Стейси Кестуик - Wet

“West.” His name was a mere sigh, and he hummed in response, the vibration adding another level of bliss.

He released the breast he had been caressing, his hand lowering to my damp core. His middle finger ran the length of my slit, top to bottom, bottom to top, before easing inside.

He growled and clamped down on my nipple with his lips, while his finger slipped into me and stroked. My hips lifted, more than ready, but he kept the pace slow, removing his hand after only a few thrusts and circling my clit.

I whimpered his name in frustration, and he laughed once against my chest, his warm breath puffing on my overheated skin.

Giving in to my hands pushing against his shoulders, he worked his way down my body, avoiding touching my sensitive stomach. Settling between my legs, he lifted my thighs over his shoulders and made his first slow pass with the flat of his tongue. I about came unglued.

I moaned and dug my heels into his back, trying to force him where I wanted, no, needed him most. He hummed an acknowledgement and separated my folds, delving deeper until his mouth latched onto my swollen clit. His tongue swirled, lapping gently, and my fingers pressed against his head in time with his slow sucks. I’m impatient by nature though, and it wasn’t long before I was using my hips and hands to ask for more.

He responded, his lips pulling more firmly against my folds, his tongue flicking, and his roughened cheeks scraping my inner thighs. I was close, so close, and mindless noises spilled from my open mouth.

Two thick fingers pushed into me roughly, and it was enough. My thighs tightened around his head, clamping him to me, and I whispered an endless chain of his name and “Now, now, now ,” into the dim room.

He stayed with me, his tongue softening as my hips slowed their grinding rolls against him, not releasing me until my hands fell away from his head. Then he pressed soft kisses over my sex, almost reverently, inhaling and licking his lips. The sound of his appreciation mingled with my ragged breathing.

His hands snaked up my body, plumping my heavy breasts and tweaking a nipple to get my attention.

I opened a sleepy eye and peeked down at him, unable to do more.

His husky voice was a mix of threat and promise. “You get three minutes. Then I’m going in for round two.”

By morning, my discomfort was gone, although I wasn’t sure if the credit should go to the aloe and ibuprofen or the flexibility and stamina of West’s tongue. I rolled over toward him, wanting to snuggle and ignore the stubborn sunbeams infiltrating my bedroom blinds.

But the bed was empty — the pillow indentation from his head all that remained.

I frowned and propped myself up on my hands to look around. His pants were gone, but his shirt was still balled on the chest at the foot of the bed. Unable to resist, I grabbed it for myself, slipping it over my head and breathing him in, filling my lungs with his salt and citrus scent. Tugging on some hiphugger panties, I headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth and use the bathroom before I went looking for him.

When I emerged five minutes later, happy to find my sunburn only lingering on my shoulders and face, I was awake enough to smell the scent of bacon drifting through the cottage. Helpless to resist the allure of the crispy, greasy goodness, I followed my nose to the kitchen where West was holding a spatula and a cup of coffee while poking at two skillets. One had bacon, and, at the moment, I didn’t care about the other one, because he was shirtless , cooking breakfast in my kitchen, and it was such a sexy moment that I couldn’t help but stop, stare, and take it all in.

Until Rue appeared across the living room, halting when she spotted him. She stalked across the room to my side and snatched my elbow to pull me closer to her.

“What is he doing here?” she hissed. “You know the rules.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Lifted my hand and dropped it again.

“Cooking breakfast?” I offered in a weak voice.

“Morning to you too, Rue!” West called cheerfully, pointing at the counter with his spatula. “Coffee’s ready and the pancakes are almost done.”

“Mmmm, pancakes,” I whispered, more to myself than to her.

Rue elbowed me in the ribs.

I made my eyes big and pleading and then hit her with the full force of my puppy dog expression, sticking my lower lip out for emphasis. “He made coffee and bacon and pancakes. Can’t we bend the rules just this once?”

She looked at me flatly, then clomped to the coffee pot, pouring herself a mug and dumping several spoonfuls of sugar in it.

Turning from the stovetop, he squinted in her direction. “Someone,” he started, “did not have a good evening. Unlike the rest of us.” He tossed a wink at me over his shoulder, and I held the back of the couch to keep from melting into the floor.

“Someone,” she mimicked, “didn’t think I would mind waiting while he used his vacuum pump to prepare himself last night.” She snorted in disgust and shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of that particular memory.

I gasped, my eyes widening, and covered my burgeoning laugh with my hand.

She shot me a dirty look and grunted before taking a big swallow of coffee and mumbling something that I couldn’t catch but had West shaking his head.

“It’s not fucking funny,” she insisted, but a grin had started to work on one corner of her mouth.

I walked to her side and laid my head on her shoulder, curling my arm around her waist for a quick squeeze. “Yeah, it kind of is.”

Working the griddle like he’d been doing it for years, my shirtless date drizzled batter onto the hot pan, making some kind of abstract design. I made my way over to the counter for my own cup of coffee, and by the time I’d added an ice cube to cool it down and taken my first few sips, he was sliding the fresh pancake onto a plate and handing it to Rue.

She took the plate, added a few strips of bacon, and sat on a barstool at the island in the middle of the kitchen. Her sudden burst of laughter startled me, the coffee cup almost slipping from my hands, and I set it down to wipe a few stray drops from my fingers with a paper towel.

“What’s so funny?”

She tilted her plate in my direction, showing me the penis-shaped pancake sitting on it, complete with a bulbous mushroom head and two oversized balls.

My gaze flew to West, where he stood grinning to himself as he flipped more pancakes.

He shrugged, sensing my scrutiny “Everyone should be able to start the day with a big dick. This is the best I can do to help her out.”

I didn’t think my eyes could widen any farther as I was caught between horror and mirth, my lips unsure whether they should tip up or down. Without a word, I snagged the bottle of syrup and walked to her plate, adding a sticky stream of maple from the tip, down the exaggerated erection, and oozing over the balls.

She chuckled as she took her fork, viciously cut off the tip, and shoved it in her mouth. “This is so much better than what was offered to me last night,” she whined around the food in her mouth. She sent me a look that told me I was forgiven, at least this time, for breaking the rules.

I grinned back at her, helpless to stop myself from imagining more mornings like this, just hanging around the cottage with my bestie and my…

Okay, well, I didn’t know what to call him yet, because it seemed way too soon for boyfriend, but friend didn’t work either. My mind shuffled through some other possible labels until a plate was dropped in front of me.

With my own penis pancake.

Grabbing the syrup, I helped my breakfast find its own happy ending.