Appetizer

The cool tile felt good under her bare feet. A small relief from the late afternoon heat clinging to the apartment.

She’d been staring into the refrigerator for a solid minute, the open door bathing her face in artificial light, the hum a low thrum in the quiet kitchen.

What had she even come in here for? Water, maybe. Or maybe just the momentary chill.

She bent lower, shifting a carton of juice, peering into the crisper drawer as if the meaning of life might be hiding behind the wilting lettuce.

A familiar weight settled against her lower back, pressing into the thin fabric of her sleep shorts. She didn’t jump. Didn’t need to. The heat radiating from his body, the specific way his presence filled the space behind her – she knew it instantly.

His hands landed low on her hips, thumbs digging slightly into the curve where her waist met her ass.

Solid. Possessive.

"Lose something, Kitten?" His voice was a low rumble, close to her ear, breath stirring the fine hairs on her neck.

A slow smile touched her lips, still facing the brightly lit interior of the fridge. "Just contemplating the existential dread of expired yogurt."

"Mm. Deep thoughts." His hands slid down, cupping the swell of her ass through the soft cotton. He squeezed, a firm pressure that made her instinctively push back against him. "Looks like you found something more interesting though."

She could feel the hard length of him pressing against her backside. Predictable. Deliciously predictable.

"Oh, he's at it again," she murmured, less a question, more a statement of fact, laced with amusement. "Getting hard already?"

"Always hard for you, honey." His fingers traced the hem of her shorts, dipping just slightly underneath. "Especially when you present such a... perfect view."

She finally closed the fridge door, plunging the kitchen back into the warm, natural light filtering through the window. She turned slowly in the circle of his arms, letting her body brush against his. His eyes, dark and focused, were already locked on her.

The air thickened. This was their familiar dance, the slow build, the game they both knew how to play.

"The bedroom's right there," she pointed vaguely with her chin, leaning back just enough to create a sliver of space between them, enjoying the way his hands tightened reflexively on her hips. Teasing.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Why?" A whisper that sent shivers down her spine. "Afraid someone will see?" His nose skimmed down her neck, inhaling. "Let's enjoy it right here. Pretend... pretend I just found you like this. Bent over my counter."

A low chuckle escaped her. The roleplay. Always finding new ways to add that edge. "Pretend you don't know me?"

"Exactly." His gaze intensified, stripping away the familiar lover, replacing it with something raw, more predatory. "Just a perfect little thing I caught raiding my fridge. Looking delectable."

His hand slid up her side, tracing her ribs, thumb brushing the underside of her breast through her loose tank top. "And I'm thinking... I'm thinking I deserve a taste."

Her breath hitched. Fuck, he's good at this. "And what if... what if this 'perfect little thing' doesn't want to be tasted by a stranger?" she challenged, playing along, tilting her chin up.

His answering smirk was slow, dangerous. "Oh, I think she does." He backed her up slowly, deliberately, until the edge of the kitchen counter pressed against the back of her thighs. Trapped.

Just how he liked it. Just how she secretly liked it. "I think she's been waiting for it."

His fingers tangled in her hair at the nape of her neck, not painfully, but firmly, tilting her head back slightly. Offering her throat. His other hand rested possessively on her hipbone. "Tell me, little stray... what should I do with you?"

"Whatever you want," she breathed out, the words a surrender that felt like victory. Her own hands came up, resting lightly on his forearms. Feeling the coiled strength there.

"Whatever I want?" He repeated it slowly, savoring the words, his thumb stroking her pulse point. "I want to see you. All of you." His eyes dropped to her tank top. "Lift it."

Not a request. She hesitated for only a heartbeat, the familiar thrill mixing with genuine heat pooling low in her belly. Then, her hands went to the hem of her top, pulling it slowly upwards, baring her stomach, then her ribs, until the soft curve of her breasts were exposed, her nipples already tight little buds against the air. She stopped there, holding the fabric bunched under her chin, meeting his gaze.

His eyes devoured her. A low sound, something between a groan and a growl, vibrated in his chest.

"Perfect," he breathed. His free hand came up, hovering just inches from her skin. She watched, mesmerized, as his forefinger extended, tracing the air around her right nipple before finally making contact.

Ah.

A soft gasp escaped her lips. His touch was feather-light at first, circling the peak, sending ripples of awareness through her entire body.

Then, the pad of his thumb pressed down, rolling the nipple gently.

"Sensitive?" he murmured, his gaze flicking between her eyes and her chest.

"Mmm," was all she could manage, her head tilting further back against his grip.

He mirrored the action on her other breast, pinching the nipple now between his thumb and forefinger, a slightly harder pressure that made her squirm against the counter. "Like that, Kitten?"

"Yes," she whispered. The shift back to the pet name, even within the roleplay, was a grounding point, a reminder of the love beneath the manufactured tension.

He leaned in, his mouth replacing his fingers on her right nipple. Hot. Wet. Oh god. His tongue lapped, slow and deliberate, before drawing the peak into his mouth, sucking gently. Her knees weakened slightly, her grip tightening on his arms. His hand remained on her other breast, teasing the nipple relentlessly.

"You taste good," he mumbled against her skin, moving to lavish the same attention on the left.

Suckling. Licking. Circling with his tongue. It was exquisite torture. Each pull sent a corresponding throb between her legs. She could feel herself getting wet, the slick heat building.

He lifted his head, lips damp, eyes dark with intent.

"So responsive. Just how I like my girls." He released her hair, but only to slide both hands down her back, mapping the curve of her spine until they reached her shorts again. He didn't pull them down. Not yet. Instead, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband, pulling it slightly away from her skin.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice low and rough.

She obeyed without question, turning to face the cool metal handles of the drawers, placing her palms flat on the countertop. The position felt vulnerable. Exposed. Exactly the point.

His body pressed against her back again, sandwiching her between his heat and the cool counter edge. One hand spread flat on her lower back, pinning her lightly, while the other began its slow exploration downwards. Over the curve of her ass, down the back of her thighs. His fingers ghosted over the sensitive skin behind her knees, making her shiver.

"Legs apart, honey," he murmured into her hair, tugging gently.

She widened her stance slightly, the anticipation a heavy, aching thing in her chest and between her legs. His hand slid back up, unerringly finding the dip between her buttocks, still covered by the thin cotton. He pressed down, rocking his hips slightly against hers, letting her feel the solid ridge of his erection grind against her backside. Mmm, hard.

"Feeling that?" he whispered. "Want it?"

"Yes," she breathed, her voice tight.

"Not yet." His fingers slipped beneath the elastic band of her shorts at the back, sliding down into the valley of her ass. And then, sharp and sudden—

Smack!

The sound echoed slightly in the kitchen. Her whole body jolted, a sharp inhale tearing from her lungs. The sting bloomed across her left cheek, hot and electrifying. Not painful, not truly, but shocking. Demanding.

"Oh," she gasped, mostly from surprise, a little from the thrill.

Smack!

The other cheek. Just as firm. She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the counter edge. Fuck.

His hand returned to stroking her, soothing the stinging skin almost immediately. "Good girl," he praised, his voice a low thrum against her ear.

"Taking it so well." His fingers continued their downward path, pushing the fabric of her shorts deeper between her cheeks, pressing firmly against her perineum. The pressure point sent sparks straight to her core.

He leaned his weight against her, one arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against him, while his other hand… oh. His fingers found the front waistband of her shorts, tugging them down just enough to expose the damp curls below her navel. He didn't pull them off. Just enough access.

His fingers, long and calloused, slipped beneath the fabric, pushing through her wetness. One finger, then two. Ah. She moaned softly, arching her back instinctively. They slid easily against her slick folds, finding the entrance to her pussy.

"So wet for me already," he growled, the sound vibrating through her back. "Did my tongue do that, Kitten? Or just the thought of what I'm going to do?"

He didn’t wait for an answer. Two fingers pressed inside her, stretching her slightly. She gasped, hips twitching. He held her firmly, keeping her pressed against the counter.

"Shhh. Hold still." His fingers moved slowly at first, a gentle in-and-out rhythm, testing her tightness, feeling the way her inner muscles clenched around him. Then, he curled them upwards slightly, searching.

There.

That specific spot. That little ridge deep inside that made her whole body clench. He pressed against it, rubbing rhythmically. Oh god. Her breath hitched, coming in short, sharp pants.

"Like that?" he murmured, his lips brushing her temple. He increased the pressure, his fingers moving with more confidence now, a steady friction against her g-spot. She whimpered, unable to help the sound.

His other hand came around her front, fingers finding her clit through the thin cotton of her shorts. Even through the fabric, his touch was electric. He rubbed the sensitive nub, back and forth, a firm, insistent pressure.

Fingers moving deep inside her, hitting that spot, while his other hand worked her clit relentlessly from the outside. It was too much. Almost. Almost too much.

Her hips started to move, a desperate, unconscious grinding against his hand inside her, seeking more friction, more pressure.

He chuckled darkly, a possessive sound. "That's it, honey. Show me how much you want it." His internal fingers picked up the pace, thrusting deeper, harder, curling insistently. His external fingers matched the rhythm on her clit, rubbing faster, firmer. Fuck... fuck...

Her inner monologue was dissolving into pure sensation. His fingers... deep... rubbing... ah... clit... feels so good... hard... harder...

Just as she felt the familiar tension coiling tight, building towards that inevitable peak, that precipice of release, his hand stilled inside her. His fingers stopped rubbing her clit.

Silence. Except for her ragged breathing.

"No..." she whimpered, a protest torn from her tight throat. Frustration crashed through her, hot and sharp.

His hand that had been holding her waist tightened, fingers digging slightly into her side. He pulled her head back slightly by her hair again, his lips close to her ear. "Not yet," he whispered, the command absolute. "You don't come until I say you can come."

He released her hair, but his fingers remained inside her, still, applying just enough pressure to keep her aching, to remind her of what she wasn't getting. His other hand slid up her stomach, fingers spreading out below her breasts.

"Look at you," he murmured, his gaze, she knew even without seeing it, would be taking in her flushed skin, her trembling body pressed against the counter. "Shaking for me. So desperate." His thumb flicked one already tight nipple, sending another jolt through her.

He held her there for a long moment. Suspended. Aching. Utterly his. The power hung heavy in the air, thick and palpable. He was drawing it out, savoring her frustration, her need.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he withdrew his fingers from inside her. The sense of emptiness was almost painful. She let out a shaky breath, her body still thrumming with unspent energy.

He didn't move away immediately. Instead, his hand came around and gripped her jaw, turning her head to the side. His eyes burned into hers. Intense. Possessive.

Slap.

A quick, stinging slap across her cheek. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to shock, to punctuate his control. Her eyes widened, a fresh wave of heat rushing through her.

Before she could react, his other hand delivered a solid, stinging slap to her already sensitised ass cheek. Smack! She yelped this time, the combination making her knees threaten to buckle.

He held her jaw firmly, preventing her from turning away, his thumb stroking the skin he'd just struck. And then, his mouth crashed down onto hers.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was hard. Demanding. His tongue plunged into her mouth, tasting her gasp, mating with hers in a fierce, possessive rhythm. It was overwhelming, the lingering sting on her cheek and ass, the deep ache between her legs, the raw dominance of his kiss stealing her breath, short-circuiting her thoughts.

Even as he kissed her senseless, his fingers found her clit again, this time directly against her skin, pushing the fabric aside decisively. He rubbed hard, fast circles, knowing exactly how close she was, how little it would take now. Ah... Mmm... fuck... Her mind went blissfully blank, consumed by the kiss, the sting, the relentless friction. She was trembling violently, hips bucking against the counter, moaning into his mouth. Closer... closer...

And then, just as the explosion threatened to consume her, he pulled back. Mouth. Fingers.

Everything. Gone.

He released her jaw, leaving her panting, dazed, lips swollen, cheek smarting, ass throbbing, core aching with an almost unbearable need. She slumped against the counter, resting her forehead on the cool surface, trying to catch her breath. Her whole body felt like a live wire, overstimulated and utterly frustrated.

He stepped back, creating distance. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her recovery, drinking in the sight of her messy state. She heard the soft scrape of a chair as he presumably sat down at the small kitchen table.

Silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension and her ragged breaths.

Finally, his voice came, low and infuriatingly calm. "Thirsty, Kitten? Maybe you should get that water now."

She lifted her head slowly, turning to look at him. He was leaning back in the chair, one ankle crossed over the other knee, watching her with an expression of dark amusement and complete satisfaction. His erection was still visibly straining against the front of his jeans.

The game wasn't over. It was just paused. And he held all the controls.

A slow smile, shaky but real, spread across her face. Damn him.

She pushed herself off the counter, her legs still a little unsteady. She ignored the water, ignored the lingering ache and the desperate throb between her legs. Instead, she walked towards him, her eyes locked on his, the sway of her hips deliberate. She stopped right in front of him, close enough for her knees to brush his legs.

"Later," she whispered, her voice husky, promising retribution, promising continuation. "You're going to finish what you started."

His answering smirk was pure challenge. "Make me, honey."

The tension simmered, thick and electric, filling the space between them. Round two was coming. And she'd make damn sure he wouldn't forget it. But for now, she was beautifully, exquisitely, achingly on edge. Just how he'd left her.