Dessert In Bed

“But you have to earn me first,” I had said.

Alexander leaned back and looked at my breasts as if they were a treasure he could touch but never possess. To make it deliberately more challenging for him, I stretched and lolled around, letting the bathrobe slide open completely. My entire body lay naked before him.

Not that the sight was new to him, but nonetheless it seemed seductive and desirable because he had to earn it again. Just like the apples in the neighbor's garden always seemed sweeter than the ones you could just pick.

But I didn't let myself be intimidated; instead, I turned up the heat even more.

“Exactly.”

I left it open as to what precisely that meant and ignored him completely. Instead, I grabbed a small silver spoon and a small bowl of crème brûlée from the serving trolley. The caramel cracked promisingly as I broke through the crust. I savored the yellowish treat between my lips. “Mmm!” Then I licked the tip of the spoon lasciviously. His eyes followed every movement of my agile tongue.

Then I dipped the spoon into the dessert a second time, brought it to my chest, and let a dollop of the sweet cream land precisely on one of my hard nipples. I saw his lips twitch. But he was still holding back.

“Come on, Mr. CEO. Looks like you forgot your dessert,” I teased him.

Now he didn't hesitate for a second. He leaned over me. His mouth covered my breast, warm, hungry, his tongue licking away the sugary blob. Ooh! I laughed softly, feeling my body vibrate. I wanted more.

He hadn't expected my hand to shoot forward and grab him by the neck. I held him tight like a young tomcat. Of course, he could have broken free, easily escaping me with his superior strength. But he didn't.

“Don't be greedy,” I teased him. “There's more.”

I reached for a strawberry, bit it in half, and held the rest between my lips. Alexander understood immediately—his mouth pressed against mine, he took the red fruit directly from me, our tongues meeting sweetly and sticky.

Meanwhile, his hand had slipped between my thighs, his thumb playing with the spot that was already wet and impatient for his touch. I moaned, half in protest, half in unbridled lust.

“I think you've understood the game,” I gasped between breaths.

“Oh, believe me, Cloe,” he whispered, “I don't just know the game, I also know how to win.”

I slid further towards the middle of the bed, pulling him with me, my knee brushing against his hardness, which was barely hidden under his bathrobe.

“Then show me how well you can play.”