I pull her into me and grind my body against hers in some kind of primal need to show her what she does to me. I share the taste of the icing with her, my tongue teasing its way into her sweet mouth.
She relaxes in my arms.
“David,” she whispers, returning grind for grind. “You’re making me wet.”
I quirk my lip. “Then we’d better go upstairs and walk the plank.”
Millie traces the tip of her tongue across my bottom lip while her hand lets go of the spatula. It clatters to the floor. I suck in my breath when that hand finds its way down to cup my balls.
With her saucy mouth a hair’s breadth away from my lips, she responds, “OK, but you gotta promise to let me taste your coconuts first.” She leans back to meet my gaze, her eyes full of the fire that I love so much. In fact, I love it more and more every day that we spend together.
I don't know whether to laugh or spread her out on the kitchen table immediately, right here next to the cake. She can taste my coconuts anytime she wants to.
In fact, Millie can have me any way she wants to, whether she makes homemade cakes, orders store-bought cakes, does it all herself, or hires a nanny. I don’t care how she wants to live her life, as long as she does what makes her happy and she sees the same amazing person in herself that I see every morning lying next to me in my bed.
As long as she’s mine, and she’s my Millie. Forever.