Part 11 (1/2)

Marilyn did as instructed, unable to work up much excitement for the project. ”Ragin' Cajun Eggnog.”

The next thing she knew, Jack had a ladle in one hand and thrust it between her legs, making her jump. He gave her a slow grin. ”You gotta say it with more enthusiasm than that, baby girl. Try again...see if it doesn't sound better when you jess let it roll off the tongue.”

Once again, this time with feeling, she did as requested, a tingle of excitement jolting her every time he maneuvered the ladle back and forth. She cleared her throat and continued. ”Approximately two jiggers of rum to a quart.” She jumped again, this time as his hands found his crotch and her p.u.s.s.y at the same time and he thrust against her through their clothes.

”That feel like about a jigger to you?” he asked, his face an emotionless stare, with the exception of the crinkling of his eyes and the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth.

”Works for me.” She struggled to keep her composure. ”But the recipe does call for... ” She paused as Jackson slid his c.o.c.k against her again. ”That is, it calls for...ah...two!”

Marilyn took a deep breath and read off the next ingredients, and with each one, Jackson kissed her, deepening the kiss each time.

”Four eggs... ” Mmm.

”Eight tablespoons of sugar.” d.a.m.n!

”Four cups of milk.” Marilyn closed her eyes as her face flushed and her c.l.i.t zipped into overdrive with its throbbing and incessant need.

”This work for you so far?” Jackson tilted her chin.

She slowly opened her eyes and gave him what she was sure was a starry-eyed stare. ”That's all of the ingredients.”

He licked his lips while watching her mouth and shook his head. ”That's just the beginning. Now we have to heat things up.” He set a pan on one of the burners and turned up the heat.

”Can't overcook something like this,” he said, stirring the concoction with a wooden spoon. Then he set the spoon aside and turned to her, immediately working his fingers into her pants and slipping them as low as possible considering the restraints from her clothing.

She unb.u.t.toned the big baggy s.h.i.+rt she'd worn over her tank top, her eyes never leaving his. ”I may have misjudged your old family recipe. Care to tell me more about it?”

”Gladly!”

Jackson hastily undid his own pants. Then to Marilyn's surprise, he whirled her around so that she had no choice but to smack her palms against his dining table. Then he yanked down her jeans.

Before she could blink, he'd slipped two fingers inside her p.u.s.s.y and spread the folds surrounding it. Within seconds, he was quickly bending over her and grabbing her a.s.s before inserting his c.o.c.k in one easy thrust.

His voice was low, slow and seductive, while his actions were quick and unrelenting. ”The trick to not overcooking anything,” he said, his lips brus.h.i.+ng against her back, ”is timing. Timing is important, chere. Never underestimate the heating capacity for something fluid that is just ripe for bursting with flavor.”

”OmiG.o.d!” Marilyn managed to keep from gasping too loudly, but she couldn't repress the burst of energy, the craving for having him drive further and faster into her. It was as if her body was the vessel on the stove and its contents begging to boil. She leaned forward as far as possible, giving him full access to whatever he wanted from her, lifting her hips to better receive him.

He spread his hands over her a.s.s, caressing it with his palms as he pumped his c.o.c.k into her. ”A good chef knows...oh, baby, yeah...” He ground himself deeper. ”That persistent watch over anything tasty requires concentration. So it's best to only concentrate on one...thing...at a time, lest something boils over.”

Boiled? h.e.l.l, she was about to incinerate!

After several deep thrusts, Jackson pulled out slowly, and Marilyn counted the seconds that built until he slipped back inside. When his hands on her hips reached around to stroke her c.l.i.t as he filled her with his seed, she curled her fingers and cried out his name.

Quick nookie had never appealed to her before, but now she wanted to scream when it was over, then throw him on the floor and tell him to do it again.

She collapsed against the table, breathing heavily, and Jackson pulled his pants up so that they were resting on his hips, but instead of zipping the jeans, he turned and stirred the mixture on the stovetop.

”Now what are you doing?” She peered over her shoulder and backside to watch him sprinkle something into the mixture with one hand and turn out the fire with the other.

”Sorry to leave you hangin' like that, but I don't want to burn this.”

”Looks like you're the one still hanging.” She indicated his c.o.c.k.

”So I am.” He grinned sheepishly. ”Pinch of nutmeg, a smaller pinch of ground hot chili peppers.” He reached into a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of vanilla extract. ”Little bit of this.”

Marilyn rose from the table to pull up her own pants. ”Anything I can do to help?”

”Yeah.” He glanced about then pointed to a hand mixer hanging on the wall. ”Hand me that and get me a half-pint of whipping cream in the refrigerator, if you will.”

When he was done blending the cream into the hot liquid on the stove, he found a large gla.s.s container, filled it, capped it and then set it inside the refrigerator.

Marilyn was impressed and told him so.

Jackson shrugged off her compliment with an easy grin. ”Jess you wait until you get to sip it. Nothin' like it on the planet.”

Marilyn eyed his dangling c.o.c.k. ”How about I sip a bit right now?” She boldly walked up to him then led him to the bed with every intention of heating up another batch of nookie while their 'nog cooled.

Her lover soon lay on his back on the bed and c.o.c.ked an eyebrow, his face serious. ”Have I mentioned that it's rare for this dish to be made twice in a row without a moment or two of down time?”

Jackson groaned in ecstasy. How was it that every time he had the opportunity to tell her his little secret, circ.u.mstances prevented him from doing so? After our last lovemaking, I should have told her.

He lay on his back, loving the feel of her silky hair flowing across his stomach, her hands working the muscles of his a.s.s as she went down on him, licking, sucking, her tongue in just the right place, with long strokes then quick flicks against the turgid vein on the underside of his shaft.

Tell her now and she'll bite it off, buddy. He ran tense fingers over his eyes and upward over his brow and forehead. d.a.m.n, but she felt good. Was he a b.a.s.t.a.r.d for allowing her to make love to him, knowing he'd soon p.i.s.s her off?

When had wanting her first struck him? You fell for her the minute she tossed that s.h.i.+ny mane of hair and peered straight into your soul when you first met. He pressed the back of his head into the pillows, wanting to relax, needing to convince himself that he hadn't done anything wrong by neglecting to tell her that he could hold his own at the contest. She'd arrived thinking the worst of him, so what did it matter what she thought of him now?

He knew immediately. Because she matters.

Jackson gasped when she took him wholly into her mouth, b.a.l.l.s and all, gently.

Lovingly.

Oh sweet Lord. When had that happened? Which one of them had issued the first fragile feeling of tenderness? How could this be happening to him?

The blood thrumming through his body lured him forward instead of backward, refusing to allow him the luxury of examining their budding relations.h.i.+p. All thought vanished as his body caught up with his brain and overrode whatever hesitations he had about himself, her or them. Nothing mattered except for the incredible feeling of completeness, the promise of sweet release she offered.

For the first time since he could remember, Jackson Delacroix felt a rush of unadulterated joy before a climax. He wasn't just getting his rocks off-he was fulfilling a desire to receive, not just give, pleasure.

The last thing he remembered before he came was a complex coalition of the softness of her mouth against his skin, the raspy pull of her tongue on his b.a.l.l.s and her moan of pleasure as he exploded into her with unsuppressed fulfillment.

Chapter Eleven.

Creole Tomato b.u.t.ter Ingredients: 1 stick unsalted b.u.t.ter 2 tablespoons tomato paste 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/4 teaspoon sugar Cream b.u.t.ter, blend in tomato paste and dry ingredients. Serve cold on dinner rolls. Goes well with fried