set the timer. Flipping the light on inside the oven, he leaned down to check through the window one more time, as if he was afraid the cakes might have disappeared in the past fifteen seconds.
“What are you doing honey?” Tresca asked with a soft giggle.
Jon whipped around with a startled look on his face. “Baby, you’re not supposed to be home for another two hours.” He looked around quickly as if there was some way he could hide the special surprise he had been planning for her.
There wasn’t.
The charred remains of the other cakes he had attempted were in the wastebasket, filling the kitchen with the unmistakable aroma of scorched fudge. He was wearing faded jeans, an ancient t-shirt that looked like it had once been navy, and a white apron that was covered with chocolate stains.
There was even a smudge of chocolate on one of his chiseled cheekbones and she found her mouth watering with the urge to lick it off.
Jon realized trying to hide his surprise was hopeless. “I wanted to do something special for your thirtieth birthday, and obviously, I’m not very much of a baker.”
He sighed resolutely, his face set in a disappointed expression. He hated not doing something well. “At least our dinner is being delivered though,” he added hopefully.
“C’mere you,” she said, grabbing him by the apron and pulling him to her. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“I know. It sucks. You’d think I’d be able to make a damn cake from a box,” he said, frustration plain on his features.
“I don’t care about the cake,” she whispered, his lips so close she could feel his warm breath on her face. “You’re the best birthday gift I’ve ever had.
“Yeah?” he asked, the cake forgotten as he recognized the blatant invitation in her eyes.
“Mmmmm hmmmm,” she said softly, pressing her breasts against his hard chest as her arms encircled his neck.
He inhaled sharply. Somehow she had this amazing capacity to just look at him with lust in her eyes and her nipples pressing against him and his dick suddenly felt like concrete in his jeans.
He watched, fascinated, as her pupils dilated with arousal. She tugged the apron over his head and slid her fingertips beneath the waistband of his jeans, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt until he impatiently lifted it over his head. He wanted to feel her just as badly.
Gritting his teeth as she slowly slid her hands down his torso, his nostrils flared as she lightly scraped her fingernails over his nipples. “Fuck…baby…” he groaned.
“Uh huh,” she murmured with a smile as she knelt before him, her fingers drawn to his belt buckle, quickly unfastening it and his jeans and grinning with pleasure when his cock sprang free from its confines.
His head fell back when her hand closed over him, the tip of her tongue delicately swirling around the head of his dripping cock. He took her by the shoulders, fighting for control.
“Tresca…honey…don’t…I won’t be able to stop…”
She adjusted her position so her knees were on the floor and she had more leverage to suck him the way she knew he loved, her full lips glistening as she took him all the way inside.
His whole body shuddered with pleasure as she worked over him, but finally, in some distant part of his brain he remembered this was HER day.
Grasping her shoulders more firmly, he pulled her up, ignoring both her pout and his selfish desire for her to continue. “No. You do this to me every time, Tresca.”
Spinning her quickly around, he backed her up and onto the butcher block island, his eyes sparkling as he fingered the ties of her halter dress, smiling as goose flesh rose on her shoulders. “I really like this dress,” he said huskily, his fingers trailing down her arm, over her hip and thigh and down to her leather-clad calf, “and these boots. What a sexy girl you are.”
“All for you, baby.” Tresca shivered as he knelt before her and unzipped the boots, cradling each calf as he slowly inched them off her feet.
When he stood again, he made quick work of the knot behind her neck and the top of her dress fell to her waist, exposing her heaving breasts. With an evil grin, he cupped one breast, his thumb automatically teasing the pert nipple. “Naughty too. No bra? What are you doing at work that I don’t know about?”
“Thinking about you…and this…” Tresca whispered hotly, wrapping her legs around his hips and trying to pull him against her.
He quickly lifted her skirt to her waist and realized… “Oh baby, no panties either…?”
She shook her head and allowed him to lean her back on the smooth wood surface, smiling with satisfaction as his fingers found her slick heat.
His face hovered over hers, that pleased grin permanently planted there as he teasingly toyed with her glossy clit, then thrust two fingers inside.
She groaned and pulled him closer, wanting nothing more than for him to fill her completely, with much more than his fingers.
“Jon…can’t wait…been waiting all day,” she gasped against him, grinding her pussy nastily against his hand.
His lips made a wet trail down her body as he reached in his pocket for the condom he had placed there earlier. He knew exactly what a dirty girl she was – hell, they hardly EVER made it to the bedroom.
He quickly tore open the foil wrapper at the same time his mouth found her dripping center, his tongue replacing his fingers to toy with her while he quickly sheathed himself.
She wriggled and squirmed beneath his ministrations, her fingers knotted in his hair as he pushed her up the precipice.
Then, in one swift stroke he was on her and in her and everywhere at once, pushing her to the limit as no one else could, his strokes long and slow and sure until she threw back her head and screamed with pleasure, and he began to pummel her body with abandon, her spasms finally tearing forth his own orgasm as she screamed and he gasped.
Collapsing onto her quivering body, he desperately fought for breath while she slowly returned to her senses. When she finally quieted in that sleepy sexy state she always entered after her orgasms, he pulled away to look at her, brushing the sweaty hair from her forehead. “Happy birthday, baby. Sorry about the cakes,” he whispered, his nose already attuned to the burning smell coming from the oven. “I think that one’s gone too.”
She pulled him closer, licking the sweaty chocolate smear from his cheek. “Is there any frosting?”
No comments:
Post a Comment