Easy Bake Lovin'

by Maggie Wells

  Georgie gave her head a brisk shake. Right now, she could think of much better things for him to be doing with those hands. Crooking a finger at him, she tipped her head and narrowed her eyes in challenge. “What’s the matter, Prince Charming? You forget how this works?”

  Mike looked down at her foot, then at the shoes hanging from their straps in his hand. He wore a look of utter wonder as he dropped to one knee. “Sorry. Slow on the uptake tonight.”

  “I don’t mind going slow once in a while.” She almost purred when he cupped her heel and drew her foot into his lap.

  “You really want me to put these on?”

  His voice was ragged and almost a full octave deeper than his normal, conversational tone. This was his bedroom voice. Georgie liked the rasp even more during sex, preferably with words explicit enough to warrant a warning label.

  “Yes. Put them on me, then take everything else off.”

  There was nothing as satisfying as watching a willing man drop to his knees. He slid one of the high-heeled sandals onto her foot and arranged the straps with startling dexterity. When she raised a questioning eyebrow at him, he simply shrugged, picked up the other shoe and said, “At least you’re not all wiggly.”

  “Yet,” she added with alacrity. If he kept handling her with this level of skill, she’d be jitterbugging right out of her skin soon. The moment the second shoe was secured, she placed both feet on the floor, reached for his hand, and rose, urging him up with her, though he seemed to be inclined to remain in his knees. As much as keeping him there was an appealing prospect, she hadn’t been kidding about getting out of the dress and the god-awful soul-sucking undergarments the sleek fabric made absolutely necessary. She hoped the woman he’d been married to had at least had the decency to introduce the man to Spanx between birthing his babies. If not, he was going to be in for a rude awakening. The moment he straightened, she presented him with her back.

  He grunted a, “Huh?” but didn’t move.

  “The zipper?”

  “Oh.” His fingers grazed her nape, but he didn’t unfasten the dress. “I thought the thing in the front…” He slid one hand around to touch the silk closure at the base of her throat. “I’ve been thinking about opening this.”

  She reached up to stroke his fingers, hoping to ease his disappointment. “Sorry, purely decorative.”

  “Cruel,” he grumbled.

  “I know.” Georgie cringed on the inside. God only knew how many other disappointments he’d encounter. She was pretty sure the industrial-strength spandex wasn’t going to be the stuff his wet dreams were made of. Still, this was what they had to work with. Maybe, she could keep him laughing, she could make getting out of her shaper a challenge to be conquered, and not a pathetic buckling to body-image pressures. To this end, she practically cooed at him as she shot a coy glance over her shoulder. “But look on the bright side. One zipper to conquer all.”

  To her surprise, he loosened one of the hairpins clinging for dear life to her once-tidy French roll. The thin wire hit the wood floor with a weak clatter. He’d started on another, and she reached up to still his hand. “Easier to unzip the dress before you let my hair down.”

  “Stop,” he whispered huskily.

  Georgie snapped her mouth shut, but her lips curved into a smile. Fine. She’d let him do things his way for a while. Let him have his fantasies. After all, he was the one who would have to use the Crisco and a crowbar to get her out of the long-line girdle. She hummed as sections of heavily sprayed hair were released from their bondage. When the last pin dropped, Mike pushed both hands into the clumpy mass.

  “I miss the blue, but I like this, too,” he whispered. “Is this your natural color?”

  “As far as I can recall.”

  “I bet you were a beautiful little girl.”

  “Is this going someplace weird?” she asked, suddenly skittish.

  “No. Not at all. Odd, seeing you up there with your family,” he admitted. “You look like them, but you are so completely you, people don’t realize you belong there unless you’re right there in the middle of the pack. You fit, but you didn’t fit.”

  A sharp pain lanced through her stomach, but she refrained from speaking. She was good at keeping her lips zipped on all things Carson.

  “I just…I think I like you better here, though.”

  “Do you?” The breathlessness in her voice betraying her vulnerability.

  He patiently worked his fingers through the shellacked strands, occasionally pulling on her scalp hard enough to make her want to yelp. Or moan. Either way, she kept her mouth shut tight and focused on breathing through her nose.

  “Yeah. Funny, I can totally picture how you probably looked when your dad was mayor.” He paused mid-confession. “I mean, I didn’t pay much attention to political stuff when I was younger, so I don’t really remember,” he added with an apologetic smile. As if he thought he might hurt her feelings or even offend her. “But I’m a dad and I have a little girl, so I can imagine.”

  “No, you can’t,” she whispered.

  “They dressed you up like a doll, right?” He freed yet another snarl, then ran both hands through her hair without impediment. “I bet you hated it.”

  “Every minute.”

  “Chrissie would, too. The kid plays dress up in costumes all day long, but the second I try to put her in a dress for a Christmas card picture, you’d think I was trying to dismember her.” He chuckled softly as he brushed her hair aside to kiss the tender spot below her ear. “I can’t say I blame either of you. You look beautiful all dressed up as Georgianna. Stunning, in fact. But I think I like you better as Georgie. Less intimidating. Okay with you?”

  He was taking her apart piece by piece. Mind, body, and heart.

  “Totally okay,” she whispered.

  At last, he found the tab of her zipper and pulled. An inch. Two. For the love of gouda, he was trying to kill her. Careful fingers parted the high collar. His breath stirred her hair. She was hyperaware of his body behind hers, yet he wasn’t touching her. Damn him.

  Then, his teeth scraped the frosting from the cupcake inked into her nape.

  A shudder ripped through her. He wrapped one arm tight around her waist and hauled her snug against him. Good thing, because her knees were about to give out.

  “I’ve been wanting to take a bite out of you since the day I met you,” he rasped, his breath hot on her ear.

  “Again.” She meant for the words to come out more forcefully—a command, not a request—but a wheedling note crept into her voice.

  His arm tightened and he ground his body into hers, leading with his hard cock pressed into the crevice of her ass.

  Her eyes slid shut, the lids too heavy for her to hold open one second longer. “Please.”

  He did. The sharp edges of his teeth scraped over her flesh, and every nerve in her body went on high alert. The low rumble of his “Mm” reverberated through her. She almost whimpered when he loosened his hold on her, but she bit her lip to keep things under control. Her zipper slid down another few inches. He nuzzled the fabric apart, dotting the top of her spine with soft, wet kisses, and trailing them along each vertebra he’d uncovered.

  Prying her eyes open, she fixed her gaze on the bank of windows across the room. The streetlights bathed half of the apartment in a warm orange-gold glow. She stood still on the shadowy side, letting him take the lead. Aching for him to quit dillydallying around and have his way with her already.

  “Killing me,” she whispered when he conquered another few centimeters.

  He chuckled. Amused gusts of air flowed over kiss-dampened skin. “Sorry, I’m…savoring.”

  Something about his tone made her stiffen. Something foreboding. “Because this is the last time I’ll see you?”

  “Not if I have any say.”

  His quick response coupled
with another few inches of zipper went a long way toward steaming the starch out of her spine. Letting her head fall forward, Georgie hid behind the curtain of her hair. “So you do want to see more of me?”

  “As much of you as I can,” he replied. His hands slid down to her hips, and the next thing she knew, his knees were hitting the floor. She sucked in a sharp breath when he caught the top of her super-sucking body shaper between his teeth and gave a playful tug. “Got any WD-40?”

  A laugh burst out of her. Twisting at the waist, she looked down at him. “Oh, so you’ve seen one of these before?”

  He unzipped the rest of her dress and the fabric began a slow slide over her hips. He gave a helpful tug, then sat on his heels as the dress fell in a dark, shimmering pool at her feet. “Yeah. But I have to tell you, you don’t need shaping. You are every man’s fantasy.”

  She stepped carefully out of the dress. Mike kept a hand steady on her spandex-encased hip, making sure she kept her balance in the too-tall heels she’d foolishly volunteered to wear. Left to her own devices, and a whole bunch of unseemly wriggling, she could have shed the dress, shoes, shaper and bobby pins in about two minutes. But stripping herself wouldn’t have gotten her nearly as keyed up. Nudging the dress aside with the toe of her shoe, she faced him head-on.

  Plunging one hand in his thick toasted-gold hair, she smiled down at her sexy supplicant. “You’re sweet to say so—”

  “Not being sweet. Completely serious,” he interrupted.

  “Silk is a magnet for visible panty lines.”

  He reared up and pressed his face to the exposed skin between her bra and the high waist of the torturous undergarment. “Guys love those.”

  His unabashed enthusiasm made her smile. “Do they, now?”

  Mike nodded, the top of his head nudging her breast as he slid a hand up her back to find the clasp. “Panty lines. Bra straps. All the things we see but aren’t supposed to see.”

  The hooks gave way and the straps fell slack, sliding off her shoulders, though the cups clung to her breasts. Mike didn’t seem to care if she kept her protective covering or not. He was too busy pressing hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses to her stomach and peeling her out of the mortifyingly unsexy garment.

  She winced when she glanced down and found her belly was pooching out over the top of her casing. “Hurry,” she urged, her cheeks flaming hot and her skin tingling.

  “These things can’t be rushed,” he countered. “One false move and we’re all twisted up. Have to call the fire department, have ’em bring out the Jaws of Life.” She felt his lips curve at his own joke. “I’d also have to punch a bunch of burly firefighter guys because they saw you naked. There’d be paperwork, and the whole night would be blown.”

  Something in the way he said the words “whole night” distracted her from her mortification. She let her hands glide over the shoulders of his suit coat. He still wore all his clothes. Hers were evaporating like morning fog. She might have cared more if she weren’t fixated on those two little words. “Whole night?” she repeated, not bothering to mask the hopeful note in her tone.

  “All night.”

  He stretched the slimmer over the widest part of her hips, then shucked her like a damn ear of corn. Using him for balance, she allowed him to help her step out of the clingy fabric as she tried to recoup a smidge of her cool. Unfortunately, a slight quaver in her voice gave her away when she asked, “What about the kids?”

  Mike shot her a look of bland patience. As if this whole scene were nothing out of the ordinary for either of them. Like he often kneeled at the feet of naked women wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Hell, there was still a coiling wire dangling from his collar, and, she’d bet, a microphone clipped to the inside of his sleeve.

  She prayed it wasn’t still on.

  Georgie was so lost in sorting the details out, she hardly noticed the bra hanging loose in the crooks of her arms. But Mike did. And as with everything else, he disposed of the garment with graceful nonchalance.

  “The kids are going home with Uncle James tonight.”

  The use of the familial title threw her. “Uncle James?” she asked.

  “Long, convoluted story involving my sister and things I try not to think too hard about,” he said dismissively. “In any event, they’ll be thrilled. There are very few rules at Uncle James’s house.”

  She smiled at the wry commentary. “I bet there are lots at your house.”

  He grasped her hips in both hands and pulled her roughly toward him. “So many rules,” he confessed in a rush.

  He nuzzled the curve of her stomach, and dipped his head to tease her navel with the tip of his clever tongue. She squirmed and tried to escape, but didn’t try overly hard. She knew from experience if he kept going on his steady march southward, she would soon be a very happy woman.

  Lacing her fingers through his hair, she let her neck go limp as she resisted the impulse to shove him down. The ends of her hair tickled her upper back. Her breasts felt heavy and full, aching for his touch. She gave a moment’s consideration to asking him to backtrack, but considering he took an eternity to get naked, she didn’t see any wisdom in knocking him off-course.

  “So, you wanted to stay here tonight?”

  Her voice sounded like a female impersonator’s version of Marilyn Monroe, but there was no help. He was drawing spiraling circles with the tip of his tongue from one hip to the other. Like some kind of erotic Spirograph, or better, a sexual tornado. He paused when he reached the center of her belly, his breaths coming fast and harsh, each one ruffling the small triangle of pubic hair she insisted her aesthetician leave in place. She had no desire to be waxed as bare as a prepubescent girl and no interest in any man who wanted her to look like one.

  “May I?”

  Her knees buckled. The creak in his voice was pure sin, the banked heat behind the request almost singed her insides, and, hell, how could a man be so disarmingly polite when he practically had his face pressed into her pussy? He nuzzled the tiny patch of hair and she forgot the question entirely. A lifetime of accumulated vocabulary boiled down to single syllables. But she only planned on saying was some variation of the “Yes, oh, yes,” so her lack of verbal acuity hardly mattered.

  He pressed his face to her in earnest, and she was in heaven.

  God bless an earnest man, she thought as he parted her with his tongue. Eager. So eager. She slid her feet apart. Not too much. She didn’t want him to think she was easy or anything. She was, of course, but she also liked to make him work for what he wanted. Build character, she affirmed as she gripped his skull with both hands and kept him exactly where she wanted him.

  He didn’t disappoint her. Mike never did. He licked, kissed, and suckled—yes, suckled—her tender flesh. Oh, God, was that a sip? Yes. Holy hell, he was incredible. She stopped cataloguing each and every stroke of his wicked tongue when he opened his mouth wide and set his mind to devouring her. Georgie arched her back, her body begging for more, even as her mind shied away from the onslaught of sensation.

  How many times in her life had she told some smartass to eat her? She had no fucking clue what the demand really meant until now. This man looked at her like she was haute cuisine and consumed her with the relish reserved for the juiciest of cheeseburgers. He buried his face in her, committing to his cause with a wholehearted determination she had no compunction to resist. He was compelling her to come. Demanding her capitulation with every delicious swirl, suck, and swipe.

  She gave in, spreading her legs even farther. Lord, she’d attempt the splits as long as he kept going. But she knew what he wanted. And he knew exactly how to send her flying over the edge. And since he was planning to spend the night, she saw no reason to draw things out. The minute he got her off, she was getting him out of his suit and fucking him six ways from Sunday. And those were the kind of thoughts her trussed-up, uptight man wanted to h
ear.

  Dirty words. Sexy promises. Filthy whispers she may or may not ever follow through on, but the intention didn’t seem to matter. Only the possibility.

  She gripped him by the ears and ground against his thrusting tongue. “Oh, yes. Now your finger,” she panted. “Fuck me with your mouth and your fingers.”

  Mike complied without hesitation. He’d been waiting for her command. Wanting her to say the words aloud as badly as she ached for him to follow them up with action. One finger. Two. One again. He teased her mercilessly, and she loved every blessed minute.

  “Oh yeah, right there,” she encouraged. “Do me good, and I’ll let you fuck me any way you want.”

  He growled against her. She stared down at him, loving the juxtaposition between the tight knot of his tie and the sight of her juices gleaming on his cheeks and chin. When this was done, he would leave her completely unraveled, and he’d barely have a few hairs out of place. Georgie knew bartering this kind of power with a man was wrong, but he was the one on his knees, wasn’t he? Tit for tat. She’d get hers, he’d get his, and please, God, let him touch her tits soon. She was going to explode if he didn’t.

  “How do you want me this time, Mike?” she asked, her voice a whispery taunt. “Will we fuck like missionaries or minks? The bed? The table?”

  She barely managed to get the last out. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the delicious tension winding tight inside her. Mike filled both hands with her ass, lifting her onto her toes to get a better angle. Squeezed and kneaded her like dough. The one time he took her from behind, he pretty much popped off right away. Something told her his ex hadn’t been a very vocal or imaginative lover. She liked being the woman who opened up those secret, forbidden doors for him. He loved her ass. Georgie didn’t need an advanced degree to figure out where his fantasies took him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go there. At least, not yet. But she also wasn’t above playing to his desires.