Creamed - Page 31

“I think that’s a great idea.” She smiles. “And I promise to let you carry me everywhere and do everything for me,” she says cheekily.

“Anything for my cream and sugar,” I growl. “Anything for my horny virgin girl.”

“Thank you, Foxx,” she blushes. “Thanks for everything. But thanks for telling me the truth. It means a lot.”



Looking like a man who has a load off his chest, I feel mine stiffen from the cold as much as from seeing Foxx lift himself up from the couch. Pulling his scrubs, he barely still has on up to his waist as he looks me over again, towering over me with an air of satisfaction.

“I’ll get you a robe or one of my shirts,” he muses, his lips curling at the edges.

My brows raise in a question, and I shiver all over again.

“Or?” I giggle, kneading the toes on my good foot into the thick carpeting.

“Or I might prefer to keep you naked, but not cold. So I’ll turn the thermostat up,” he decides.

I watch him move over to the furthest wall, making sure he cranes his neck to caution me not to budge until he carries me.

“We don’t want any more…accidents,” he says with a grin, and pressing some buttons, I feel the whole room warm instantly.

Or that could just be from watching him, like poetry in motion. That perfect butt of his flexing with his legs as they shift under his scrubs.

“Better?” he asks, and I nod feverishly. “I’m starving, actually,” I confess, hoping we can eat before a bath.

“I’ll make you a fresh plate,” he offers, pausing as he weighs up the risks of leaving me here alone over having me where he can keep an eye on me.

But I don’t plan on trying to do too much again.

Doctor’s orders.

In a few steps, he’s back and lifting me up, heading for the kitchen, but shifts suddenly, moving down the hallway.

“I wanna see you in one of my shirts,” he murmurs aloud, making me jump and squeak a little as his thick arms rub against my core as he carries me.

He’s picked me up so that one part of him has a firm hold of me and part of my chest.

The other strong arm is pulled closer to him, with my still slick valley grinding against his firm muscles.

It’s like a switch that feels like it will never turn off, and if all Foxx wants me to wear is one of his shirts, I’m not complaining.

“I’ll let you down in just a minute and find you a shirt,” he says, lowering me gently onto a massive four-poster wooden framed bed that’s bigger than my whole apartment.

Like the rest of his house, his bedroom oozes style but is like the man himself. Big, high value, and pleasing to the eye.

A wall of mirrors, framed with the same timber that’s inlaid throughout the whole place, lets me see firsthand just how small I look in his world.

It also gives me a perfect view of him as he debates which shirt to choose from a rack opposite his bed.

A restored antique dressing rack, with the shape of a man of his width but lower, has an outfit hung on it. He slips a shirt out from underneath a heavy tailored jacket.

“Perfect,” he murmurs to himself, turning to face me as I prop myself up on one elbow.

“I’ll help you,” he says, sending fresh waves of his magic touch through me as he eases me into his shirt, buttoning up the front, but only enough to keep it closed.

My ample breasts fill it nicely, and it’s clear he wants to see more of me uncovered by the shirt than the shirt itself.

It’s so soft, fresh, and smells like him mixed with his subtle but sexy cologne.

I promise myself I’ll find out which cologne he uses, so I can smell it whenever I want. But something tells me nothing could smell as heavenly out of the bottle as it does on the man himself.

“That’s better,” he croons, taking a step back to admire his handiwork before scooping me up again, pausing at the mirrors to show me off to myself.

I have to admit, apart from feeling flushed with fresh arousal for Foxx and his shirts, I don’t look too bad if I say so myself.

“Cute,” he grunts, curling his lip.

Not something I’ve ever been called before, and I know Foxx means more than just cute like a kitten or cute like irony.

“Let’s get you fed,” he says next, his fingers digging deeper into my soft skin. He squeezes me close, so I know he’s got me.

My neck aches a little from looking up at him adoringly the whole way back to the kitchen.

And I already wish I’d given myself to him fully.

Being claimed by Foxx is as important to me now as I know it is to him. And not just because it’ll mean more of the magic he delivers just by being him.

Tags: Flora Ferrari Romance
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