Javi’s at the massive stove, and he’s really cooking, like homemade cooking…for me.
Why? Were these his orders from the bosses?
He turns his head towards me, hitting me with a genuine smile. “Bonita! Thank you for coming to dine with me!” Then he’s back to plating.
“I got my orders so here I am,” I say, because I can be pissy when cornered. He doesn’t notice, or he pretends not to. I sit, hating the mood I’m in. What the fuck is wrong with me. I’ve got a gorgeous guy cooking for me, and now bringing me wine, and all I can do is scowl and act like I’m at the dentist. I roll my eyes, unable to stop myself. The wine goes down so smoothly, making it easier for me to force a few cleansing breaths. Try to relax, I think, sipping more of the delicious wine.
Javi is humming, really enjoying himself over there. No small talk to cover the roar of my empty stomach. I hear it. I’m sure he can, too. “Oh, Bonita, I must take care of you. A little food in you and you’ll be back to normal. Here, open.”
I do, after another ridiculous eye roll followed by a neck roll. “Jav—“I start, but he shoves a beef taquito dripping with sour cream between my lips. “Bite,” he says and it’s not a request. I do, closing my eyes and moaning at the crunchy texture, the spicy beef, the cool cream.
I open my eyes, eyeing the other half, but he holds it just out of my reach.
It’s then that I notice the hand he’s feeding me with. His fingers, the very same that had been all up in Daisy’s business, reach for my mouth. This gets me hot, my lips parting to take them in. I look up into his eyes, and find his gaze on my mouth. His fingers sweep the corner of my mouth, wiping drool? Sour cream? Who knows at this point? He’s got me so heated, touching me with those dirty fingers.
He sucks the leftover cream from his fingers, sucking, licking, identical to his activities from this afternoon, and it causes a deep clench to pull at my lower belly. I could cum right now; it wouldn’t take much. If he so much as sneezes, I’ll drip down both legs, I swear.
He puts the rest of the taquito into my mouth, along with the tips of his fingers, which caress my tongue on the way out of my mouth. His fingers brush my lower lip, and I forget to chew.
“Eat, Bonita,” he whispers. It takes all my wits to remember how to do just that.
My blood cools to a simmer as he finishes making our plates. He sits across from me to eat, without a care in the world.
“What is all this?” I ask between bites, waving at the candles he’s lit in the middle of the table, surrounded by heaping plates of rice, beans, salad, and taquitos. I can’t knock the food—he’s a great cook, everything is fresh and done right. “Is this part of your job? To cook for me? Did they tell you to feed me?”
“I love nothing better than to cook for you, Bonita. This right here, this is the best thing I’ve done all day.” He continues eating.
“Really,” I smirk, but he doesn’t catch my cattiness. “Are you sure Daisy isn’t the best thing you’ve done all day?”
His eyebrows go up, and he cocks his head, his gaze scouring my face. He’s finally getting it, just as I do. “Are you…jealous, Bonita?” A wide grin breaks across his face.
“You think this is funny, Javier?” He’s right, I am jealous. Insanely so, like he’s mine and I have a right to these feelings.
Laughing, he gets up and hugs my stiff frame. “No, not funny, Bonita. But your jealousy just made my day.” Sitting back down, he eats around his big grin.
Which makes me even madder. Or even more jealous. Well, there’s one for the scrapbook. Jealous? Me? Yep, that’s what I’m feeling. It’s undeniable. I’m analyzing my rush of feelings for this man so hard I almost miss his question.
“I didn’t do anything with Daisy but my job. How do you even know about that?” His smile has faded. His fork is lying on his plate.
Uh oh. I missed something. Fun-loving Javi just shut down real fast. I take another bite and chew, thinking my answer through.
“I have an all-access pass, remember?” I grab two more taquitos from the serving tray, adding fresh guacamole to the ends. He loves to see me eat. Maybe this will distract him from this stupid line of questioning I’ve started.
He nods. “I guess my question is, with all that is available for you to watch, why watch that particular scene, Blue?
His casual use of the pseudonym gets my attention. Not Bonita; now I’m Blue. I shrug like its water under the bridge, continuing to plow through the plate. “This is good, by the way.”
“Thank you.” He nods and considers my face. “Answer me please.”
I put down my fork. I guess he wants me to spell it out. “I was fascinated by Daisy. Tied up and helpless. That’s why I started watching. But you, in the mask…that kept me turned on.” Grimacing, I correct my tongue slip. “Tuned in, dammit. You kept me tuned in.” There, elephant addressed, he knows I’m peeping on him.
Smirking, he continues his interrogation. “Hmm, and did you think what I was doing was ‘good’ as well, Blue?”
Oh God, did I think that was good? Flustered, I reach for the wine, which has been refilled, and chug half the glass.
“Tell me, Blue, what do you think is good? Did you like what you saw today? What do you like? Not the persona you’ve been given of the pin-up girl. What makes your pussy wet?”
He doesn’t mince words. At the casual use of the word ‘pussy,’ my face gets warm with a deep blush, which spreads down my body, straight through my core, and pools in my loins. Whew.
He’s hot on a regular day. Factor in the way he’s looking at me through his lashes, add in that half smirk, he just shot up the thermometer to scorching.
I can’t even think when he’s looking at me like that.
I take a big bite of rice to buy some time and dart glances at him as I chew. But, no, he doesn’t move, and his eyes never leave my face as he waits for my answer.
Speaking more to myself than him, I reply, “You, Javi. You make my pussy wet.”
He leans back in his chair, and I watch as his well-used hands slide just inside his waistband to adjust his girth. “Good choice of words, Blue.” His long legs stretch out towards me until he captures my tightly clenched ankles under the table. The contact and the view make instant perspiration pop out all over my body.
“As for your earlier questions. What is all this? That’s what you want to know, right? Why would I feed you? Why would I take care of you the first night in a strange and different new place?” His stern voice, bordering on chastising, draws my attention. This is not the leaver of Twinkies. While his ankles rub the outside of my legs, his hands leave his waistband. One adjusts his baseball cap while the other, the one that’s been in Daisy’s pussy, his mouth, my mouth, lands heavily on his bulging man bump. He strokes himself through his jeans.
“Take another bite of that rice that I worked so hard on for you, now.” Husky, but there is no doubt it’s a command, so I do.
He leans his head back, eyes on me, and continues to stroke his long shaft, tip to stem, through his jeans. “More,” he says, his eyes never leaving my mouth. Two more bites go in. I can barely chew around the food. “Faster, keep going, stuff those pink lips, Blue.” I can see just the tip of his tanned man muscle peeking at me above his waistband, leaving a trail of pre-cum on his tight stomach.
I crunch into a taquito dripping with guacamole, and chew. I can’t stop watching his hand. I’ve never seen a guy I want, rub himself off so blatantly. Is that all for me? I chew, trying to swallow, and meet his eyes.
“That’s so fucking sexy, Blue. You don’t know what that does to me, to watch you eat what I’ve made with my own two hands. I want to keep that big tummy of yours full of my food, nourish and satisfy you. That’s my job, baby girl, and I take it seriously.” He stands, opening the fridge, and pulls out a large baking dish. It’s flan, dripping with caramel, and he sits it right on my half-full plate, his hand never leaving his cock.
When I feel like I can speak, I as
k, “No spoon?”
He’s so close, I can feel heat radiating from him, and he smells like hot sin. “You won’t need one.”
Leaning into my hair, he takes a deep breath of me, inhaling me in, leaning into me further. I can feel his cock rubbing the outside of my arm, but I want it on my breast.
“Time for dessert, baby girl, and if you wanna make Daddy proud, you’ll eat every morsel,” he pushes his hard length right up against my breast. The contact feels like he’s branding me right through his jeans.
I look down his body, trying to look anywhere but at the slow-pulsing cock escaping out of his pants.
His long fingers reach into the dish of flan, poking a hole through the top. Using two fingers, he moves nice and slow, finger-fucking the sticky dessert. I can’t look away. It’s obscene, and it’s making me drip. I shift in my chair, snugging my full breast right up against his hardness. His fingers move leisurely, in and out, in and out. My lips are dry, all the wetness in my body pooling at my core, making my underwear as sticky as the dish. I can’t stop imagining those fingers dragging through my own hot wetness, searching for my entrance.
A moan, low and slutty, escapes from my parched lips at the thought. I lick them, but my spit isn’t the wetness I seek.
His bulge rocks against the side of my boob, that peeking, weeping big head bulging with veins just inches from my jaw. If I moved, just a bit to the right, leaned into him a little, I could kiss the tip. My head drifts in that direction, but his hand comes up and tightens at the base of my skull, holding me in place. “Don’t move,” he says, all business.
His fingers are coated with sweetness, and he hooks them as he skims the top of the flan grabbing a big scoopful.
The hand at the back of my head moves to cup my chin firmly in place.
“Open.”
My mouth drops open at the command. Leaning down, he looks me in the eye and says, “Wider.” All low and dirty. And I do. I close my eyes as he jams the scoopful between my lips. His fingers caress my tongue on the way out. A sound of pleasure escapes me, a sound I’m sure I’ve never made before. Guess that’s why they call it the ‘spice kitchen.’
My eyes follow his fingers, which dig back into the dish. He trails two ragged grooves through the flan with those fingers, scooping more. I open my mouth, waiting, but he smears the tip of his cock with the sweetness, then pokes those same fingers in between my lips. I suck them clean, swirling my tongue around them, making sure to get every drop of Javi-laced flan.
“That’s it, eat what Daddy gives you.” I feel his other hand at the back of my head, urging me down to the mess at the top of his waistband. “Taste me,” he whispers, and I do. “Lick that dirty monkey, make him clean.” I do, not caring for this dirty talk. ‘Dirty monkey.’ That’s a new one, even to my virgin ears.
His tastes like salted caramel. My tongue swirls the head, and with each go around I try to go lower, lick the hidden depths, trying to get inside those jeans. “Greedy little piggy.” It sounds so hot from his lips, I moan for him.
He steps back to rip open the button fly, shoving his underwear down. “This monkey wants out of his cage.”
I watch, licking my lips as he leans over the dish and places his full balls right into the flan. My hands itch to touch him.
Gripping the sides of the table, he drags his thick cock through the flan, burrowing a long deep tunnel right through the middle. He’s fucking the flan, making me wish it was my long deep tunnel he was drilling.
He pulls his dick out, and it’s obscene. Full of curds, dripping with caramel.
“Lick me clean.”
I get to work, licking the tip, down his shaft, sucking each of his balls into my mouth. Only after he’s clean does he push his penis to my flushed face. “Kiss it, Blue, just the tip. Do not get greedy.” My insides turn over at the husk in his voice, the sexy glimmer in his eye. He is by far the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I do as he commands, light kisses, all lip, and no tongue, really working the head of his penis. He groans and shoves his fingers into the ruined flan.
Stroking his cock with the remaining flan, he pushes past my lips into my wet mouth. A sigh escapes. He smells like a Mexican bakery, cinnamon, sugar and spice, my favorite. I suck dessert off him, moving my mouth further and further down his shaft, wanting all that he is offering. He lets me control the tempo, I can’t even watch his face, just his fingers twirling and digging into the dessert on the table.
I let his cock plop out of my mouth, and I move to his fingers, which are hidden in the flan. I lick the trail his dick made through the top, coming to his fingers. I eat my way down to them, sucking one and then the other clean. He moans, jerks, grabs a towel, and let’s himself go, cumming into a dishtowel as I eat the dessert he’s made for me. I turn back towards his dick, hoping he’ll let me lick him clean again, but this time he turns away, zipping his pants. “I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”
“You did everything perfect, too perfect.” He clears his throat and continues, “I’m just embarrassed, Blue.” Before I can protest or say anything, he pushes on the spice rack door, leaving the room.
I don’t know what just happened, can I be sued for sexual harassment? Even if I wasn’t the one who brought the flan?
Getting up, I feel sticky head to toe, and unsatisfied. Fuck the dishes, let Mr. Embarrassed clean his own mess. I head to my room with the wonderful smell of caramel wafting all around me.
Chapter 18
Well, that wasn’t awkward. I cringe at the memory and can’t even use my blue fluffy pillow to comfort myself. I fucked the shit out of it earlier; it’s not Downey-fresh anymore. The TV’s on behind me, but I don’t feel like watching right now. Everyone’s rolling around, moaning, doing what I feel like doing, and it’s just making me edgier.
There’s a knock at my door. Shit, is he back with more flan?
I hesitate at the thought but, well, he lives here, I can’t avoid him forever. I feel like flinging open the door and yelling, “Take me!” But what really happens is I crack it just enough to get my eye up against it.
“Hey, can we talk?” It’s Sasha, bearing wine and two glasses. Her sheepish look doesn’t fit in with the leather bustier and red satin shorts.
The breath I didn’t know I’d been holding rolls out, and I open the door wider. “Yeah, I need to talk to someone.” She pours the wine, eyeing the TV monitor, and commits sacrilege by flicking it off! “I didn’t know I could do that,” I exclaim.
She just shrugs as if to say, I’m the boss and hands me my glass. “Drink up.”
After both glasses are emptied, and promptly refilled, she moves to sit down.
“Wait! Not on the blue pillow!” She eyes me, and her face opens, smiling wide as she remembers that I was doing vile, nasty things to it earlier. “A little cum never hurt anyone.”
Speaking of cum. “I might have broken a house rule earlier.”
“Really? Which one?” She picks nonexistent lint off my brand-new bedspread instead of looking at me. Hmm, this isn’t good. Could I be kicked out on my first day? “Uh, I’m not even sure if it’s a rule, or just frowned upon, but I did things—a lot of things—with Javi.”
She doesn’t respond right away, even her busy fingers have stopped tearing at my bedspread. What she does do is reach down, grab the bottle of wine, and take a huge pull. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a loud burp escapes, and I can’t help giggling. The wine’s got me all glowy.
Giggling, too, she says, “Sorry, I wasn’t always such a pig. It’s the feeders. They love it, and love it even more when it’s natural, so when in Rome…”
“The feeders?” There’s that word again.
“Oh yeah, you’re not from this world. I keep forgetting that. No matter. We’ll get you up to speed in no time. Just remember the witch in the candy house.” One more slug, and she hands me the bottle.
“Oh, that’s right.” I follow her lead, minus the burp.
“I
guess they’re the reason for all my bad table manners, especially chewing with my mouth open.” She leans back on her elbows. “There is a purpose to my visit. I swear, but first, one thing. You need to know a little more about the feeders. Some of our clients, the majority of them actually, get off by watching you make a pig of yourself.”
I digest this, and it reminds me of someone. “Is Javi a feeder?”
She eyes me, a wicked gleam in her eye. “I think you know the answer to that question, Blue.” I do. And he is. I nod my head yes, feeling deflated. Of course there’d be something wrong with the one guy who’s shown me any positive attention since, well, ever. A sigh escapes at the thought.
“Hey, Blue?” I look at her, now seeing understanding cross her face. “To each his own, right?”
“I guess…I just, I mean, why do guys like Javi like that sort of thing?” What I don’t say is, why does a beautiful man like Javi have to be so fucked up? Is it God’s joke to give him incredible looks then scramble his brains? “Is he uh…dangerous?”
At the thought of Javi hurting me, his Bonita, Sasha throws back her head and laughs. “Hell no, honey, you can always close your mouth.”
I smile back at her. I can always close my legs, too, and keep them locked up tight.
“Since we’re here already, he’s what I came to talk to you about.” I sit up straighter, anxious for details. The guy’s been nothing but sickeningly sweet to me, focused on me, and even, for some odd reason, into me since we met. But there’s something I don’t know, that I have to know. And Sasha wants to give it to me. “Ugh, again with the bed picking. Spit it out!”
Her hands freeze, mid-pick. “Okay, okay, jeez!”
Shit, I said that out loud. She lies back, moving her arms behind her head, taking forever to get comfortable. Eyeing the blue pillow, she gives me a wink, folds it in half—I laugh at this— and puts it behind her head.
Becoming Blue (Chubby Chasers, Inc. #1) Page 9
