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“We’re going to play, Priss, that’s all,” he says, crawling back onto the bed and sitting in front of me, placing the bowl beside him.
“Play?”
“I’m hoping we can make some good food memories for you.”
Hope swells in my chest, and then shatters when my gaze falls on the contents of the bowl.
“Just focus on me, Priss, all you have to do, is look at me,” he says, pulling my hands from where they’re wrapped around my knees.
He smiles and a layer of tension melts from my shoulders.
“That’s it, baby, it’s just you and me, there’s nothing and no one that can hurt you when it’s just us,” he coos, cupping my cheek and stroking his fingers softly over my skin.
“Kiss me,” I beg, needing him to ground me, and to stop my mother’s voice from invading this moment.
“Always,” he whispers, a second before his lips find mine.
He kisses me as if I’m made from the most delicate glass, like I could shatter at any moment. Wanting more I press against him, pushing my tongue into his mouth, trying to push for him to take over, to take control. Instead he pulls away, never deepening the kiss, and leaving me breathless and panting.
“I’m not made of glass; just because I’m fucked up doesn’t mean you have to treat me like I’m breakable,” I snarl, suddenly angry with him.
His palm snaps out and his fingers collar my neck, not hurting me, just holding me firmly, comfortingly. “Not breakable, Carrigan, just precious.”
My lips fall open. He thinks I’m precious. That must be a lie, my only value was the inheritance, but that’s gone. I don’t have anything else to offer him.
Opening my mouth to protest, he silences me with a finger, wiping something smooth and cool across my bottom lip.
“What—?”
“Shh,” he says, leaning forward and sucking my lip into his mouth. “Mmm, chocolate,” he purrs.
“Chocolate,” I say, licking my lower lip and tasting the remnants still on my skin.
His mouth finds my nipple, licking at it, before something cold and wet replaces his hot tongue. Glancing down I find him circling my pebbled nipple with a strawberry, the juice leaking from where he’s bitten the end off and drawing a pink path along my skin.
His eyes find mine and he takes another bite of the fruit, before he leans down and licks the juice from my breast. He teases me again, drawing a heart shape this time before biting the strawberry and licking the juice off me.
Heat pools in my stomach as he sucks and licks at my sensitive tip and I arch my back, pushing my breast towards his hot mouth and silently begging for more. He doesn’t oblige, instead he takes the final bite of the strawberry, chewing and swallowing before pressing his lips to mine, the sweet taste of strawberry filling my mouth.
When he pulls back, I try to follow him, but he evades me, dipping his finger back into the jar of chocolate spread and coating my bottom lip with it again. My tongue dips out before I even process what I’m doing and my eyes widen in panic, but he kisses me, making me forget everything except the taste of his tongue, the feel of his lips.
“You taste fucking delicious,” he coos, when he pulls away again. “Hmm, what’s next?”
I flinch when he slides a chunk of cold melon across my skin, drawing a line of juice down between my breasts and over my stomach. His tongue follows the path, licking the sticky liquid from me, before he pops the whole chunk of melon into his mouth and chews it.
Grabbing another piece, he swirls lines of juice over my stomach, licking it clean before eating the fruit again.
A part of me hates the sight of the food, but a bigger part of me wants to taste what he’s tasting, to experience this with him. When he lifts the next piece to his lips, I grab his hand, diverting the melon to my mouth, where I take a tiny bite.
“Hey, that’s mine,” he laughs, snatching the fruit away and pushing it into his mouth. “Now stop moving, I’m enjoying myself.”
Smiling, I lean my head back against the pillows and let him play. Every now and then he coats my lips with the chocolate, kissing it off me and filling my mouth with the sweet, creamy taste. He doesn’t push me to eat, but he smiles when I pull his hands to my mouth, nibbling at the fruit and licking the juice from his fingers.
“Last one,” he says, twirling the strawberry stalk between his fingers. “What shall I do with this one?”
Grabbing it from his fingers I smile, holding it up teasingly. “I think I should get to play with this one.”
“Your wish is my command,” he says, with a playful arch of his eye brow as he grabs me and rolls us until he’s lying on the bed and I’m straddling him. Putting his arms behind his head he winks at me. “I’m more than ready to be your breakfast dish.”
