Don't Go Baking My Heart

“But will you?” She set her food aside and pulled the table forward until there was enough space in front of Devon for her to walk around and drop down to her knees. She leaned back on her heels. “Will you?” she asked again.

He swallowed. “I’ve never done that before.”

“That’s okay,” she assured him in case he felt embarrassed about it or whatever. Reba liked to tease him about being boring, but she didn’t want him to think she was judging him for not having explored certain things sexually. “Do whatever you like. This isn’t about me. It’s for you. Let go a little. You’ve earned it, given the week you’ve had.”

“You’re right. I really wanted to go off on Vic.”

“I don’t know that guy, but fuck him. Focus.”

He leaned back into the chair, legs spread. Oh yeah, now they were getting somewhere. Reba didn’t appreciate manspreading generally—at least when they were encroaching on others’ spaces—but this… Jesus Christ. The picture he made was glorious. If only he would allow her to capture it, she could use this for her own private time whenever she was feeling a bit frisky. But she would have to take a mental snapshot instead. He would never go for that suggestion.

He unbuckled his belt, and Reba bit down on her lip, clutching at her dress because that was so hot. The slow slide of his belt from the loops, the way he coiled up the brown leather before resting it on the couch.

She swept the open sides of her dress off her thighs and made herself more comfortable when Devon undid his button and slid the zipper down. She thought he would pull his pants all the way down, but he didn’t. Instead, he reached in, and… God, it was difficult not to reach under her dress at the exact moment he palmed his dick in one hand.

“You’re so quiet,” he murmured, hand stroking up and down.

“I’m taking this all in. I don’t want to miss a single thing.”

And she didn’t. Not the way his strokes started slowly then sped up. Not the way he never took his gaze off of her, eyes moving over her body like an actual caress. And she definitely didn’t miss the pure pleasure on his face as a chorus of fucks dropped from his lips.

Reba liked to think she was a helpful person in general, so she pushed up her capped sleeves so they would be secure on her shoulder then unbuttoned her dress the rest of the way, giving him a peek of her bare skin as his hips moved in time with his strokes. She could help a guy out.

“You can come on me if you want,” she offered. She was generous like that.

“Fuck, Reba.” His head fell back against the couch, hands jerking faster now. He came with a loud groan, spurting all over his poor white shirt.

Head tilted back, chest rising and falling with his deep breaths, she rose from the floor, walking up to lean over him until he looked her right in the eyes—well, for a few seconds until they dropped to where her dress gaped open.

She patted his chest. “You did good. How do you feel now?”

“Better.”

“Good.” She stepped back, leaving her dress hanging open. “Now, do you want to finish this food and I leave or…”

“I’ll take the or.”

“You sure you up to it?” she teased. “You look a bit wiped there.”

He zipped his pants up partially, so they didn’t fall down when he stood. He traced a line across her collar bone with the tip of his finger. “You’ll find that when I really put my mind to something, I can get the work done.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” She swept her hands out. “After you.”

If he was certain he could go again, she would trust him to know his own body. Besides, getting him ready again was half the fun.