As has already been explained often enough, Taylor’s application of her powers in her culinary pursuits is, far from the horribly disturbing mental image that it incites on unwary Thinkers at first (and second, and third) blush, a thing of beauty.

From hidden corners in my open kitchen, her swarm, only visible because of the jumping spider herald she’s taken too fondly to, with her adorably big eyes, her bashful, hunched posture, and the endearing energy of its expressive front legs…

…

I was pretty sure I was going somewhere with this.

Breakfast—

Ah, right! Thanks, Power.

Anyway, the least visually appealing components of her Orwellian Biblical Plague are carefully hidden from my sensibilities, and both Power and I have very carefully decided not to take note of possible hidden recesses so that we can play dumb if caught unaware, as I’m very unlikely to ever leak information that I’m not aware of.

Lisa Wilbourn’s uncharacteristic tactical concerns—

Yup. I’m a genius the likes of which can only be found in battle mangas with characters wearing square glasses. Truly, my precautions are paramount to a foregone victory, and nothing at all will—

“You’re going to burn that,” the soft, warm, shiver-inducing murmur says on my left ear before she dips back down to my wet neck and does her very best to distract me from the pan of sausages in front of me.

“You…” I start to say before briefly pausing to bite my lower lip. “You’re not living up to your end of our shared domestic duties,” I manage to get out before I have to press my thighs together and do my very best so that my short, satin, blue housecoat doesn’t get trapped between pale, bare skin that is, by some miracle of underwear engineering, still dry.

“I’m helping you cook,” she says as both her hands trace slow, burning lines right under my breasts, the lapels pulled aside just far enough that my cleavage is exposed to the girl leaning over my shoulder.

I, for absolutely no reason at all, take a deep breath and press my breasts together between my arms so that they’ll balloon up through their newfound, lidless freedom.

For no reason. At all.

“You’re distracting me from cooking,” I say, turning the sausages over with a silicon spatula that I still haven’t dropped due to some hitherto unsuspected feat of sheer willpower.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asks right before licking up from the meeting between my neck and shoulder and to the earlobe she’s now nibbling on as I do my best not to shudder hard enough for me to drop the pan on the floor.

“Now, now, let’s not be so hasty…” I reasonably say, buying myself time for my counterattack that I have totally planned and accounted for three moves ago.

And now she’s swirling her tongue inside my ear.

…

Power? A little help?

Reversal play—

I’m pretty sure I can’t pull that off—

Taylor Hebert’s unusual insecurity regarding being perceived as desirable—

Okay. Okay. Exploiting my fiancée’s self-esteem issues for the greater good. That’s not gross at all.

Positive reinforcement—

Fine! I just want you to know that I’ll be blaming you for this when it blows up on our shared facespace.

Lisa Wilbourn’s consistent lack of self-accountability—

Fuck off, Sherlock.

Confusing usage of preferred self-denomination in unflattering contexts—

“Liz. Sausages,” Tay says with a lilt of laughter in her tone.

Which is when I take the chance to immediately turn off the stove and spin around in her arms, my hands clasping one another behind her nape as I both pull and climb, my naked leg wrapping around her loose button-up, over the curve of her hip thanks to some flexibility that most definitely has nothing at all to do with me sticking to gymnastics class because of leotards, Mom, and I thrust my tongue into her surprised, open mouth.

She stumbles back.

I push.

And, suddenly, she’s lying back on the countertop separating my kitchen from my living room, right by the side of a freshly brewed teapot with a thin gust of white steam drifting up from the spout, and looking up at me with wide eyes as I grind down against her, my wet panties leaving trails of semi-transparency on the lower front of her button-up as I move up and down along the top of her left thigh.

“Br—breakfast?” she asks with an adorably confused tone when I pull up and stare down into green eyes darker than mine, thrillingly darker than mine.

“Oh, I’m gonna eat. You better believe I’m gonna get positively sated,” I say.

Right before I rip her shirt open.

She gasps as a few buttons are sent flying, but then the gasp changes in pitch when I latch on one of the nipples recently freed, taking full advantage of her penchant for not wearing a bra around the house.

We still haven’t showered, so her skin tastes of sleep. Of that sweet daze that drifts up from beneath my bedcovers whenever I wake up surrounded by long, toned arms that make me melt, secure in the knowledge that she’ll hold me together no matter what.

No matter when.

No matter how.

So it’s me that lets out a shuddering breath this time around, the irregular gusts of cooling air spiraling across her nipple, areola, and the paler flesh surrounding them, causing a few goosebumps to rise up and making something between my legs clench at the knowledge that I just did this to Taylor.

I… I would usually go around this slower. I would worship her body, make her feel it as I appreciate every inch of skin that I kiss while exploring her. Relearning her.

Not today.

Today, I… I just want her so damn much, so badly—

“Liz?” she asks, her fingers making my eyelids flutter when she engraves her burning touch on my scalp.

The tips of my ears tingle, then feel as if she was holding ice cubes against them, and I just spectate my back arching in an utterly feline way as I drag my tongue up her breastbone while meeting her eyes with a hunger that has absolutely nothing to do with the sizzling still slowing down in the pan behind me.

She blushes.

I wet my lips.

My hands close around her hips, under her shirt, but over the elastic biting into her soft flesh in a way intimate enough to make me narrow my eyes at the insolence of her underwear claiming what’s mine.

I don’t pull them off.

I, instead, without saying anything, still looking straight into her eyes, descend along the middle line of her body, over the last remaining struggling buttons, until I’m in front of her pelvis, and I nuzzle the tip of my nose between the lower halves of her shirt, nudging them open until plain, white cotton with a darkened wet spot is revealed in front of me.

And I bite.

Taylor gasps yet again when I tug at the middle of the elastic with my teeth, my hands going down her hips to push her legs closed so that the defiantly stubborn piece of underwear will smoothly roll down when I pull harder, my lips open to show her the snarl shaped around the white cotton as I can’t help myself and let out a mild growl that is halfway to a purr, my chin briefly vibrating against her wet, still covered opening by something I wish I had enough of a Changer rating to tear apart with sharpened canines.

She… convulses.

Oh my God, that is so fucking hot.

Is… Is this how she feels when she plays with me? When she has me melt at her slightest touch? When she holds me down just with her dark eyes, and I melt under her?

Because I totally get it.

Because my nipples are poking straight against my satin robe, and I can’t stop my hips from swaying side to side as moisture slowly seeps past my panties and down my inner thighs. Because something inside of me is pulsing, and I’m fucking hornier than I’ve been in ages.

So my growl deepens, and I tug down with my whole body behind the motion, the elastic in her panties letting out a thrilling tearing sound as her sex is revealed, her trimmed, sparse, wet hair right in front of my eyes, her scent invading me, whatever thoughts remained inside of my head burning away…

I let go, the band snapping past my lips and whipping against the front of Taylor’s firm thighs, a slight rippling across the smooth flesh accompanying her soft, renewed gasp.

That’s when my hands fly to her knees and push them apart, just enough for me to press my face against her bared sex and draw my tongue up the open line of wet, pink sex.

Her fingers bury themselves in my hair yet again, unnecessarily pressing me harder against her as I do my very best to reach as far as I can go when I slip the stiffened tip of my tongue past her labia and through a tight opening that convulses around me even as more of her juices flow over my tastebuds, every single one of them exploding with the flavor of my lover as her irregular breathing sings in my ears, barely loud enough not to get drowned by my thundering heartbeat.

I look up yet again, and I find her eyes wide open, waiting for me, her lips still shaped in sudden surprise, a hint of dryness on them as she keeps breathing through her mouth.

I take my tongue out and substitute it with two fingers, immediately slipping up to my first knuckle and making those lips of hers snap shut into a thin, bitten line while I deliberately make her feel how slowly I am surrounding her clitoris with my lips.

I press it with the very tip of my tongue.

Her head flies back, hard enough that her hair becomes a dark cascade shining with the morning light coming from her left.

And I finally drop down on my knees to worship her. To pour everything that she makes me feel over her sex, to force my devotion to seep into her body with every thrust of my fingers and violent prod of my tongue until she realizes once again what she means to me, how much she…

How much I want to blow her mind.

Because I’m a lust-fueled sex machine after days of trauma and abstinence and for no other reason at all. Definitely. This is not me being sappy at all. This is just something that’s been under pressure for far too long finally snapping.

“Liz… Oh, God, Liz, what are you doing to me…” she babbles when I curl my fingers inside of her to prod at the rougher part of her sensitive flesh.

And, okay, that? That’s when I do snap.

I growl yet again, my lips vibrating around her trapped clitoris, and my hand goes faster between her legs, the stretched waistband of her panties rubbing against the inside of my wrist as I make Taylor’s body bend up, her eyes tightly closed in something close to agony as I go harder and rougher, as my own breathing comes out in irregular gusts until she grabs the sides of my head and pulls me tight against her, her own thighs immediately enveloping my face and burning ears, her feet hooked over my back.

I twist between her double hold on me, taking advantage of every little freedom she affords me to further blow her fucking mind. To drive her to the edge of insanity like she often can do to me with just a damned eyebrow.

Her feet twitch over my back, and one slipper falls to the kitchen floor.

I smirk.

And she pulls me so tight that I can no longer breathe anything but her. Anything other than the juices making the soft pubic hair under my nose glisten beautifully with golden light.

My fingers slosh in and out, droplets of her excitement splashing all over my wrist as her panties press right around my throat, and isn’t that a discovery, the tightness pushing against my already labored breathing making me feel even more lightheaded, even needier as I’m pretty sure I’m dripping a small puddle on my floor.

I suck her in, the hard pellet of sensitive flesh trapped between my lips, and she groans, making me suck even harder as my tongue goes wild in erratic, teasing patterns, shifting direction and intensity as often as I’m able despite my quickly tiring jaw.

“Liz! Fuck, Liz! I—I’m going to—”

I don’t stop.

I go harder.

And I don’t even see, not anymore. There’s just this pink haze, and I’m not sure if I’ve closed my eyes or I’ve just retreated deep into a part of me that only dwells in scents and touches. A part of me that just wants more. More little gasps, more desperate moans, more insensate, open-mouthed pleas.

More.

Her legs go rigid, stiff over my shoulders, her feet flying off my back as she quivers all around me and her fingers claw at my scalp.

Then she remains just like that, almost suspended in mid-air as I drink from her, forcing myself to slow down just enough for her to stay on the very cusp of the place I can bring her to. The place only I will ever bring her to.

As I force her to keep coming, prolonging her orgasm as much as she can take. As much as I can afford to give her.

Then, finally, gloriously, she slumps, and without moving from where I’m kneeling between her limp, open legs and a pair of panties stretched beyond repair, I can still vividly imagine her lost eyes wandering across my ceiling without taking in anything at all other than the sparks behind her eyes and the waves of spasming tension making her jerk up just enough for me to enjoy the ripple of muscle on her thighs and the quiver of soft breasts falling to the sides of her chest.

I can all but see the dark waves of her hair swaying, falling from the other side of my counter, dangling from her languid head and neck, her face limp in an exaggerated version of her former ‘O’ of surprise.

I take it all in. The image in my mind and the open, dripping sex in front of me framed by beautiful, toned legs draped over my shoulders.

And I, slowly, stand up, my open robe sliding down my shoulders before I let it fall to the wet floor below me just a second before I bend down to slide my own drenched, ruined panties down my legs.

I bite my lip, look over Taylor’s trembling body.

And I walk around my counter until I stand in front of her dangling face before I grab the back of her head and pull her against my own needy, drenched, quivering pussy.

***

“You’re late,” Tagg says.

“I had… culinary issues,” I tell him, doing my best not to blush.

“Ah,” he says with a sage, understanding nod. “Trouble with a pool boy?” he asks.

And I can only stare at him, blinking in incomprehension as Power tries and fails to come up with a noncommittal answer to that.

 

 

===================

And so it begins.

And, because I’m apparently mentally ill, not only is the next chapter one with the Tagg meeting, but the man will have another heartwarming reunion right after that.

No, that wasn’t the plan.

No, I’m not surprised.

Mildly traumatized, though…

As always, I’d like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: aj0413, LearningDiscord, Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, and Xalgeon. If you feel like maybe giving them a hand with keeping me in the writing business (and getting an early peek at my chapters before they go public, among other perks), consider joining them or buying one of my books on Amazon. Thank you for reading!