I nod and purse my lips. One of his fingers slides between my labia and fondles over my slick clit. My breath hitches in my mouth. “I thought you might like it. Do you?”
He touches his forehead to mine as he exhales sharply. “Oh, what am I going to do with you?”
“Fuck me?” I suggest sweetly.
He chuckles.“What?” he asks in a hoarse whisper. “You want me in here?”
He slips a finger inside and a soft cry escapes my lips. My knees shake and I cling to him, afraid I’ll fall.
“I didn’t hear you,” he says, his lips against my ear. His tongue darts out to lick the lobe.
“Yes,” I gasp. “God, yes.”
He slips another finger in, and my body turns to mush. His fingers always feel so thick inside me, but somehow, his prick doesn’t hurt at all. It’s huge, but I can do it. It pushes me right to the edge and then the orgasm tips me over.
“Just do it,” I demand and plead at the same time. “What are we waiting for?”
Randall gazes at me soulfully as his fingers flick and pump in my pussy. “Not yet,” he whispers, withdrawing the fingers.
In one move, Randall scoops me up and throws me over one shoulder.
“Show off,” I accuse him.
He just laughs as he throws me on top of the bed. I hear a rustle beneath the bed and I look to see him sliding something out.
“What is that?” I ask.
“A washable fitness mat,” he explains.
“Are we going to exercise now?” I ask curiously.
“In a bit,” he answers with a sly grin. “You know, in order to be fit, you don’t just need activity. You need a proper diet.”
He takes a bottle of chocolate syrup from the drawer of the bedside table.
“Chocolate syrup?” My eyes grow wide. “You keep chocolate syrup in the bedside table?”
“You said you’d wear whatever I want,” Randall reminded me, twisting from side to side in a sway and watching me with that impish grin. God, I loved sex with him. After Vince, I didn’t think sex even could be fun, but Randall and I have fun. “The bikini was just the first part.”
“I see.”
He’s going to pour chocolate on me? That’s what the mat is for?
As he opens the bottle, I lie back down. “Now I know where David gets the crazy ideas.”
Randall chuckles. “Turn around, baby. This is only the beginning.”
I obey, lying flat against the mat. I feel him pour the chocolate syrup on my back. It’s surprisingly silky and warm on my skin, like massage oil, and I wonder if he warmed the bottle in preparation for me. Even when he’s drizzling me in syrup, he’s a damn gentleman
Wait. Is he tracing my scars?
It seems like it. Afterward, he pulls the strings of my panties and places a heap of chocolate syrup on each of my butt cheeks then down the back of my legs.
Okay.
“You know chocolate isn’t good for you, right?” I tease “You’re better be ready to do some squat thrusts.”
“I am,” Randall promises. “But the chocolate isn’t what I’m going to be eating. You are.”
“I’m not good for your health either,” I tell him. His tongue lavishes and skates across my buttcheek and I giggle at the way it jars my whole body, making me buzz and burn anew.
“You are,” Randall purrs. “You’re too sweet.”
His hand scoops around my hip and slides between the sheets and my pussy, stroking my button with his middle finger as he licks the chocolate off my ass, then moving up my back. He traces my scars with his tongue; I know that he does. The wounded skin is extra sensitive; I’ve traced it with my own fingers a thousand times. I bury my face into the mat and whimper as his finger strums my pussy and his tongue tickles over my back. I can’t stop the shivers climbing up and down my spine, and my hips buck against the mattress, fucking Randall’s hands involuntarily. I want to come so badly. When will he stop playing?
Shit.
It feels so good, so good I want to stop, but then I want more of it. I’m going mad. He’s driving me crazy.
Randall keeps going, each long swipe of his tongue teasing me from the inside out. He descends to one of my butt cheeks and laps up one dripping streak of chocolate.
I laugh. I can’t help it. It tickles.
“You’re torturing me,” I tell him lightly. “This is illegal!”
I never thought that I would laugh and make jokes during sex… especially jokes about being tortured… but Vince is the furthest thing from my mind. The only man I know right now is Randall. He’s my world.
Randall bites at my plush little asscheek playfully, and I gasp in delight. His fingers still pumps at my button, his free hand holding my hip in check so that I can’t arch off the mattress.
“Delicious,” Randall says before biting on the other cheek.
Tingles unleash down both my legs and I moan. I hump at the mattress, at his hand, wishing that I could see him and touch him right now. My pussy shudders.
“You’re not the only one who’s hungry, you know,” I pant. “I’m fucking starving, Randall.”
He chuckles and I hear his zipper peeling down. My body goes still with patience. I’d do anything for him right now. “Let me see if I have anything for you,” Randall breathes against my ear, and I feel his thick cock sting between my legs with its body heat. It feels like a roll of bread fresh from the oven, he’s so hot for me—and then it’s gone.
He just takes it away and I yelped, lifting my hips to push myself off the mattress.
“Uh uh,” Randall teases, pressing my hips back down
“You promised… Now the other side.”
He lifts me up and turns me around. I feel the stickiness of the chocolate on my back but I can’t complain; I can’t even think about it right now. He pours some of the chocolate on my chest and I’m so turned on by him that I want it now. I want that silky, warm syrup tracking down my breasts and pooling in the hollow my throat and anywhere else he wants it to be, because I want whatever he wants.
Randall reaches up and unlaces my bikini top, taking a moment to gaze at my bare breasts, which seem to be staring back at him through their hard nipples. A slim river of warm chocolate syrup falls right in the valley between my breasts and I track my fingers through it as I smile at him, then bite down on my lower lip. “Get in here,” I plead softly. He’s going to break down for me.
I hear the way Randall exhales strongly—like he’s trying to shake something—and then he continues tracing his syrup around my belly button. “Not done yet,” he says, pulling down the damp triangle of fabric that I still have between my legs, lacing even my mons in his chocolate sauce.
“It’s a good thing you shaved,” he says, beaming up at me.