Bake Sale Queen (Greenbridge Academy Book 6) by Abby Knox

Author:Abby Knox [Knox, Abby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Author Abby Knox, LLC
Published: 2020-04-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Quinn

I tug down Mal’s thin V-neck T-shirt to reveal a pink lacy bra the same tone as her skin. It reminds me of strawberry ice cream. The softness. I need to taste it so bad my mouth waters for it.

I run my hand over the cup of her lacy bra, feeling the tightness of her nipple under my palm. I squeeze gently, producing a moan from her. It’s quiet but so full of need. Soon I’m gently kneading both breasts while we kiss. Her fingers seem padlocked to my belt loops.

Her body is rigid as she breathes, “Take me to bed, Quinn.”

But she’s too tense. Not yet.

“You may think you want this, but your body’s not ready, sugar.”

Another minute passes amidst our desperate caresses and kisses, and the oven timer goes off again.

“The cookies,” I remind her.

“They can wait. I judge by aroma and not the timer, anyway. Please.”

Well, I can’t leave a woman to beg. The scent of banana bread and warm cookies swirls around us and snares me along with her pleading.

“That lace of your bra itching to come off?” I ask. She whimpers against my lips, her delicate fingers trailing up my sides and back down again. I taste the skin of her neck and inhale her sweet scent, working my lips down to her ample chest. Without using my hands, I nudge the flimsy lace out of the way with my teeth, careful not to tear it. One soft breast spills out to show me her rosy nipple, tight and begging to be teased. I bare her other breast in the same way. Her chest heaves, her well-kissed mouth murmuring my name. Her nipples call to my mouth like a beacon and I savor each one like the fine morsels they are. As I shower her taut peaks and soft breasts with the attention they crave, I can tell from the sound of Mal’s moans that she’s biting down on her lip. Trying to stifle herself. Get control of herself.

In response I bathe one nipple completely with my tongue, let it go, and then blow on it. Her gasps and clutching fingers tell me she likes that. “Let go, sugar. It’s okay.”

I’m about to explore the underside of her breast, where the underwire has left its harsh red indentation, when the timer goes off once again.

“Shut up,” she whispers in frustration.

I laugh against the skin of her breasts. I just can’t get enough of them. Her fingers weave through my hair, sending sparks of pleasure down my body as I suckle.

I’ll have to make this quick. “I don't want your first dicking in 15 years to be on the kitchen floor.”

“Quinn, please,” she whispers, her fingers tightening their grip in my hair. It’s only slightly painful but more of an incredible turn-on. “I’m almost there. I feel something happening.”

Better make this quick before we burn the entire kitchen down. I can only think of one surefire way to satisfy this woman in a hurry. And then, later, when we’re finished baking, we can take our time, if she still wants me.

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