Impulses (51 page)

“Come on…” he hisses, and I can’t stifle my giggle as he attempts to relieve the tin of its contents.

I stand in the archway, nibbling on the nail of my index finger in an idle attempt to conceal my amusement. He halts and his eyes gingerly travel upward to meet mine. The ‘deer in the headlight’ expression has my heart thrumming with both happiness and hilarity, but also love and appreciation at the degree of his consideration.

“Samantha,” he says curtly. His eyes are wide with shock and a little embarrassment, I think. I open my mouth to say ‘hi’, but the filling of tin relinquishes its grip, and falls free onto the cooling rack upon the island…well,
half
of the filling is better than none, right?

“It looks like a bomb has gone off in here. What have you been doing?” I stroll slowly towards the chaos that is Hayden’s kitchen. And as I observe the broken, yellow spongy content that has free fallen from the loaf tin, I discern numerous red cherries. The amused grin that is plastered upon my face softens as unconditional love and awe overrides my leading emotion.

“You remembered.”

Tossing the half-empty tin to the side, Hayden props both hands onto the edge of the unit, and leans into his forearms. “I remember everything you tell me, beautiful. Although, I think it will take a lot of practise to reach the level of your grandmother’s.” He stares at his creation with contempt.

“Hey, don’t be so hard. It’s the thought and the effort that counts. Is this your first attempt at this?” I point down to the cooling rack.

“Well, attempt number one,”––he points over to the stainless silver bin––“was undercooked. I had enough ingredients to try again, so I thought if I did two, at least one of them would turn out good.”

I raise my brow.

“So number two,”––he turns and points with his chin, to the countertop behind him–– “ended up sticking to the pan, and number three,”––he glances down at the broken cake in front of us––“looks like a food rendition of a Jackson Pollok,” he concludes, deflated.

Sucking my lips in to sheath my teeth and suppress my chuckles, I grasp Hayden’s forearm, and offer a reassuring squeeze. He gazes up at me and sighs heavily.

“Can I taste?” I finally ask.

“What?” he furrows his brow and stare at me like I have come from Mars, in total incredulity.

“Can I have a taste?” I enunciate slowly.

“You want to try that?” I nod. Shrugging his shoulders, and shaking his head, he mutters, “Go ahead…if you’re sure.”

I pop a piece in my mouth; the sweetness and succulence of the cherry, breaks up the dry and crumbly texture of the sponge. Sucking sodden crumbs from between my teeth, I hold up a finger to Hayden, silently asking for a minute.

“I cannot believe you just did that,” he mutters as I force a swallow.

“It’s actually, not, too bad…considering.”

“Close your eyes, I have something.”

I obey his instruction, and soon hear flexing and tucking of cardboard, shadowed by footsteps approaching me. I feel Hayden’s breath on my neck and his hands on my waist. He steers me around the corner of the island and turns me to the opposite countertop that shelves his coffee machine.

“Open your eyes, beautiful,” I hear his smile, and the eagerness in his tone.

Fluttering my eyelids, I am met with a lavender box, positioned amongst the disorder of the unit;
‘Havana Bakery’
is scripted in a lush, deep purple that contrasts with the box. Releasing the lid, my heart flutters as I inspect a perfect, golden, cherry pound cake sitting on a silver platter inside.

The sweet aroma spirals enticingly up my nostrils as I inhale deeply. I take comfort in the scent…a scent I have not been able to relish in fifteen years. An image of my grandmother smiling and leading me into the kitchen while holding my hand propels to the front of my mind. It is comforting. And it’s all because of the thoughtfulness of my perfect man.

I turn in his arms. “How did you––”

“After the first one, I knew I would need a backup plan.”

Bowing my head, my focus glides over the fine epitome of my man. Even disheveled and in his overall, he still looks riveting. I sink my teeth into the right-side of my lip.

“You know,” I purr, feeling the blazing desire pulling me to his body. “I could get used to this look on you,” I trail my hand down the length of his torso. Scooping a little cake batter from the material, I rub it down the length of his nose.

“Really, Miss Kennedy?” He licks his index finger and gathers some of the flour from the black granite surface behind me, and wipes it on my face, repeating my act.

Our sensual stares of longing and hankering have us both panting. I feel a tightening at my core, and my breasts feel heavy…like my need for him.

Gazes flitter from needy, expressive eyes, down to hungry, desirous mouths. I hear his breathing hitch as he watches me glide my tongue over my lips, readying them to be devoured. I lean the small of my back against the lip of the counter, my legs crossed at the ankles to apply a fraction of pressure against the aching need that is vibrating through my body, as raw desire begins to gather between my thighs and seeps into the material of my panties.

The silence is broken by a hiss from the speakers. The notes of a trumpet begins to resonate through the apartment, followed by the throatiness of Etta James crooning about exactly what is being expressed through body language and the stifling atmosphere right here in this very kitchen.

The first bar of, ‘I Just Want to Make Love to You’, has Hayden lunging at me like a tiger capturing a mouse, and at this time, I am more than relieved to be in his possession.

HAYDEN

With my right hand grasping the nape of her neck, and my left traveling from her hip, around to her grasp her ass, I hold Samantha firmly as our tongues flick and brush against one another, ravenous and overpowering.

Her one arm encircles my neck, while she fists the other into my hair before locking them behind me in a vice-like grip. Staggering toward the island in the center of the kitchen, she grunts as the small of her back connects with the granite.

The passion and the demanding ache is so overwhelming, that I’m undeterred by the equipment and sprinkles of food residue residing on the black and silver surface. Seizing her by the waist, I lift her up onto the island. Pans, bowls and the cooling rack plummet to the floor with a loud din, but in the heat of our passion, I barely hear it, let alone care.

Standing between her parted, denim-clad thighs, I draw my lips away and urge her to lay back. She complies without hesitation, letting my hands journey freely from the side of her throat down to her breasts, kneading them with fervency. Samantha’s back arches off the countertop. Her red heeled pumps fall from her feet and land heavily upon the black tile when my hands begin their descent, from her swelling breasts, down her sternum, over her ribcage, her stomach, down to her waistband. After releasing the button and zipper, I yank the material from her legs in haste and toss them onto the floor along with her panties.

With her left foot upheld on one of the silver stools, she props herself up onto her elbows and watches me, goading me, assessing my unspoken intentions of what games I plan to play with her body.

With a telling grin, I glide my hand from her ankle up to her calf, her knee, her thigh…her groin, before softly tracing my index finger up the length of her slit, then cupping it with desirable force, feeling her slickness coating my fingers.

Adjusting my wrist, so the heel of my palm is on her pubic area, I trap her clit between my index and middle fingers, feeling it swell and harden between my joints. I begin to flex, up and down. She answers my action with lurid moans that echo throughout the tiled room and raises her pelvis upward into my touch.

Steeped with the slickness of her arousal, I gaze up at her to be met with hungry, darkened eyes. She gasps as I lower my head between her legs then whimpers as I unify my tongue with her exposed folds. Keeping her fixed with my hands clasped around her hips, I observe every drop of her jaw, every pant, the screwing of her eyelids, every crease of her brow as her eyebrows pull together whilst she clamps her teeth into the side of her lower lip. Tipping her head back, I feel her legs stiffen, kicking over the stool that her foot was positioned upon.

“Hayden…I need you now, please,” she rasps as I suck on her bead before plunging my tongue shallowly inside of her. Seeing her like this, wet, writhing and wanting, because of me––because of my touch––is so arousing, so provoking, that I am maddened by my lack of self-restraint when it comes to her. I need her all the time and I will take her however I can get her.

Peeking up from my position, she studies my head dipping between the pale fleshes of her thighs. Her eyes glowing with vigor as her hand moves into my hair, fisting at my roots, pushing me closer and closer into her delectable cunt as she strains her hips aloft. Her sweet, creamy taste is so mouth-wateringly addictive; I could devour it for my full three-meals a day if she would let me.

My lips cover her sex, feeling her distension as she shoves my head further down, closer to my goal in her race to orgasm while she pleads incoherently. And with one last flick of my tongue over the heightened bead of her anatomy, she comes apart…loudly. Her legs stiffen and her body quivers powerfully as she rides out the waves of her climax over my tongue.

“You taste mighty fine, Miss Kennedy,” I murmur breathlessly, pushing myself up from between her legs.

“That tongue of yours isn’t the only thing you’re skilled at using, Mr. Wentworth.”

Lifting her from the granite, we stumble to the double-door, silver refrigerator. I press my hips into her, before setting her on her feet.

Unscrambling the overall with frantic hands, together we succeed in removing it overhead and toss it somewhere behind us. Driven by an irresistible desire, Samantha holds me by the nape of my neck and insistently forces my lips down to her. Melding together in a single, fluid movement, her tongue dips into my mouth, tasting the sweetness of her orgasm before we lower ourselves to finally converge with the cold flooring.

Releasing myself from my containment, she watches keenly and bites her lip as my erection falls heavily into my hand. I hear her faint gulp as I graze the pad of my thumb over my swollen crest, massaging in the diminutive secretion.

Fisting it tight, she focuses raptly as I press myself into my palm, pushing past its sheathing. She soon follows suit and journeys her hand down her body to her sex. Thrusting her hips in greeting, she pushes a single finger inside of herself. After withdrawing it, she sinks in another.

Recognizing that the exact feelings she elicits in me when she touches herself are also stirred in her as she observes me, inflames my arousal to an unbearable intensity, which has me falling forward and hovering above her. With my cock pressing between the heat and lubrication of her lips, I position myself and propel my hips forward, feeling her tightness and warmth surrounding my length.

She cries out and arches her back clear off the kitchen floor.

Pelvises collide and strike against each other. I growl primitively at the constriction and wet heat of her plush, velvety walls massaging my shaft as I pull my hips back while her legs bind around my waist. I take her buttock in my right hand and slightly raise her while I repeatedly roll my hips and sink deeper inside.

I start to build, my tempo and the power of each lunge increasing ruthlessly.

Pleasurable moans resonate around the room, as I hit the end of her, and her legs squeeze around my waist as she begins to stiffen.

“Yes…yes…yes,” she whimpers in the crook of my neck between soft pants. Her walls pulsate around me, clenching me, as her body, both internally and externally spasms with release.

A handful of thrusts later and I am with her, unraveled and satisfied, as my own body stiffens, my muscles tighten, my toes curl, as I release my heated seed into her depths.

Pressing my body against her, Samantha cradles me in her arms, as we catch our breaths and steady our raging heartbeats.

“Are you okay?” I ask, lifting my head to look at her.

Inhaling deeply, she smiles and nods. “Fuck, yeah. That was definitely what I needed.”

“I think we both needed it, beautiful.” Leaning into my left arm, I smooth the side of Samantha’s face with the back of my knuckles. I stare into her sparkling eyes, utterly enraptured. “I don’t know what it is with you or us…but I can never get enough of you. I would happily live out the rest of my life, buried inside you.”

“You are buried in me…in here,” and she presses her hand to her heart. Considering she never did romance, love and relationships, she irrefutably says the most romantic of things. And they are all reminders of what everybody is entitled to hear, what everybody needs to hear regularly from their lover, as assurance and comfort.

“I love you, beautiful.”

“And I love you, Hayden. Never forget that.” She pushes her hand through my hair, pushing my wayward lock back into place, and seals her mouth over mine.

“This place looks like a bomb sight,” she giggles, while stepping into her denim pants. Wriggling her hips, she buttons them securely, while I rearrange mine.

“You know you have had good sex if things are scattered and broken.” I snare her in my arms, her hands resting on my biceps, her back arched, placing space between our upper bodies as our hips remain press against one another’s.

I watch her closely and humorously while she scans the disarray of the kitchen.

“You know, it would be so much easier if you got a housekeeper.”

Sniggering, I narrow my eyes, “A housekeeper?”

“Yes, a housekeeper.”

Unswerving, I shake my head. “I prefer doing things myself. I am more than happy to clean up my own messes,” I grin.

“Okay, do you want a hand before I go?”

I peruse again at the clutter on the units, the island…the floor, before focusing back on a disheveled Samantha.

“No, I’ll be fine, beautiful. It’ll give me something to pass time with when you leave.” That’s the only method I know to help me fare the feeling of loneliness I am always overwhelmed by when she is not with me, and hopefully occupy my mind enough not to let certain unwarranted thoughts breed, by focusing my mind and energy on other tasks at hand.