She felt him spasm against her tongue.
He withdrew partially as he began to climax, thrusting shallowly and ejaculating on her tongue. He groaned harshly, gripping her hair between his fingers. Her eyes sprang wide as all his coiled, incendiary power was unleashed. She struggled to keep up with him, sucking and swallowing, feeling his cock twitch and throb as he thrust, while more and more of his semen spread on her tongue.
Finally, his ejaculations waned. His still rigid, streaming cock popped out from between her pursed lips. She craved more of his taste once he was gone, pushing the tip of her tongue into his slit. She looked up at him, laving the swollen, glistening cockhead. He stared down at her, still grasping her head, his nostrils flaring slightly, his dark gypsy eyes smoldering as she lapped up every trace of him she could find.
She kissed the tip of his cock, pausing to glide her mouth against the wet skin. A grim smile pulled at his lips.
“You never give half-measure,” he said, his eyelids narrowed as he studied her. “I love you for that, among other things.”
“For giving good head?”
His mouth twitched. “For giving yourself so completely. Come here,” he said, suddenly sounding stern. He bent to put his hands on her shoulders, urging her to stand.
“What, am I in trouble?” she joked, a little confused by his intensity.
“No. You’ve been very good. Exceptionally so,” he said, turning to shift his covered plate and the ice bucket over to the side table. He swiftly did the same with the silver and glassware. Then he was reaching for her and lifting her onto the table.
“What are you doing?” she asked him in amazement when he pulled up his chair and sat again.
“Spread your thighs,” he demanded shortly. She opened her legs and he scooted his chair between her parted knees. She yelped when he put his hands on her hips and jerked her closer, her * zipping to the edge of the table.
“I drank,” he said, lowering his head between her thighs. He used his thumbs to spread her labia. She saw his small, grim smile. “You ate. Now it’s time for my meal.”
*
THEY finally actually did eat the meals Marie had prepared them. Alice remained sitting on the table in front of him, naked and flushed from multiple climaxes. She held the plate in her lap and fed him succulent bites of food from her fork, serving herself every other bite and laughing when she occasionally spilled grains of rice onto her stomach or his thighs. They talked about trivial things, and she teased him mercilessly.
“It’s a lot easier than I thought it’d be,” she said spontaneously a while later when they moved on to the delicious birthday cake.
“What?” Dylan asked, taking a bite from the fork she extended.
“Loving you.”
He paused in chewing, his eyes flashing as he looked up at her. Still holding her stare, he took the plate from her lap and set it aside.
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“What?” she asked, breathless, because she recognized that gleam in his eyes. He stood and lifted her off the table.
“Be such a smart-ass one second, and so sweet the next.”
She smiled. He’d told her that before.
“I don’t want to be predictable.”
His dark eyes glistened from amusement and candlelight. “Heaven forbid.”
At his urging, they covered the cake and blew out the candles, but left everything else behind. He led her to his bedroom, where he told her to lie down on the bed. She stared up at him, enraptured, a moment later as he came over and entered her.
“Was it a happy birthday?” he asked, his muscles bulging as he held himself off her and his cock throbbed deep inside her.
“The happiest day I’ve ever had.”
“Alice,” he rasped.
He began to move. The truth of what she’d said filled and overwhelmed her.
It frightened her a little, too.
FIFTEEN
The next morning, Dylan awoke alone. He rose and donned some pants, concerned but not as alarmed as he’d been in the past to realize Alice was in the house alone, a potential victim to memories that didn’t feel like her own.
This morning, he had a feeling he knew where he’d find her. When he reached the top steps that led to the back veranda, he heard the telltale squeak of the porch swing. Relieved, he opened the door.
She rocked on the big old swing, one bare foot on the floor propelling her, the other bent and resting on the swing. On top of her thigh rested a plate of cake. She smiled around the fork she’d just inserted into her mouth when she saw him approaching.
“I woke up thinking about this cake,” she said, chewing.