Free Served Hot by Annabeth Albert Page B

clogging my brain.
    “David.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Tell me the soup has to simmer a while.”
    “The soup needs to simmer.” He flipped the burner control to low and threw a lid on the soup with a loud clatter.
    He returned to me with a growl, diving right back into the kiss. The assertiveness had my toes curling. I sucked on his tongue, trying to insinuate what I’d do to his cock if he moved this to the couch. But he didn’t move from our cramped spot between the cabinets. Instead, he kneaded my ass and hauled me closer.
    “Couch. Now.” I broke away. The way he was going, another thirty seconds and I’d be coming in my jeans.
    “Bedroom.” Grabbing my hand, he hauled me through the living room.
    “Too far.” I stopped by the couch, trying to move Mt. David onto the couch.
    “Couch doesn’t . . . uh . . . have supplies.”
    “Well, why didn’t you just say that?” I gave him a flirty wink before skipping down the short hall. “Race you.”
    Usually, David didn’t ask me to bottom unless he’d had a couple of beers. Made my stomach go all tingly how he always asked so haltingly for something I was only too happy to give.
    “So tell me about this fantasy of yours.” Forget waiting for him to unwrap me like a late Christmas present. I stripped off my clothes with surgical precision before hopping on the bed.
    “Um.” Going all pink, he stumbled out of his pants. My dick jumped at the sight of him shedding his dress clothes. Pulling off his tie was a huge turn-on for me, and the thunk of his belt hitting the floor and the rustle of his crisp dress pants was more effective than a double shot of Jack at loosening up my muscles.
    I already knew I’d be down with whatever he had in mind, anticipation thrumming through me like a heavy bass beat. There was a trust level with David that I’d never had before—a comforting reassurance that he wouldn’t push for more than I wanted to give.
    “Hurry up and show me.” I patted the bed. Our bodies moved together with a fluid familiarity—a rasp of hair as our legs tangled, a glide of muscle as our chests met. Kisses that dragged on for long minutes, him working my cock with a practiced hand.
    “Gonna . . . come if you keep that up,” I warned.
    “Tell me what you want.” Oh, yes. Toppy David was out in full force and my whole body shivered with eagerness.
    “Fuck me,” I whispered in his ear. His dick leapt against my hip at my words. He might not be able to force the words out himself, but he sure loved me talking dirty.
    Grabbing a pillow, he maneuvered me until I lay on it, facedown.
    “This okay?” He dropped kisses down my spine.
    “Totally.” I suppressed a laugh. His big idea was predictably tame and I loved him for it. Loved him. Of course, I hadn’t managed to tell him that yet. He hadn’t said the words either, and I wasn’t about to be the only one with the words hanging between us, out of place and as awkward as jeans at a black tie dinner.
    “Is it okay if I come this way, though? You gonna care if the pillow gets spooge on it?”
    “Not at all.” He kissed the dimple right above my ass before reaching for the lube. He knew exactly what I liked, how hard to work me with his fingers, exactly what spots to hit to open me up. I shuddered as he found the perfect rhythm. There were definite perks to having a detail-orientated boyfriend. I loved his big, strong fingers almost as much as I loved his dick.
    “Please.” I humped into the pillow. I’d come from just his fingers before and my body was hurtling toward that point. “Can’t wait.”
    “Okay, baby.” Thank God he didn’t make me wait. Slowly, he pushed in, breath hissing out between his teeth. The position forced him deeper and I rocked back into him, needing more. The hard press of his body limited my motion, intensified even the smallest wiggle. Slipping one arm around my chest, he cradled me as he stretched out along my back.
    “Kept . . . thinking about . . . angles