Page 73 of Wild Card

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I heard it’s not bad.”

“Uhh, I guess we’ll see. Sounds like maybe it should have stayed in the historic cookbook.” He laughs as we walk to the kitchen.

“Hey! I worked hard on that cake. And I even used your frosting recipe.”

“Oh yeah? A fan now, are you?”

“It’s pretty good. I see the appeal. Not sure I understand the whole food kink thing. I don’t think it’s one of mine, but the frosting is good regardless.”

“Have you tried the food kink thing yet?”

“No. Just the way I imagine it… It’s not for me.”

“Spitfire… you gotta try things before you decide you don’t like them.” He takes the glass top off the cake and dips his finger in the white frosting ribbon at the bottom and turns, brushing it over my neck. He grabs me by the throat with his free hand, pulling me toward him, and licks the frosting off, holding me still while I writhe under the sensation of his tongue over my skin.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

“Yeah?” He grins, his eyes searching mine.

“That’s not what I imagine when I think of food play.”

“It’s what I imagine.” He repeats the process on the other side of my neck, and I’m surprised at how well it’s working on me. How much I want him already.

“That so bad?”

“No.”

“You up for trying something new? We stop anytime you want.”

“Okay.”

His fingers go to the buttons on my dress. It’s a 1950s shirt cocktail-style dress with buttons all the way down the front and a small collar. Buttons he’s slowly undoing as we stand here.

“Fuck me… you’re so gorgeous.” He leans down and kisses the top of my breast, working his way down as he pulls the clasp loose at the front of my bra. His hand slips underneath, his thumb toying with my nipple as he takes another dip in the frosting and spreads it over the tip. His tongue follows a moment later and I’m practically melting against the counter.

“Okay… maybe I do like it.”

He takes his time with the next round, spreading the frosting around and taking time to admire his work. His lashes are low, and his eyes are heavy with lust. I reach forward and palm him through the sweats he has on, and he leans into my touch, his eyes closing.

“Scarlett… fuck. Seeing you like this, with this frosting all over you. There’s something I’ve been fantasizing about but I don’t know…”

I slide my hand down the front of his sweats, wrapping my fingers around him and sliding over his cock in slow, languid strokes. Wanting to torture him the same way he always does whenever he touches me.

“Does it involve you inside me? Because I’m thinking I need that even before dinner.”

“On you.”

“Hmm… explain.” It’s my turn with frosting and I use my free hand to put a small smear across his neck before my tongue runs over it. I grip him tighter as I stroke him, and he groans.

“Fuck you’re going to be the death of me.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

He takes a breath, opening his eyes to stare up at the ceiling before closing them again.

“Your breasts are fucking gorgeous and I—” He stops mid-sentence because I’ve dropped to my knees, taking his sweats with me, and run my tongue along the underside of his cock. I’m fairly certain I know what he wants and given how often he gives me the things I like, I’m willing to try it for him.