I set the peach down in front of him, closing the gap between us and I lift a piece of broccoli to his mouth. Eyes darkening, he spreads his lips, accepting my offering with his warm tongue gliding along my fingers. I feed him another and he moves forward, meeting me halfway with moreenthusiasm this time. I shove my fingers deeper into his mouth, rubbing over the roof of his mouth and he sucks the sauce from my skin. A low humming sound crawling up his throat causes my hand to vibrate, the sensation running straight to my already hard cock. He bucks his hips, taking me deeper and adding less suction as his tongue explores as much as he can reach. I get so close to his throat, he gags and pulls back. His cheeks tint a pretty pink.
“You have three more left. It’s important to eat all your veggies.” I grab the fork before he can and stab the other end into one of the short stemmed vegetables and direct it toward his mouth. When I pick up another from the plate, I lead it to my mouth and close my teeth around it.
His forehead wrinkles, throat bobbing as he swallows hard and I slurp the other piece halfway into my mouth. “I thought I was supposed to be eating that.”
Lowering my face to his, I inch my lips closer and rub the broccoli over his partly open mouth. Those pretty glistening lips spread wider and his teeth close around the top. Our lips brush and I back away, releasing the food when he has a better hold of it. His chest heavily rises and falls when I repeat my last action. He grabs the food from me again and as soon as our lips touch again, I smash my mouth to his and push the broccoli deep into his mouth, licking my way inside and over the seam of his savory mouth. His eyes are as wide as saucers, lips trembling and lift the bottom of my shirt to wipe his mouth clean. “Get the basket empty and I’ll take care of these dishes.” I take them to the sink, leaving him frozen in his seat. He doesn’t move until I’m done drying his plate and placing it back in the cabinet.
His feet slowly touch the floor as I’m scrubbing down the table and he takes careful steps toward the counter and removes each peach from the basket, carefully placing them on the counter.
“You never told me what you planned to do with the peaches?” I glance back, lifting the rag mid air.
“I…” His fingers play with the basket handle. “Jam. My brother and I used to make it with my mom when we were younger. We had peach trees growing up. I plan to use her famous pie recipe too and if they turn out alright, I’ll see if I can sell them.”
“So you’re not much of a cook but can bake?”
His shoulders lift. “My mother only ever made baked goods with me and she was one of those parents who ordered food every chance she got. My brother seems to be the same way. I guess it runs in the family.”
“I’m sure you could learn. Anyone can. At least basic stuff.”
“You going to show me?” He purses his lips.
“Sure…right after I help you pick fruit for this weekend, catch more of your escape artist animals, and bandage you back up after the next time you fall.”
“I didn’t ask for any of that,” he quips.
“And I’m sure the stray cat outside my brother’s house didn’t ask to be brought in to cuddle in his warm bed for the night either but I bet that’s exactly what's happening right now.”
“I really wish you’d stop comparing me to a stray cat.”
“I will once you stop wandering around like you need someone to bring you home and take care of you.”
“You saying you want to take me to your warm bed to cuddle?” His eyes twinkle, blinking up at me.
“No, little bo.” I stalk across the room, placing my hand on the basket over his. “When I bring someone to my bed, it's for reasons other than cuddling.”
He starts and stops, breath catching in his throat.
I yank the basket from him, smirking. “Let's hurry and collect the rest of the fruit you need before it gets too dark.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” he stammers.
He wants answers I don't want him to have yet. He doesn't really want them either. This guessing game we've been playing excites him way too much and I don't know if we'll lose that when I finally reveal the truth. I'm not ready to find out. “Because I saw it written on the box when your package was delivered to the wrong house.”
His face flushes. “You got my package?”
“Yeah. I figured it was yours. The name fit well. Then I decided I liked using it.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,” I repeat.
“What if I want you to stop calling me that?”
“Do you?”
He looks around the room, licking his lips and then gently shakes his head.
“I thought not.” My lips stretch. “Now come on little bo, time waits for no one.”