“That sounds amazing,” I said. “What’s that?” I asked as Primo pulled a small box out of his pocket and placed it on the counter beside where I was leaning. “I don’t think I trust that look in your eye,” I added when he moved a little closer, something wicked in those dark eyes of his.
I wouldn’t claim things had gone back to normal between us. Grief and trauma was still hanging around us, and likely would be for a good while yet. But we’d found our way back to lighter, easier moments, to finding joy and comfort in each other and the relationship that only managed to grow stronger each passing day.
And one of the things that had only gotten better and better for us was the sex. Now that we were done pretending we didn’t want it.
In a way, having sex as a normal, healthy outlet kind of made all the other stuff easier to deal with.
So my body tripped into overdrive at the way he stalked even closer to me, a dark promise in those molten eyes of his.
“You’re cooking dinner,” I reminded him.
At that, he grabbed a hold of my pants and panties, and yanked them down off my legs.
“I just want a little appetizer first,” he said, dropping down to his knees, and draping one of my legs over his shoulder, then wasting no time as he started to lick and suck at my clit.
But, like the monster he was, just when I was close, he pulled away, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he moved to his feet.
“Not yet,” he told me as his hands reached out, turning me away from him, then bending me forward over the counter.
I was vaguely aware of him opening the box, and I guess I figured it was a vibrator or something. But my whole body jolted when something small and cold pressed inside of me, making my muscles tighten around it instinctively.
A low, rumbling sound moved through Primo as he started to thrust whatever it was in and out of me in slow, controlled motions until I was whimpering and wiggling my hips, needing more.
But then it slipped out of me for the last time, moving back and up, pressing against my ass as the realization finally dawned on me.
A plug.
It was a plug.
Even as I thought that, though, it was slipping inside of me, creating a new, unexpected sensation.
As soon as it was in, Primo moved back a step, reaching out with both hands to massage my ass cheeks for a second.
“Okay,” he said, then turned and walked away.
He walked away.
“What are you doing?” I said, turning my neck to see him walking over toward the stove, mixing his sauce, and then pouring a little oil into his boiling water.
“Making dinner.”
“You can’t leave me like this,” I said, a strange choking laugh escaping me.
“Sure I can. I just did, lamb.”
“But…”
He turned toward me at that, his gaze slipping from my face to my plugged ass, and a low, primal growling sound escaped him that had me pressing my thighs together to ease the ache that was growing inside me.
“Come here, lamb,” he demanded.
“What? I can’t…”
“Come here,” he demanded, tone a little firmer. And damn if my body didn’t react to that authoritative tone.
I pressed up and turned, feeling the strange, full sensation as I moved.
The wicked smile that toyed at his lips said he knew the strange, forbidden sensation that was building in my system as I moved toward him.
“Be a good girl and make the salad for dinner,” he demanded as I got close.
“What?” I asked, confusion and desire mingling in my system to wipe all rational thoughts away.
“Make the salad, baby,” he said as his hand wandered down my spine to squeeze one of my ass cheeks. “And when you are dying for it and begging for it, then you can have my cock in your ass,” he said, giving my ass a hard slap, then turning around and getting back to the ravioli.
Not entirely sure it was possible for me to want him to fuck my ass badly enough to beg for it, I decided to play his game, turning away, then getting to work on the salad.
By the time I had the veggies all chopped up, though, there was no denying the fact that my system was begging for him to fuck me.
The plug had somehow created this strange fullness that pressed against my inner walls, making my pussy ache with need.
I was so wet by the time I put the salad on the table that it was almost embarrassing.
“Done trying to pretend you’re not dying for me?” Primo asked as he scooped the ravioli out of the pot and placed it on a platter.
“Yes,” I admitted, placing my palm flat on the table as I took a slow, steadying breath.