The garlic was sizzling in olive oil on the back burner.
I had the flame turned down low, just enough to perfume the whole apartment with butter and cracked pepper, while a tray of rosemary potatoes roasted in the oven, twenty-two minutes left on its timer. I was wearing one of his washed-out grey knit crewnecks that swallowed my wrists, ribbed white thigh-highs, and lace boy-shorts that barely kept my ass covered when I leaned forward to stir the sauce.
Then the deadbolt rattled.
Liam didn’t even drop his heavy canvas work jacket onto the hook. He saw me standing barefoot on the runner rug by the sink, dropped his keys onto the mail tray with a loud clatter, and crossed the three steps between us like a man who hadn’t eaten in forty-eight hours.
His mouth hit mine before the lock even clicked back into place.
He tasted like cold rain and mint gum, rough and impatient, his calloused palms sliding straight under the oversized hem of the sweater to grip the bare curves of my hips. I gasped into his mouth, my spine arching into his broad chest, and he pulled me tight against the front of his stiff work jeans. I could already feel the thick, heavy ridge of his cock pressing hard against my lower belly.
“Fuck,” he muttered against my lips, dragging his mouth down to my jawline. “Smelled the garlic from the second-floor stairs. Smelled you the second I opened the door.”
He slid one hand lower, cupping my ass through the thin lace, his fingers squeezing firm enough to make my toes curl against the linoleum. He rubbed himself against me through the denim, once, twice, a filthy grind that made my head spin.
He pulled back just enough to look down at me, breathing hard.
“Dinner’s got twenty minutes,” I whispered, reaching up to tug at the zipper of his canvas jacket. “The sauce has to reduce.”
“Fuck the sauce.”
“No,” I said softly, guiding his jacket off his shoulders and letting it drop onto the kitchen stool. “You worked twelve hours to pay our rent. Let me take care of you.”
His jaw clenched, that tired tension from the job site melting right into pure hunger. “Kit.”
“Knees first,” I told him, looking up through my bangs. “Dessert first, Liam.”
I sank down onto my knees on the cold tile right in front of him.
The tile was freezing against my bare kneecaps, but the heat coming off Liam was like an open hearth. He stood there over me in his faded flannel work shirt, his steel-toed boots still on, looking down at me on the kitchen floor like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
“Good boy. Look at you waiting for me.”
The praise went straight to my hips. My stomach fluttered, soft and eager. I unbuckled his heavy leather belt with steady fingers, popped the metal button of his jeans, and pulled his zipper down with a slow, deliberate rasp.
His cock was already straining through the fly of his dark briefs, thick and flushed dark, leaking a heavy bead of pre-cum through the cotton. I pressed my nose against the fabric, inhaling the clean soap and hot musk of him, before hooking my thumbs in the waistband and pulling him free.
He was massive—thick-veined, heavy, pulsing with heat against my cheek.
I took him in my hand, feeling the velvet slide of skin over the hard shaft, and licked a wet stripe right up the underside to the slit. Liam hissed, his hand coming down to bury into my hair, curling tight into the strands.
“Don’t tease me tonight, Kit. I need this.”
“I know,” I murmured against his shaft.
I opened wide and took the broad head into my mouth.
The heat was immediate. I hollowed my cheeks and swallowed him down, taking three inches, then five, letting my saliva coat him slick while my tongue worked the sensitive ridge behind the head. Liam’s hips gave an involuntary jerk forward, his boots scuffing against the base of the kitchen cabinets, and a low, ragged groan tore out of his chest.
“Jesus christ. Your mouth… you’re so fucking warm.”
I looked up at him while I took him deeper. His eyes were half-shut, his head tilted back against the yellow glow of the kitchen track light, one hand clutching the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles were chalky white. I bobbed my head in a steady, rhythmic bob, wrapping my fist around what my mouth couldn’t swallow, pumping the base while my throat took the rest.
He pushed his fingers deeper into my hair, guiding my tempo. Every time I gagged softly around his girth, he stroked my temple with his thumb, whispering dirty, broken praises down at me.
“That’s it, baby. Take all of it. Good boy… so sweet for me.”
He was leaking steadily down my tongue, and I drank it in, tasting every drop of salt and heat like it was communion.
When his hips started bucking with real urgency, I pulled off with a wet pop, panting, a thin strand of saliva connecting my lower lip to his glistening tip.
“Not yet,” I whispered, looking up at him with blown pupils. “I want you inside me. On the counter.”
Liam didn’t say a word. He reached down under my arms, hoisted me up off the floor like I weighed nothing, and sat me right on the edge of the laminate counter next to the cutting board. My knit sweater rode up to my ribs. He reached around blindly, found the bottle of lube we kept hidden behind the spice rack, and popped the cap with his thumb.
“Lift your legs for me.”
I hitched my knees up, hooking my heels on the edges of the counter, my thighs spread wide in the white ribbed socks. Liam coated two thick fingers in slick gel, knelt between my parted knees, and pressed his palm flat against my inner thigh first, rubbing the smooth skin to settle my shivers.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his thumb circling my entrance before slipping inside. “So soft. So tight.”
I threw my head back against the upper cabinet with a sharp gasp. “Liam—”
He added a second finger, curling them inside me, finding that sweet, aching nerve cluster that made my whole lower body clench. He worked me open with rhythmic, practiced pumps, stretching me while his other hand reached around to stroke my own hard cock, spreading pre-cum across my belly.
“You ready for me?” he asked, his voice gravel-rough.
“Yes. Please. Now, Liam, please.”
He pulled his fingers free, slicked his cock in one quick, ruthless stroke, and stepped up to the edge of the counter. The head pressed against my rim, hot and blunt.
He lined himself up and pushed into me in one slow, heavy slide.
The stretch was breathtaking. I gripped his broad shoulders, my fingernails digging into the flannel, my breath catching in my throat as inch after thick inch filled me up to the hilt. When his hips met mine with a solid thud, we both froze, chests heaving together.
“God,” he shuddered, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “Kit. You feel like coming home.”
“Move,” I whimpered into his ear. “Liam, fuck me.”
And he did.
He started slow, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in with a heavy, deliberate thrust that rattled the ceramic plates in the rack above us. The counter creaked beneath my ass. The oven timer’s red digits kept counting down, but the only sound that mattered was the wet, rhythmic slap of our skin and Liam’s ragged breathing against my throat.
He got his hands under my ass, lifting me slightly to change the angle, and suddenly every stroke hit dead center on my prostate.
“Ah! Right there—Liam, right there!”
“Yeah? You like that?” He drove into me harder, his pace accelerating, his thighs slamming against mine. “Take it, boywife. Take every fucking inch.”
I was completely undone. I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles behind his lower back, pulling him deeper with every thrust. My sweater was tangled around my neck, my chest flushed pink, my cock rubbing frantically against his denim with every impact.
“I’m gonna come,” I cried out, the pleasure too sharp, too intense to hold. “Liam, I’m coming!”
“Come for me, baby. Come on my shirt, do it.”
With three brutal, bruising thrusts, he drove all the way to the bottom and held me pinned to the wood. My vision whited out. A strangled sob tore out of my throat as my orgasm ripped through me, hot ropes of cum splattering across my stomach and soaking into the front of his flannel.
Liam threw his head back with a guttural roar. He pumped into me three more furious times, his hips trembling violently, before locking tight against me and emptying himself deep inside, pulsing hot and heavy, filling me completely while my own cock pumped between our bellies.
We stayed locked together on the kitchen counter for a long time.
The oven timer started beeping.
Liam chuckled, a deep, exhausted rumble in his chest. He reached over without pulling out and smacked the timer off with one palm, then kissed my sweaty forehead, brushing my hair back with unbelievable tenderness.
“Dinner smells good,” he whispered, nuzzling my nose.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, smiling against his warm skin.
“I told you,” I sighed happily. “Dessert first.”
