Free Blush by Cherry Adair

flushed. She hadn’t had a Brazilian in months. He must think her prehistoric—“loss.”
    “Christ, your damp silk is a turn-on.”
    Mia blinked, instinctively canting her hips so his finger would get more serious. Instead he stroked and petted until her back teeth hurt. “This is like finding diamonds when I expected silver. Grab those two forks and hold them like . . . this.” He removed the fingers toying with her nipple to demonstrate how to grip them in a hand with no motor functions becauseall her attention was focused on the sensation of the fingers of his right hand down her shorts.
    “Now whisk.”
    He tilted the glass bowl, letting the eggs slide slowly into the sizzling butter in the warm pan. “Add salt and pepper. A bit more.”
    A finger glided in the wetness and Mia bit back a small moan as he inserted just his fingertip into the seam. Everything inside her coiled. Tighter and tighter.
    He kissed her throat, inserting two fingers all the way, as he whispered, “Don’t come,” right in her ear.
    “Don’t—” As she started spasming around his fingers, he withdrew his hand, so his touch was on the swollen folds of her sex, butterfly-light. Mia thrust her hips forward but, off balance, she teetered and grabbed for his wrist.
    “Pick up the spatula and fold. Don’t stop, just keep them moving around slowly. That’s it.” Three fingers curved deep inside her, not changing rhythm as her muscles clenched unbearably. His fingers withdrew, leaving her teetering on the very edge of a climax.
    Mia tried to think of something else as her body screamed and begged for release. Scrambling eggs wasn’t complicated, she thought desperately, tightening her thighs to trap his hand. But then, she’d only ever eaten them, never watched their preparation. And never with a man finger-fucking her.
    Dear God. Breakfast would never be about food again, not with this memory hitting her whenever anyone mentioned eggs.
    Every time she was just about to crash over the edge, hewithdrew his fingers to give her another instruction on whatever the hell was in front of her. Commanding her to focus, commanding her not to come.
    “You know,” she snapped when he withdrew his fingers yet again, “I don’t do instructions well. I can leave you to your devil eggs and run upstairs and . . . and . . . Oh, God—” She squeezed her eyes shut as he twirled his fingers deep inside of her, the exquisite sensation of release hovering like a dewdrop shivering on the edge of a leaf.
    “Don’t.” He bit lightly at the tendon standing out in her neck, and she shuddered so damn hard that she dropped the spatula onto the stovetop with a clatter.
    “Pick it up. Then bacon in the oven.” Cruz gave her maddeningly detailed instructions on how to lay it out, and what freaking temperature to set the oven.
    She. Did. Not. Care!
    He didn’t step back, so when she bent over to open the door and shove the baking sheet inside, he was right there . The long, hard ridge of his penis pressed against the crack in her ass.
    There .
    But not.
    “Is there a valid reason you’re tormenting me like this?”
    “I’ll stop if you don’t like it.”
    “I like it. I like it a lot. I’d just like it to be faster!”
    “Too bad. This is all about cooking the eggs slowly. Give them a slow swirl with the spatula. . . .” He moved his fingers inside her tight, pulsing sheath as he caressed her breast,strumming the nipple with the edge of his nail, learning the shape and heft of her breasts in turn. “Slower. There you go. See how they’re fluffing up? Glistening with all that succulent butter?”
    Mia’s head fell back against his shoulder, and she hissed out, “Bastard.”
    “Keep stirring. Don’t let them burn.”
    “It’s a good thing we’re preparing scrambled eggs,” she managed to pant out. “Because by the t-time we get around t-to eating the damned things, I’ll be so old I won’t have any teeth! They look ready. Can