I walked to the fridge and slipped the desserts and whipped cream inside, taking a deep breath. "What is that?" I asked, not able to place the smell that still somehow made my stomach growl. "Tacos?" I asked, brows drawn together.
"Don't insult me," he said with a smile.
"Not an insult. I like tacos."
"Okay, next time. This time, we're having wet burritos."
"What is a wet burrito?" I asked, propping myself up on the counter and watching as he scooped rice and then a supply of cooked veggies and beans onto the tortilla.
"Depends on your taste. But in general, a tortilla filled with rice, veggies, meat, beans, and cheese. Then you roll it up, melt some more cheese on top then add some Pica de Gallo, salsa verde, rojo, or habanero- depending on what heat-level you can take."
"That sounds too good to be true," I said, meaning it.
"It is. And it goes great with the beer I have cooling in the fridge," he told me, rolling up one burrito and putting a mix of shredded cheeses on top before nuking it for a couple seconds and handing me the plate, gesturing toward the supply of salsas.
He wasn't trying to sweep me off my feet with some three-course meal, but he cooked me something that made that frappe foodgasm moan sound tame when I had my first bite.
"Oh my God."
"I know," he agreed, smiling big at my enjoyment.
And I realized with a sort of blinding clarity that I literally couldn't remember the last time I felt quite so content. It wasn't that kind of 'high' you get when something goes right or you achieve something after a long time trying; it was deeper. It was soul deep. I felt it into my marrow.
"What's that look for?" he asked as he took my plate and put it beside his on the coffee table.
Not sure how to explain it and thinking it was perhaps too soon to even if I could, I took a long swig of my beer and shrugged. "What look?"
To that, his lips tipped up devilishly. "You really want to do this again?"
"Do what?" I asked as he stood suddenly and walked toward the kitchen.
He didn't answer me though as I heard some shuffling before he came walking back with the whipped cream.
"Do the 'I am going to get what I want out of you by using sex to do it' thing," he explained as he slammed the can down on the coffee table and moved to stand between it and the couch, reaching down and pulling me onto my feet.
"Brant..." I said as his fingers teased up under the material of my tee, running across my lower back and inching it off my skin.
"Know what?" he asked as his fingers paused to unclasp my bra.
"No, what?" I asked, feeling my chest get heavier as desire started to course through my system.
"I'm still hungry," he told me, pulling my shirt until I had no choice but to raise up my hands as he pulled off both my shirt and my bra.
"Begging won't help you this time," he informed me as his hands whispered down my belly and unfastened my button and zip before yanking the thick material over my butt then down my thighs.
I stepped out of the material as his hands pressed into my hips and pushed me back toward the couch.
I had barely sat down before he was grabbing for the whipped cream and shaking the can, eyes devilish, smirk downright sinful.
"Lay back," he commanded and I automatically moved to do just that. "Unless you want to end it without all the torture and tell me."
Tell him what?
I had no idea what I was even supposed to tell him anymore and, honestly, even if I did know what... I was pretty sure I wanted every second of a torment that involved him licking things off my body.
I jumped slightly as he circled my nipple with the cold whipped cream, an unexpectedly erotic sensation. He covered both nipples and created a line down the center of my belly and completely covered the skin above my sex.
I waited for him to move over me, to kiss me, then move down to my chest.