Candy Lovers: Sugar Erotica: 35 sexy adult stories of oral pleasure by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: RKB Enterprises, Inc.
Published: 2018-05-18T04:00:00+00:00

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Usually I hated being cooped up in the kitchen, but that day, it didn’t matter. Not with Cricket close by. Juniper and Sam’s cockblocking didn’t even bother me. I just did like Cricket had taught me to do out in the field. I focused on one thing at a time: the strawberries squishing to pulp between my fingers, the way their color shifted from red to dark pink as they cooked, the gentle bubbling sound they made when they came to a boil, their dizzying perfume.

And like in the field, I focused on Cricket: his hand on the small of my back when he had to squeeze behind me, the sweat staining the back of his shirt as the steam from the canners filled the kitchen, the jam that clung to his lips as he sampled the wares.

I entered a sort of meditative flow, and even when Juniper and Sam got called away, I managed to stay on task. The storm calmed by early afternoon. We opened the windows and blasted the fans to suck the steam out of the kitchen. We almost had to shout to hear each other over them. It gave us an excuse to lean in closer than we had before.

Much later, as we pulled the last batch of jars out of the water bath, the first ray of sun broke through the clouds. By then, I felt like a caramel-coated marshmallow. My hands and face and even the hairs on my forearms were sticky with sugar and pectin and strawberry juice. My knuckles and the rims of my fingernails were stained pink. I scratched an itch on my neck and found my fingertips smeared in red gunk.

I was fresh as a spring daisy compared to Cricket, whose white T-shirt was now pink from strawberry pulp and bits of jam. He had the stuff in his beard, streaking his cheeks like a blush, coiling around his forearms in bright tattoos. Cricket sank onto one of the stools and swung his legs open, drawing attention to his crotch in a way I thought was probably on purpose. “How’d I do? For my first time canning?”

He jutted out his lower lip as he said it, like Angelina Jolie with a bee-stung mouth—which shouldn’t have been sexy, but was. What was even sexier was when he picked one of the mixing spoons up from the counter and ran his finger along its edge, picking up a smear of jam that still clung to it, then brought that finger to his mouth and darted his tongue out, soft and pink against his golden skin.

The arousal I’d been redirecting all day asserted itself. I stepped toward Cricket until we were almost touching, the flies of our jeans just inches apart. “You did okay. Though I think you got more jam on yourself than you did in the jars.”

Cricket looked down at his stained shirt and pink-streaked hands. “Oh, that? Totally planned that. I wanted an excuse to take my shirt off in front of you.

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