Ginger Fox Part 3

“Night walks, Miss Fox?” Jonathan lowers his eyes to the spilled milk on the floor.
“I... I...” I rub my face with my loose fingers, trying to compose myself and clean my messy face, glaring at him. “Are you going to die if you make a sound and alert someone to your presence?”
He raises his gaze to me, seeing my fury. His eyebrow arches as he examines my face, and something that closely resembles a smile appears at the corner of his mouth.
“No. But I find your reaction interesting.” His response is quick, and the gleam of sarcasm in his eyes makes me swallow a very dirty curse word.
I open my mouth in three frustrated attempts to tell him to fuck off, but I prefer to stay silent. I go to the sink, pull out a cloth, and crouch down to clean the mess I made. After wiping up every dirty spot, I stand up, leave the cloth in the sink, and wash my hands. I run my fingers over the robe to dry them, noticing that every move I make is being closely watched. I see him open the fridge, and I stand there, watching his body. The bare torso offers a good view of the muscles in his back, which bulge as his arm stretches to grab the milk bottle, leaving lines on his skin that map out every muscular detail. His dark navy blue cotton pants hang loosely on his legs, and his large feet are bare.
“Lost your sleep, I presume?” Jonathan turns around, takes the glass from the table, and fills it, slowly pushing it towards me. “Or do you just prefer raiding the fridge at midnight?”
“Actually, I couldn’t sleep,” I reply softly, holding the glass of milk he served me. His eyes fall back on the poor cake, now covered in frosting from my rough cutting, before returning to me. “Okay, maybe a bit of both.”
“That’s obvious from the butcher’s skill you used to cut the cake.” I pull the knife covered in chocolate frosting, crushing it between my fingers and shaking it at the serious jerk looking at me.
“You’re a jerk, Mr. Roy.” I lower my gaze to the cake, smiling at Jonathan. “Would you like a piece of cake? I must admit it’s delicious.”
I walk to the sink, grab a small plate from the dish rack, and pull out a clean cloth from the drawer to dry it. I return to the table, serve the cake on the plate, and when I raise my face to offer him a slice, he’s no longer there. The warmth of his body, now next to mine, makes me turn my face, finding him standing right beside me, staring at me. He must have walked around the table, and I didn’t even notice. Damn, what a stealthy bastard!
His eyes move to my phone on the table, as the screen lights up with a notification. An old photo of Tom and me from our high school prom is on the lock screen. I’ve been avoiding taking the phone, not even realizing I hadn’t removed that damn photo. I place the plate on the table, push it towards him with the tips of my fingers, and pull my phone to me. He looks at the cake without saying a word. I lift my piece, take a bite.
“Why doesn’t he like anal?” The cake I’m chewing nearly chokes me when I hear his question sounding so serious.
“Oh, my God...” I grab the milk, quickly taking a sip to clear my throat. “I’m going to kill Baby!”
I slam the glass on the table, pressing my fingers on the edge of the wooden top. Mr. Roy remains silent, looking at me as if this question coming from him were normal.
“We’re not talking about Tom.” I refuse to have this conversation with him.
“I don’t see why not. If he were satisfying you properly, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” My eyes fall on his mouth, making me feel as lost as when I first arrived at this mansion.
“Mr. Roy, we really aren’t talking about this.”
“Jonathan, little Nautilus. If I’m close enough to know how the three freckles adorn beneath your left breast, you’re close enough to use my first name.”
I can’t keep my gaze on his; the intensity of his blue irises is too hypnotizing.
“Who notices people’s freckles?” I try to shift the topic so he’ll drop the subject of my failed relationship’s lack of anal. I take another bite of cake, feeling my body hyperventilate from being so close to him.
“Five.” My gaze returns to him between chews. I widen my eyes when his hand stretches out. “Three below the breast, one on the right forearm, and the last one on your nape.”

Jonathan pushes my hair back, sliding his fingers to my face. His ring finger brushes near my mouth, gliding to the corner, removing a crumb of cake. He then parts his lips and sucks his finger. I can’t help but let out a soft sigh, even if my life depended on holding it in. My eyes follow the movements of his mouth as he chews, my throat drying out in a way that not even a thousand liters of water could quench. I want to feel those lips on mine again. I’d kill to quell this desire. How could he never have kissed a woman? How could he desire so intensely at some point that he wished he were no longer alive?
“Are you not going to eat your piece of cake?” I try to focus my dwindling strength on something else. The way my brain shuts down around him destabilizes me, and it scares me.
“I’m analyzing.” He turns his face toward the cake, lifting it in his hand.
“You just need to open your mouth and take a bite. There’s not much to analyze.” I smile, trying to break the ice, but I should have analyzed my own words.
What’s on his face is a smile. A cruel and malevolent smile. My eyes go from his face to the piece of cake in his fingers, shaking my head in denial. I barely take two steps back before his swift move. His arm around my waist pins me to the table, pressing his body against me to keep me still.
“Just open your mouth and take a bite...” His low voice in my ear is husky, sending shivers through my body. “Tempting, Ginger.”
“That wasn’t exactly...” Oh, God! The words die when his lips close on my neck, scraping the tips of his teeth.
His hand on my waist pulls the small ribbon of my robe, pulling it aside until the fabric falls from my body. My fingers grip the table, searching for something to hold onto but finding nothing.
“Maybe I prefer the cake served on another plate.” His voice comes out as a growl. He moves the piece of cake closer to me.
“Mr. Roy...” His hand spreads on my neck, breaking my mind from what I intended to say.
I feel the softness of the cake and the creaminess of the frosting spreading on my skin as he begins dragging it downward, smearing me with chocolate cake. His hand has no restraint as it slips inside my old nightgown, pressing my breast against the cake. The other hand is already sliding like a serpent between my legs, after lifting the nightgown and invading the space between my thighs. I feel the heat rising, my breathing accelerating, and the tension inside me building. His mouth makes me feel miserable with every brush of his tongue on my neck, torturing me.
“Open your mouth, Gim.” Jonathan bites my shoulder to emphasize his command, and I flinch, arching my body involuntarily backward.
He achieves a masterful positioning. My mouth opens in excitement as I feel his cock brushing against my butt. He seizes the moment of my open lips and quickly, his fingers, smeared with cake, enter my mouth unceremoniously. I don’t know exactly when my body betrays me, just that I suck his fingers hard, while his other hand moves to the center of my legs and hits the little bud pulsing with desire. I feel everything: the taste of cake on his fingers; his own flavor in my mouth, mixing with the sweetness; his hot, heavy breath near my ear; the friction of his groin against my butt, grinding with his hardening cock; his hand massaging my clit through my panties; the moisture dripping from my pussy; and the infernal heat consuming me in flames. My fingers, completely unsteady, fumble on the table, desperately seeking something to hold onto, and before I can pull back, I’m crushing the cake between my hand. His leg wedges between mine, spreading them to give him space, pulling his hand from my panties, which makes me suck his fingers in my mouth with even more fervor. Just one tug, he needs just one damned quick pull to the side, to move his pants down, and I’m gasping with the first rough thrust of his cock inside me. The cake becomes a mess in my fingers, just as I’m following the same path with his deep, hard thrusts. It’s not love, it’s not passion; it’s physical, it’s animalistic, it’s the worst attraction that could exist between two people, because everything animal becomes irrational, nearly madness. Jonathan leaves me imperious, detached from reality, desperate and irrational. Being fucked against the table, with his cake-flavored fingers in my mouth, in the kitchen, is the ultimate proof of how I’ve lost my sanity. And I don’t care at all; I just want more. My fingers rise, holding the side of his face, making him as smeared with chocolate as I am, and I still don’t care because I want to taste the cake on his skin. It’s hunger, it’s gluttony. No food can satisfy this devilish hunger.