After a few seconds, she relaxed, melting into him the way she had earlier.
Ducking his head, he rested his chin on her round shoulder. “I like to cook. Which is good, because my job means I have to be careful about what I eat. How I exercise too.”
And there it was. He might as well have been holding a piece of her stone countertop. No surprise there.
“April . . .” He pressed a quick kiss to the newest bruise on the side of her neck. “After those doughnuts this morning, I’ll probably eat nothing but protein and vegetables for the rest of the day. I can’t have leftover pizza or fried rice. I’m not especially hungry anyway. But—”
She was closing the refrigerator door and twisting out of his arms and moving away from him, and he didn’t try to stop her. He just kept talking and hoped she was still listening.
“—I don’t expect anyone else to eat or exercise the way I do. It’s a part of my job. That’s all.” He gestured to the shiny refrigerator. “So if you’re hungry and want pizza, have pizza. If you want fried rice, have fried rice. If you want to eat more doughnuts the size of your head, or another of those croco—”
“Cocroffinuts,” she muttered, finally meeting his eyes again.
“—whatever the fuck those things are, you should do it. Despite the very real risk that more caffeine might actually make you levitate.” He tried to infuse each word with every bit of sincerity he could muster, every bit of reassurance. “What I eat or don’t eat is irrelevant.”
He shouldn’t know why she’d turned cold in the cab after their day at the museum. But he did know, and before they fell into bed together, she needed to hear the truth.
His body was a tool for his job. He intended to keep it strong and durable and flexible. If the attention he had to pay to food and working out would trigger anxiety for her or make her uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t get past, then they both needed to know that now.
She’d paused several feet away from him, leaning a hip against the countertop. Behind those adorable glasses, her brown eyes were narrowed. Assessing.
It wasn’t enough that he was telling the truth. She had to believe it too. He intended to project earnestness and credibility using every trick in his actor’s playbook.
He kept his stance open under her scrutiny, his hands relaxed, his gaze steady in return. Before her, he stood calm and stalwart, the very exemplar of trustworthiness.
Another long pause, and then she inclined her head and took a small step toward him. “Fair enough.”
The sudden release of tension weakened his legs, and he propped his butt against the countertop for extra support as he cast her a sidelong glance. “You mentioned lunch. Do you want to eat something?”
For the first time since they’d arrived at her apartment, a wicked edge turned her smile sharp. Predatory. Jesus, he’d run past SFX fireballs on set that weren’t as hot as April with that particular expression on her face.
Best of all, her expression meant he’d done it. He’d navigated a verbal minefield without a script or character guiding his words—him, of all people—and that gorgeous incendiary device of a smile was his reward.
“Not food.” Another step closer. Another. “In other matters, I could be persuaded.”
His breath whooshed from his lungs.
April, her red-gold hair spread over his thighs as he arched into her hot mouth and trembled.
That particular image had brought him to orgasm numerous times over the past week, almost as often as when he imagined the sounds she’d make as he licked her, how she’d buck in his hold and toss her head as he held her in place, how she’d tighten around his fingers when he sucked her clit, how she’d pulse and moan as she fell to pieces under his mouth.
Just an hour ago, though, his cock had strained against the zipper of his jeans at the genesis of an entirely different fantasy. That one he could make happen, if she was willing. Right now, in her kitchen, with daylight pouring through her windows.
He held out a hand. “Come here.”
No hesitation. Her fingers intertwined with his, and she didn’t pause or protest when he turned her and tugged until her back pressed against his chest. The counter behind him was hard and cold, but he barely felt it anymore. Not given the heat and softness in his arms.
The pressure of her generous ass against his growing erection turned his eyelids heavy. Especially when she did exactly what she’d done on that sidewalk earlier. Tipping her hips, she rubbed up and down slowly, a caressing taunt.
He ran his nose along her neck. Sank his teeth a millimeter into her earlobe, glorying in her gasp and the clutch of her hands on his arms.
His fingers flirted with the hem of her sweater. “Can I touch you?”
“Anywhere.”
He licked the rim of her ear. “Anywhere? Really?” “Really.” Twisting her neck, she pulled his mouth to hers for a brief, wet kiss, sucking his tongue until his vision turned white around the edges.
When she faced front again, her head against his shoulder, he let his hands roam under her sweater. His palms stroked over her rounded belly, up her sides.
Soft. She was so soft everywhere. Full of curves and secret valleys.
Her satiny skin was heating under his touch, even before he brushed a thumb along the swell of her breast, right above her bra. Her supportive, thick-cupped underwire bra. Too thick for him to feel even a hint of her nipple, and too supportive and stiff to allow him to tug it down in a comfortable way for her.
Fine. That could come off later. Her breasts weren’t his primary goal right now, anyway.
He stroked downward again. Trailed his fingers just above the waist of her leggings.
Thank fuck for stretchy fabric.
Her breathing hitched, the movement slight but definite under his lips on her neck. He mouthed and sucked and licked, one hand spread on her belly as the other slid beneath her leggings, slid beneath her smooth underwear, only to encounter slickness and heat between those trembling thighs.
She let out a choked sound, and he paused. “Okay?”
“Yes.” Her hips tipped, pressing her tighter against his hand. “Please.”
Even with forgiving fabric, there wasn’t much room to maneuver, but her warm, wet sex nestled perfectly into his hand. So perfectly.
Carefully, he teased apart her hair and lightly stroked his fingertips along her folds, learning the intricacies of her by feel alone. She quivered beneath his touch, delicate and soft, and when he teased her entrance with his forefinger, she parted her legs wider, leaning more of her weight against him as her hands reached back to clutch his hips.
But he slipped up, up, up again, exploring until he found it.
Slow. Slow. He circled her clit gently, and her nails were gouging into his thighs now as she huffed out soft little noises. When he dipped lower again, she was even wetter. Even hotter. This time, he slipped a fingertip just inside, playing. Rubbing.
She arched against his hand and whimpered, and he smiled.
“Do you like something inside you when you come? Something to clench around?” Her cheek was feverish under his lips. Unable to stop himself, he ground his stiff dick against her ass, and it made him burn even hotter. “Or is the clit alone better?”
Her voice was a strangled whisper. “Both. I want both.”
This time, he didn’t stop with a tease, but pressed a finger inside her. Two. Jesus, she was swollen and slick and so fucking hot. So fucking tight too, even though her body offered no resistance whatsoever to the penetration. He hooked his fingers. Rubbed.
She exhaled shakily, then turned her face into his neck when his thumb found her clit again.
By now, he was supporting both of them with the help of the countertop, grinding his jeans-covered cock against her in rhythm with her own rocking hips as she bit off moans with each circle of his thumb, each twist of his fingers.
She began to stiffen against him, her flesh twitching under his thumb, around his fingers, and he tangled his free hand in her hair and urged her lips against his.
She was too far gone for kissing, and he didn’t give a fuck. As she panted into his mouth, he greedily swallowed every breath, every sound.
Another circle around her swollen clit. Another.
Then she gasped and arched and broke, sagging back against him as she squeezed his fingers and pulsed against his thumb and made low keening noises.
Gently, he stroked her through every twitch, every hitched breath.
When she was done coming, he removed his hand from her leggings, turned her in his arms, and let her watch, eyes heavy-lidded, as he licked his fingers clean.
A bit tart. Earthy, which seemed appropriate for her. Perfect.
The sunshine through the over-sink window gilded her. She was flushed and dewy and languid, leaning heavily against him, and he wished he had enough talent to capture that look on film. Not that he wanted anything to puncture this private, idyllic bubble of a moment.
With his thumb, he stroked a strand of hair away from her still-damp temple. “That was even better than I’d imagined.”
Her voice was husky. Amused. “You . . . you imagined this? Making me come in my kitchen?”
“The kitchen part was improvised.” He chased the flush on her round cheeks with his lips, letting it warm him. “But when you rubbed that amazing ass against me on the sidewalk, I wanted to get my hand into your pants and grind against you as you came around my fingers.”
She let out a breathy sound, and he drew back to grin at her.
“So smug,” she said, and he was almost certain that was meant to sound like a complaint. But there was too much affection in her tone for that, too much satisfaction.
“Where’s your bed?” He ducked down to trace the plump peninsula of her earlobe with his nose, then with his tongue. “I want to see you spread out for me.”
She made that sound again, and yes, he would admit it.
As she led him by the hand to her bedroom, his smile was definitely smug.
Lavineas Server DMs, Eight Months Ago
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Hey, Ulsie. You didn’t reply to my messages yesterday?