We crashed.

And crashed.

And crashed.

Our lips were stuck, heavy cream coating every kiss, our tongues lathered in sticky sweetness.

Zane's hands smoothed into my hair, and I didn't even care that the cake got all over the strands. I only wanted to feel him touching me, bringing me closer to him. The cake would come out with a few shampoos; but the flavor of Zane inside my mouth would never leave, I knew it now. It'd imprint inside me forever.

Heat wafted off his body and collided into me, curling around me. We pressed against the counter to keep our balance as the kiss whirled out of control, all teeth and lips and tongues twirling too fast to keep track.

The sugar rushed straight to my head, turning my boozy buzz into an absolute high. I couldn't see, couldn't think—I only wanted Zane, wanted him smooshed into me and our bodies glued together.

We had to unglue, eventually, to remove clothing, to brush off some of the food we'd gotten all over each other. The kitchen was a disaster, with creamy substances and fruity fillings all over my side of the counter, and vegetables all over the other. Tomatoes were smashed against the far wall, lettuce leaves and nuts got into corners and splattered about like an abstract painting.

It'd be hell to clean up, but as I glanced at Zane, who'd snagged my bottle of red to take a few swigs, I thought it was worth it.

This was us—chaos personified. Two strong personalities clashing at every turn, but unable to resist each other's physiques. Desperate to wound one another with verbal blows, but needing the kisses, the touching, the penetration to satisfy our urges. To soothe the intensity of our hatred.

It didn't take long for him to be nearly naked, only his boxers and socks remaining. I, on the other hand, stripped as fast as I could because the food had started to soak through my dress and stick to me. That, and I was hot, steam seeming to escape my body in waves.

Hot for him. Hot for this.

When he noticed I'd disrobed completely, Zane lowered the wine bottle, eyes widening at my perky, hardened peaks, at my fingers near my navel, at the smooth, uncovered skin leading down into my center. He wouldn't have known by looking at it, but I was incredibly wet down there, eager to get him between my legs.

So eager, in fact, that had I been sober, I'd have been questioning all this.

I loathed him. He shamed me, he insulted me, he drove me insane. But in this moment, all I wanted was for him to fuck me senseless in my restaurant's kitchen and make me forget about it all.

"Hmm, something's missing," he said, putting the bottle down, but not once removing his gaze from my breasts. He reached for something on the counter, and came back with his fingertips covered in cheesecake. He spread a slither of the substance over my nipple, titillating it in the process. I moaned, and he smirked. "Much better."

"Hmm," I mimicked him, gesturing at his boxers. I knew where I wanted to put a bit of cheesecake to lick off. "Take those off."

He was still watching my boobs as he took off the boxers, exposing his heavily erect cock. Girthy, intense, and—bare. It definitely needed some sugary coating, too.

I imitated him by grabbing some of the cheesecake and rubbing a thin film of it onto his dick. His eyes rolled to the back of his head at the contact. I massaged him, experiencing the smooth, veiny skin that I couldn't wait to put into my mouth. I wanted to devour him.

He slowly pushed me away, then cupped one of my breasts, leaning down so he could take the nipple in his mouth. When his tongue lapped up the cream, twirling around my peak, I shuddered.

Fuck, why did this always feel so good with him? Why did he always know exactly what to do, exactly how I liked my nipples touched and toyed with?

I reached out and took hold of his cock again, stroking it while his tongue torpedoed around my nipple. We both let out raspy breaths, eager and excited, as our movements picked up speed.

"Shit," he said, popping the breast out of his mouth, "you're gonna make me come so fast, you naughty girl."

"Good," I said, dropping to my knees, finding a layer of cake and cream on the ground to soften my fall. My face was level with his dick, and my heart raced in anticipation. I'd never wanted to suck someone's cock so badly, and I had no idea why this man's cock above all. "Because I want to taste you. Not the cake, not the fruit—you."

His eyes rounded and he angled his hips forward, bringing his penis closer to my face. "By all means," he said, wiping off some of the cake from his cheeks. "Bon appétit."

The first swirl of my tongue brought me cake and cream, and I blissfully moaned at the delicious aroma. Then I cleaned him up with a towel—it was wrong not to sanitize things somewhat before we got too busy—before focusing more on tasting him, taking him fully into my mouth and pumping him in and out, in and out.

I sensed him shuddering, panting with my every lick and suck, and knew he was close before he announced it. The power I had over him was exquisite; he was at my mercy, his pleasure mine to give or take away.

As much as I'd thrive on taking everything from him, my pleasure was to keep going.

"I'm going to come," he said, his voice hardly above a whisper. "But—" he took hold of my head, stopping me, "are you sure you want this?"

I licked my lips and peered up at him. "To taste you? Fuck yes, I do."

"Okay, but..." He gestured at me, on my knees before him. "Don't you want...something else? Shouldn't I take care of you, too?"

I squinted at him, hating him more for ruining the moment. "How fast can you be ready to go again after this?"

He shrugged. "If you spread your legs and show me how much you want me? Seconds."

"Perfect." I stuffed his cock back into my mouth and resumed.

He came moments later, filling me with his tartness, barely giving me a chance to swallow him up before he hefted me back on my feet, then up on the counter. He pulled my legs aside and marveled at my drenched pussy, biting his lower lip as he studied how best to approach it.

I glared at him, needing relief, needing him to do something besides staring at me hungrily.

Without further teasing me, he dove in, his tongue driving straight into my center, licking me like his life depended on it. Every whirl sent whooshes of arousal up my back. My legs trembled from every flick.

As he set his hands on my thighs to steady them, he plunged deeper, finding immense satisfaction at my loss of words, of consciousness.

I tipped back and gawked at the ceiling, unable to do much more than let out groans of delight. God, he was so skilled with that thing, I wanted to—

His fingers entered me, propelling me closer to explosion, and taking me off-guard. I looked down to discover him watching me, reveling in me as I fell apart for him. He grinned, then plunged his tongue back between my folds.

My power was gone, and I didn't care.

After I came so hard I couldn't see straight for a moment, he disappeared beyond the counter, returning with a condom wrapper.

"How?" I gaped at him. "Where?"

"Wallet," he said, motioning at his pants that he'd tossed across the way, not wanting them to be stained with frosting. The other side of the counter was safer, with mostly nuts and dry vegetables on the floor.

I watched him roll the condom on, remembering how he'd felt inside my mouth. And desperate to feel him inside me. Oh, I remembered that too, and my clit pulsated at the notion of being stimulated by him again.

He lowered me off the counter and spun me around, pulling me to him by my waist. I instinctively bent over, pushing my ass out and against his girth. He squeezed my butt-cheek, smacked it once, then began the process of easing inside me.

When his tip entered me, I lost my breath. Just the tip was enough to send me spiraling into another world; a world where he and I were equals, where we were on the same wavelength, where our pleasure was united, our feelings not negative or loaded with rage. Far from our hatred in the real world, this world was delicious and blissful. The only noise was our screams of happiness.

He thrust deeper, and chills crawled up my spine. "Fuck," I said, sensing him fill me up, charging electricity through me.

He wrapped my hair around his hand and lightly tugged me upward to plaster a wet kiss on my neck. "You like that?" He tugged a little harder, and I groaned, writhing around in delight at the light pressure. "Oh, you do like it."

Hair-pulling wasn't normally my thing, yet it turned me on here, with him doing it. It wasn't a violent gesture, it wasn't demeaning or degrading to me. This sexual tension—it wasn't temperamental like our other times. The hair-pulling, if anything, was more affectionate than most of what we'd experienced together. It was bonding, deepening our connection. It was trust, which was something neither of us felt towards the other outside of this particular moment.

With my head tipped back, he kept kissing my neck, and covered one of my boobs with his large, heated hand. He pressed hard into the skin, my nipple poking into his palm, which tickled me, shooting jolts of satisfaction up and down my spine and sides.

As his thrusts grew faster, I gripped the edge of the counter, my fingers slipping on the various substances still stuck there. But I held on, gritting my teeth as his cock glided in and out of me, grazing the confines of my tight center, making me delirious. The smack-smack of his hips into my ass enhanced my desire, and I knew it'd be moments before I lost myself.

Before this magical moment brought us back to the reality that we despised one another.

Seconds after my climax, he flipped me around again. He wasn't finished. He took me to another counter, this one lower and not covered in cake or fruit juice. He hoisted me atop it, and eased himself inside me, his gaze focused on mine the whole time.

There was something so raw, so different about this version of him, this way of us having sex. It wasn't dangerous and painful, though there was still an element of near-hatred whenever we looked at each other. Except in this instant, where I could have sworn I saw something else in his eyes; something almost tender, yearning. Something sweet and cautious.

I nodded, though he hadn't said anything to me. As if consenting to him continuing to pummel me; as if he needed authorization. I gave it. I needed him, needed another climax, another round of screams to burst out of my mouth and echo through the kitchen.

He reached behind him and grabbed a platter of pie, setting it beside me. He tipped a fingertip into the substance, swirling. I expected him to then lather the chocolaty stuff all over my skin, but instead he dipped his finger into my mouth, granting me a taste of the delicious dessert.

"Mmm," I moaned, unsure if my euphoria came from the decadent chocolate, or the sensation of his cock shoving in and out of me.

"Mmm? Fuck," he said, as my pussy clamped tight around him, destabilizing him. He swirled his fingers in the pie again and stuffed them into his mouth. "Fuck. Fuck to all of this."

We shared more licks of pie until we'd gone through half the plate, and he could no longer contain his need to go faster, deeper, harder. He gripped my thighs, bringing me to the very brink of the counter, jamming into me as he pressed his forehead to mine. He slid his thumb between us, into my crease, finding my clit to stimulate it as he pounded.

I couldn't take it anymore, and yet I wanted more, more of him. As deep as possible, as hard as possible, and fast enough for us to both black out in delight. To forget what got us here, what negative emotions awaited us once we were done.

He fucked me to the point of numbness. I couldn't feel my legs, my arms, or the tips of my nipples. My vagina was so drenched his cock came out shiny with my arousal, and it pulsated so much I couldn't keep up. But he kept going, kept thrusting.

Only when I wasn't sure my heart was pumping enough blood throughout my body did he explode, shattering against me as he grunted.

It was hot, sexy, super messy. The most enticing explosions of pleasure blurted from our mouths as we lost control and came together.

He slid out of me, removed the condom, and took another swig of the red wine, watching me hop down and jump around to avoid the spills and stains on the floor.

"This is so fucked," I whispered, unsure where to even start. There was a lot to clean, and my cheeks flushed as I realized I'd done this. We'd done this.

Zane took my hand, bringing it to his mouth. He kissed my knuckles and shook his head. "It can wait."

"But my staff—"

He pressed his lips harder against my skin. "They'll understand, and they'll figure it out tomorrow. You, young lady, need to relax."

To hear him speak so kindly to me was off-putting, but I was too exhausted from all the climaxing, still numb from all the satisfaction, that I didn't have the energy to ask questions.

Next I knew, Zane had located spare tablecloths for us to lie on. We had no intention of sleeping, but we cuddled in the one corner of the kitchen we hadn't sullied with our food fight. Catching our breaths, thinking, wondering.

But when I felt his cock rub up against me, bringing hunger to my brain, to my pussy, my brain shut off. My body responded, woke up.

Zane had more condoms as it turned out. We had to put them to good use.

I wanted him all over again. When I sensed his fingers creeping into my delicate layers, when I heard him gasp at the moisture he found there, I knew I'd have him.

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