“What the….?”
The bottle of cologne slips from my hand and lands on the bathroom floor with a muffled thwap.
I’m hit with a drool-worthy blast of vanilla and spice and discover my fingers are covered in a thick ivory paste, dotted with brown crumbs. My stomach growls and my mouth curls into a smile.
Cake.
I lick and suck my fingers clean, close my eyes, and imagine her mouth doing the honors. The real bottle of cologne is MIA, so my Sweetie will be getting me without my signature scent today. The one that drives her out of her mind—and her clothes—every time we meet. I’ll have to de-panty her the old-fashioned way.
I eat the rest of my cologne off the bathroom floor and then head to the closet for my sneakers. I step into the right shoe and then the left. My left foot sinks through two inches of sponge cake and hits the carpet.
“Aagh.” I look down at my sock, sticky with orange marmalade and get a heady rush from the citrus fumes.
Mm. She’s good.
I lick my lips to …
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