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Heat shoots straight to my core at those words, remembering how he feasted on me and licked me like I was his piece of candy. I clear my throat and push away from him. “See that you don’t. We don’t want to contaminate the cake.”
Damian chuckles, clearly seeing how much he’s affected me, but he returns to his work, pouring the pale yellow cake batter into two pans, making sure to scrape every last bit of batter before neatly sliding the pans into the oven.
While he does that, I work on making the chocolate frosting. My hands shake as I add the butter, cocoa, and confectioners sugar to the mixing bowl and turn it on high. God, what is wrong with me? Baking is supposed to be my therapy, but it’s making me more turned on than ever.
And I have a certain shirtless Mafia Don to thank for that.
I squeal in surprise as a dollop of frosting lands on my neck. Goddammit, I had the mixer too high. That will teach me to be distracted while baking.
Before I can wipe it away, Damian is there, backing me up against the counter with a heated look in his eyes.
“Allow me,” he growls in that sinfully rough voice that never fails to make my toes curl.
Then his mouth is on me, lips blazing a molten trail along the sensitive column of my throat. I gasp as his tongue laps at the sweet frosting, the intimate rasp sending liquid fire licking through my veins.
“D–Damian…” I manage, hands coming up to fist in his dark, tousled hair.
He hums against my racing pulse point, removing the sticky-sweet frosting from my flushed skin with broad, unashamed strokes of his tongue. I arch helplessly into his sculpted form, chasing the heat of his mouth with shameless abandon.
When he thoroughly cleans the frosting from my neck, Damian continues his sensual assault. His lips trail up the slope of my jaw, his teeth grazing my racing pulse point in a way that has me shuddering violently. Then he’s kissing me, deep and filthy and all-consuming, licking my lips and devouring my breathy moans.
I clutch him closer, parting my lips to allow the slick velvet glide of his tongue. I taste sugar and heat and dark, masculine spice—an explosive, intoxicating combination. Damian plunders my mouth with hungry fervor, stoking the whip of desire into a storm of molten need in my core.
His large hands roam with possessive reverence, caressing the soft curves he has already mapped and worshipped before. Yet his touch is still somehow a brand, setting off liquid tremors wherever his callused palms and fingers stroke. I arch wantonly against him, craving that delicious friction.
Finally, the need for oxygen becomes too great to ignore. Damian tears his mouth from mine with a groan, panting harshly against my damp, swollen lips. I cling to him, equally breathless and undone, my heavy-lidded gaze drinking in the lust-darkened expression blazing in his eyes.
“Fuck, Alexis,” he growls, resting his forehead against mine. “You taste so sweet.”
He punctuates the words with a sharp grind of his hips, letting me feel the ridge of his arousal. An obscene whimper slips free at the raw promise in that simple thrust.
“Maybe we should take this upstairs.” I manage in a throaty whisper. “Before I end up debauched on this counter.”
Damian’s wolfish grin is all the answer I need. Hooking one arm around my waist, he hoists me up and onto the counter in one smooth motion, pinning me beneath his body. His kiss swallows my shocked gasp, melting away any protest I might have—not that I’d been protesting in the slightest.
As his hands shove up my nightgown and his skilled mouth blazes an incendiary path down my breasts, I let my eyes fall shut in abandon, let myself be consumed by the wildfire of sensations, by Damian’s dizzying touch that liquifies my higher brain function down to a single, rapturous mantra.
More. God, yes. More.
Damian pulls me so the lower half of my body is nearly dangling off the counter. He flashes me a wicked grin before he slowly pulls down my panties, stuffing them into the pocket of his pajama pants.
I’ve never been so turned on in my entire life.
“You tasted so good with that frosting on your neck,” Damian murmurs, kneeling in front of me so he’s directly in front of my sex. “Can I have another taste?”
“Yes, please,” I practically cry, unable to take my eyes off him as he smirks, pressing tender kisses from my knee to my thigh before he eventually reaches that little bundle of nerves where I need him most.
I bite my lip to prevent me from crying out, lest I wake the entire household. Damian’s hot tongue drags through my folds to envelope my hypersensitive bud, and I writhe against the counter, thrusting my hips into his willing mouth.
Damian pins my hips down with one hand as he feasts on me, using his other hand to slip two fingers into me. My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head as I revel in the sensations. My thighs begin to shake, and I know I’m getting close. Damian seems to know it too because he presses his tongue deeper and rubs my swollen nub.
“Oh, Damian!” I gasp. “I–I’m going to come.”
He doesn’t say a word, only working my oversensitive clit even more. I explode, biting down on my hand as I come, writhing and bucking against him as I come down from my high.
Damian’s lips are shiny as he emerges from between my legs, a triumphant smirk on his face. Oh, I’m going to eat him alive.
A low growl echoes through the kitchen. We freeze, panting heavily, turning to see Biscotti eyeing us with clear impatience.
