She laughs, as she stirs the big pot and begins scooping out food into a bowl.
I can’t contain myself. I wrap my arms around her as I take a bite over her shoulder.
It tastes horrible.
I make a scrunched up face, unable to hide my disgust. Maybe this is just what we need. A playful, relaxed night where we have to order take out and realize we aren’t perfect for each other.
She pouts.
“Your first time making spaghetti?” I ask.
She nods, biting her lip.
Her eyes turn to slits of lust. “But I have a way to make it taste better.”
I raise an eyebrow. “By throwing it in the trash and starting over?”
She giggles. “No, you’re lucky I like you or I might consider that too mean.”
“It’s not mean. It’s the truth. That is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. You somehow managed to burn it, and the seasoning is all off. Did you use cumin? You know that is usually used in Mexican dishes, not Italian?”
Larkyn turns, holding a spoonful of the sauce up to my lips. “Oh come on, it isn’t that bad. Try it again.”
I close my lips tightly. “Nope, I’m not eating another bite.”
She cocks her head to
the side as her hips pop out. She stands taller until her breasts are fully popping out of the low cut sundress she’s wearing. She has a twinkle in her eye that I know means I should run. Far, far away, because whatever she is about to do is trouble.
Instead, I stand intrigued like the idiot I am.
She turns the spoon over, and red marinara sauce drips down onto her breasts.
“Oops,” she says, smiling slyly.
Fuck.
My mouth falls open, and an instinct that is all man and testosterone takes over my brain. I forget about how bad the sauce is. I forget about talking to her. All I can think about is licking the marinara sauce off her tits.
I’m to her body in second. My tongue runs down her neck and over her breasts until I’m licking every drop of the sauce clean from her tits. More drips down between her breasts that I can’t reach.
I rip the dress open, as she stumbles backward into the counter. She grabs another scoopful of sauce and rubs it over her chest and stomach.
It shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. Anything she does turns me on. I remember back to the conversation when I told her I would love a woman to be covered in marinara sauce. It was a fantasy. One that I never thought to act upon. But seeing her covered in red sauce makes me do a weird cross between laughing and wanting.
She looks hot and ridiculous at the same time. And I’ve never wanted a woman more. Not because she looks sexy, but because she planned this. She made me spaghetti so that she could seduce me with a wild fantasy I once told her.
I set her up on the counter and spread her legs apart. Her hands run through my hair, rubbing red sauce all over my head until it’s dripping down my face. I move to wipe it off with the back of my hand, but she leans down and slowly rubs her tongue up from my chin, over my lips, then nose.
I growl. “When did you become so sexy?”
She blushes. “I’ve always been sexy.”
I rake my teeth over my bottom lip. She’s right about that.
She grabs the hem of my shirt and lifts it off, making sure she covers my chest with the marinara. She reaches for my pants, but I really don’t want sauce all over my cock. So I use my left hand, that is still relatively clean, to lower my pants and release my cock.
She reaches down to stroke me. It takes every drop of strength I have to push her hand away. I want her hand on me. Desperately. But I don’t want to be covered in red, sticky sauce.