Page 13 of The Pucking Fake Marriage (The Ice Kings #4)

TWELVE

CINNAMON BUNS (CHARLIE)

If I still want Ken badly enough after tonight, I’m going to think of some way to get it across to him.

I remember having that thought only a few days ago. It was a throwaway one that I didn’t think I’d dwell on for too long.

How wrong I was.

The past three days have been nothing short of miserable. I’ve relived massaging Ken a million times, particularly when it was dark outside, and I was alone in bed. Not even touching myself could cool the wildfire that the so-called massage started inside me. Every single hour of the day, I was filled with the desperate need to have him in me. I considered having a fling with someone else for a night, but I discarded it almost immediately.

It’s Ken or no one. And now, my desire for him has morphed into a constant, never-ending pulse.

All things considered, it’s amazing that I lasted three whole days. Or so I told myself this morning, when I decided that enough was enough .

I wanted to seduce him tonight.

I hadn’t worked out a strategy yet. I assumed I’d figure something out while trying the new recipes. But then, my first few tries at the pastry turned out so awful, I’d half forgotten about my plan.

Until he showed up in my kitchen.

I thought of that as a problem, at least at first. Far harder to seduce someone who just saw you make multiple messes in front of him. But then, he guided me through it, holding my hands as I kneaded the dough, his body deliciously close to mine.

And he taunted me to take off my skirt.

Talk about manifesting.

I could tell he was joking. He has been the perfect gentleman since I moved in. Done his best to color within the lines.

If I wanted to break his restraint, I had to push a few buttons.

So, I let go of the skirt and proceeded to do the most sexually stimulating thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. No iota of shame or self-consciousness clung to me. On the contrary, I had never felt so free, working on the dough while Ken watched me, pushing back his animal instincts to take me on the spot.

Ken versus Ken.

And I could tell he was fighting because I was going through the same struggle. My primal self was ready to go to him and literally beg. But something about teasing him and watching him unravel held its own pleasure.

Even up until now.

“Damn it, Charlie. Take whatever you need right now . Cause I’m this close to burying my face in your ass. ”

My pulse flies into a sprint the moment I hear those words. Victory burns in my veins, but there’s a deeper flush of pleasure that creeps up my face.

I did it .

Unraveled him. Made him let go of his calm, polite demeanor. Turned him back into a fire-spitting, lust-filled ravager.

It wouldn’t be right to not keep going now.

Say nothing, I order myself. My reply has got to be non-verbal.

Holding my breath, I move my hips slightly. My cheeks graze his chest once, twice.

“Charlie.” Ken’s voice is so sharp, it makes my heart jump into my throat. “What the fuck are you doing?”

No reply. I curl my hips backward, pressing against him as hard as I can.

“Do that again, and I…”

I curl my hips again, and then, even before I can pull away, he turns me around and lays me on the counter, lifting my legs over his shoulders and burying his face in my core. And then I feel him. Ken’s tongue, skipping past my thong and darting between my folds, teasing my lips apart and greedily lapping.

Arching my back, I let out a scream. The restaurant should be closed now, but some of my employees might still be around. Still, I can’t help myself. The pleasure from his touch is so earth-shattering, so visceral, that I can’t hold back.

He plays in my wetness, dragging his tongue up and down as my legs tremble over his shoulders. I moan again, goosebumps rising on my body. My senses are all tuned in to him, waiting, hoping desperately for him to claim me.

But then, he abruptly pulls his face away .

“Get the sugar.”

Something about his commanding tone forces me into willing submission. I sit up, and he lifts me to grab the containers with the sugar and the cinnamon. Ken sets me down a second later.

I turn around and glance at him. His nose is smeared with my arousal, and his blue eyes are blazing red. He looks like he wants to kill me and fuck me all at the same time.

I’m kind of down for both.

“We still have the rolls to make.” He jabs a finger toward the dough, his eyes focused completely on my tits.

I swallow, my gaze darting to his erection before I look back up at him. “Yeah. Right. Not like we could serve this batch anyway. But I guess practice is important.” Turning around, I make the sugar and cinnamon mix quickly.

“I think I got the wrong batch of sugar,” I mutter, my brave attempt at conversation. “It kind of tastes less sweet than I was expecting.”

“Most likely tastes less sweet than this.” And as I watch, he swipes a finger across the fluid on his nose and runs his own tongue down the wet finger.

Oh, fuck.

With a force of will, I turn back to the cinnamon mix. My fingers shake as I attempt to spread it over the dough.

“Not like that.” In a few seconds, Ken is back behind me, his erection digging mercilessly into the spot between my cheeks as he starts to spread the mix. I let out a moan, unable to hold myself back any longer. Palms spread over the counter to support my weight, I push backward and rub myself against him. Exactly how I did back at his apartment the day I told him we were married. Only difference is that I’m sure Ken is not about to humiliate me like he did before. Bursts of pleasure rise in my stomach at the motions, calming and fueling my passion all at once.

“Fuck,” Ken says, his free hand grabbing my waist. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to have your ass bouncing on me.”

His words are undoing me faster than his touch. “Ken…” I hear myself groan.

“Wait,” he mutters, reaching out to take my bun out. My hair spills down my back, half the strands falling over Ken’s face as he burrows his face into my neck. “Since you can’t serve these buns anyway.” He grins.

He steps back again, and when I turn around, I see that he now has my arousal splattered over the front of his pants. Something about that makes me even needier. As does Ken’s ability to keep calm even now.

“I’d like to see you make the rolls and cut them.” His voice is even, solid. He crosses his arms, his eyes glittering with a strange light. “And I’d like you to do that with your top off.”

My breath catches in my throat. His demand isn’t a ludicrous one, seeing as he just had his tongue in me. But I’d chosen my underwear today with a little bit more attention than usual.

Because that’s exactly what I planned to wear while seducing him tonight.

Ken’s eyes are on me, waiting calmly. Releasing a deep breath, I pull my top over my head. My already messy hair is most likely even messier now, and I try to untangle it with my fingers as the top drops to the floor. I look down at the black lace triangles that only really cover part of my chest.

One look at Ken, and it’s obvious he was not expecting this .

“Fuck,” he mutters. I can tell I’m fulfilling some kind of fantasy for him, one he’s likely held on to for a long time. His hand goes to his pants, and I lose the ability to breathe as he finally, finally, pulls his dick out of his pants.

I stare at it, my eyes doubling in size. He looks…marvelous. Insane. He’s beautiful, big and filling, and I want him in my pussy now. And as if the sight of him isn’t bad enough torture, he starts to stroke himself.

“Cut those buns and get them into the oven. I’ve got something for you here.”

I practically run to obey him. I start to roll the bun, but my feverish fingers don’t seem to be working anymore. A second later, Ken steps up beside me. I pause, expecting him to help with it.

Instead, I hear him mutter, “You’ve tortured me for far too long, Charlie. And damn it, I deserve this.”

With that, he buries himself inside me. No niceties, no gentleness. He goes straight in, only stopping at his hilt.

The world splits into two. I cry out, a scream that goes on and on as Ken continues to pummel me mercilessly. I’ve thought of this a thousand different times and in a thousand different ways, but nothing compares to actually feeling him inside me. His hands find my tits, jerking them out of the flimsy clasp of my bra, and tweaking my nipples as he continues to thrust in and out of me.

“Come on, Chapman,” he sighs in my ear. “You’ve got those buns to make.”

It’s the kind of torture I never thought I’d experience. My eyes streaming with pleasure, I continue to roll. Something about having him in me makes my movements smoother, surer. Ken slows his thrusts, slipping in and out as slowly as he can, causing my knees to quiver as I work.

“Continue,” he orders. His hands find the small of my back and push me downward, thrusting me as close to the counter as I can get. My breasts dangle inches from the dough as I now start to prepare a dental floss to cut it into individual buns. Something about this new angle makes the pleasure even more intense, and I hear myself scream as Ken starts to thrust again.

“Don’t be shy, baby. Say my name. Your husband’s name.”

My very first instinct is to refuse. A lot has changed in ten years—case in point—but Ken is still my childhood friend. Moaning his name while we’re fucking seems almost obscene. But then, I feel his fingers on my clit, swiping back and forth over the throbbing bud, and the word bursts forth anyway.

“Ken,” I groan.

Somehow, I finish cutting the buns, managing to slice them into messy pieces. My eyes are streaming with full-on tears, and I know I’m seconds from falling apart. Ken reaches overhead and pulls out a baking pan, and I fit the rolls onto it.

“We’re going to hold off on the baking for later,” he mutters, swiping the tray to the side. His hands find the small of my back, pressing me flat against the counter. I obey him, my boobs squashing against the surface, made slightly dusty by the flour.

Ken deepens his thrusts and his strokes, and I close my eyes, screaming even louder. If my staff is still here, they’re going to hear me clearly. But I can’t bring myself to care. With each thrust, Ken pushes me closer and closer to the edge.

His fingers are still on my clit, and he starts to squeeze gently. “Come for me, Chapman. Let me hear you fall apart.”

I hold my breath as my climax bursts through me without warning. I scream his name, my whole body trembling. Ken holds me against him, giving a guttural grunt as he spills into me. I feel him shaking too, as our universes collide and collapse together.

Even as the pleasure recedes and we keep holding on to each other, I know things have changed between us.

Possibly forever.