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We sat in silence for a minute or two and then he stood, and said, “Ready for dessert? Strawberry pound cake.”
My eyebrows flew up as I stood from my seat. “Yeah, let me help you.”
“If you point me to a knife, I’ll cut it,” I said, once we were in his kitchen.
“In the block on the counter to your left,” he said from somewhere behind me. His voice was soft, and I wanted to turn and look at him but was honestly afraid to.
“Did you make this?” I asked, as I sank the knife into the moist cake.
“No, my mom brought it over this morning. It’s her specialty.” He was still behind me, but I could tell he’d moved closer.
“Plates?”
He stepped beside me, opened a cabinet, and pulled out two saucers, setting them on the counter. I could feel his eyes on me as I placed the heavy slices of cake on the plates and licked the crumbed from my fingers.
“You gonna let me taste some, too?” he asked, in a voice so husky it took me aback.
My head snapped into his direction to find his eyes focused on mine. I glanced around, and said, “Uh, where are the forks?”
“Use your fingers.”
For some reason, those three words sounded obscene spilling from his lips. I shook my head, no.
He tilted his head to the side. “Why?”
Before I could answer, he’d broken a tiny piece of cake off one of the slices and brought it to my mouth. I hesitantly opened my mouth to accept it, a position he took advantage of by quickly leaning in and covering it with his, sliding his tongue inside. I moaned as we shared the cake and each other’s tongues. It all felt so…wrong in a good way. His hands gripped my waist as our kiss became more tongue than cake. Finally, I snapped out of whatever trance I was in and broke away from him. “Wait, stop,” I managed to say through heaving breaths.
“Why?” he asked, as he licked his lips.
“You know why,” I nearly whined.
“Okay, what if you don’t do anything, but I do? Will that be cheating?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
He moved closer, resting his hand gently on my neck and leaning in to press a kiss to my lips. “I’m talking about you keeping your integrity while I get to know you better.”
“H-how?”
He slid a hand down my thigh, then up my dress.
I sucked in a breath as my eyes darted around the kitchen. “Where’s Rell?”
As he hooked his finger in the waist of my panties, he said, “He won’t bother us,” and then fell to his knees. He pulled my panties down to my ankles and slid his hand between my thighs, urging me to open my legs.
“Lorenzo…”
“Open your legs, Doc.”
There was nothing nice or cordial about the way he said it. It wasn’t a request. It was a command laced with the insinuation that I’d be punished if I didn’t obey him, and something about that turned me on. So, I kept my legs together, and softly said, “Make me.”
I almost wanted to search the room to see who’d said that. Surely, not me.
“You think I can’t?” he asked, his face so close to my core that I felt the heat of his breath when he spoke.
“Show me you can.”
A second later, he was back on his feet, his mouth covering mine, both hands gripping my breasts through the fabric of my dress. He kissed me deeply, then backed away. “You like to play games, Doc?”
