I Dare You by Ruan Willow

The Kitchen Sex Challenge

The rolling pin clunks to the floor, narrowly missing my right foot. Damn lucky. That would have hurt. I wiggle my toes, the silver of my toe rings glistening beneath the blaring kitchen track lighting, the little fake jewels that I love stealing the most shine. One of my favorite gifts from my bachelorette party last month. Smiling, I recall Lana handing me the little gift bag, which also contained a sex toy, not the usual gift from a daughter to a mom, especially for a second marriage. But she gets it. Her beautiful blue eyes were all a twinkle as she placed the gift in my hands. That was more of a gift than anything that day.

And honestly, that had helped ease the pain a bit. Every day the pain of leaving him had haunted, but that had ultimately been squashed by the agony that would have come from staying. It wasn’t that George had been overtly abusive; it had been the million and one small things he did to manipulate. His ever-present reach for perfectionism had been what had made me a prisoner. Death by toothpicks, spiked ones that sneakily held tiny shards that, over time, made giant gashes. Little comments of disapproval and rampant, pervasive disappointment can choke a woman to near death after twenty years.

A shudder runs through my body as I hug myself. Being single at forty-four wasn’t what I had expected of my life.

But meeting Brad had changed all that.

My smile peaks at the thought of him, yet it’s a bit wistful as I swipe the flour specks off my feet, littering the dark wood floor beneath in white specks. Stubborn flour. I rub harder to clear my now white speckled red toenails, as if the snow-filled sky had blown into our kitchen. I glance outside and Maxi is jumping in the fresh snow like she’s living popcorn, taking bites of snow the same way she attacks a treat.

The backyard is one big snack to her. I glance towards the staircase. Ugh. Still no sign of Brad yet. Maybe I need to go upstairs and just grab him by the cock and drag him down here by his morning wood. I giggle. He’d most likely love that. Something my ex would have abhorred because it was out of routine.

I grab my phone and check for a text from Brad. Nothing there either. He needs another naughty pic.

I shake my head. “Up way too late for work last night, my love,” I mutter to the empty kitchen. Though I know even if he didn’t sleep, he’d come down those stairs with a smile. Something that I value more and more each day.

I blow up the picture I sent him an hour ago via text. My boob hanging out the side of my apron, nipple in full bloom erectness, complete with my areola bumps announcing themselves, my hand on the curve of my hip showing off my recent manicure, my lips in a generous pucker. I had my thigh raised, partially lifting the apron over my groin. He must still be asleep to not have responded to that pic. I snap a picture of the bareness between my legs and send it to him.

“That all oughta bring him down here quick when he finally opens those peepers up,” I mutter to myself. Back to work now. These cookies won’t make themselves. Hell no. In fact, if it weren’t for the tradition, I’d skip it, being it’s now January and the holidays are over. They are such a pain in the ass to make. So meticulous and painstaking, having to cut each damn square, load it, and fold in every other point tries my patience every Christmas season. But I gotta make these cookies, too much of a tradition to skip, even this year with the craziness of the wedding at holiday time and all. And, really, too damn tasty to not make. Tradition is tradition, even if it happens in January. I know somewhere Grandma is smiling.

I lean down to pick up the rolling pin, pissed that now I need to wash it again. Something fatter than a finger slips between my butt cheeks and I jump up, squeal, and drop the rolling pin again. It clunks loudly on the hardwood floor once more.

“Oh!” I whip around and immediately notice the little pink rubber whale-looking kind of thing in Brad’s hands. His handsome face is set in the largest grin possible. “Oh damn. You scared me. What is that?” I give him a sly grin.

"Good morning, Anna, the love of my life. It's a toy. A new one. For you. For me. For us." He pulls me into his arms, his dark full lips in a full grin in the middle of his graying goatee. His eyes twinkle as his mouth swells into that sexy smile I can't ever resist.

"It looks like a whale. Bath toy?" I grin, biting my lip as he presses his boner to my belly. "Been waiting for you to wake up. Did you see my pictures?"

"Yes. Gave my morning wood a boner." He leans down and plants a kiss on my forehead, his lips lingering so long I can almost feel the ridges. He plants a kiss on my closed lips. "This could be a bath toy. That's a plan for another day, though." He sighs and lets out a slow whistle. "You look beautiful in this apron."

He nuzzles his face into my neck so swiftly I let out a squeal.

"Whew. A double boner, that's hot." I run my hands down his biceps, savoring the softness of the flannel against his hard muscles beneath, a gift I gave him when we had just started dating a year ago. Aunt Trish always said, the older you are, the faster you marry. She was right. "I still love these pajamas on you. My sexy lumberjack."

He slides his hand down my naked side, the little pink toy flops against my bare hip as he sways me back and forth, cradling me in his other strong arm. He tucks my head expertly under his chin.

I take a deliberate breath in. He smells like him and mint, with a splash of fresh cologne.

"Well, I certainly have wood for you." He chuckles huskily. "Sorry, couldn't resist that one.

You said something related to wood."

I want nothing more than his wood, but I smile, and a giggle slips out. "Cheesy. Real cheesy, Romeo."

He drops his jaw in mock surprise. "Hey, I thought you liked cheese."

I give him my bedroom eyes. "Just saying." I bite my lip. "But. You know. That little whale looks kind of like a sperm."

"Sperm whale," he says with amusement. A flicker of lust flares in his eyes as he twitches his cock against my belly. "Nice apron, by the way. Did I mention you look sexy in it?" He nibbles along my neck, down to the mounds of my breasts.

I moan and snuggle into his arms. "You already said that. And hardy har har har. Hilarious. Don't all whales make sperm? All mammals fuck. Why do they get the notoriety?" I reach down and give his right butt cheek a squeeze, which prompts him to slap my ass with a naughty grin stealing over his face. "You are oozing the cheese out today."

"You touch mine, I touch yours." He raises an eyebrow at me, then shows me the gleam off his super white teeth.

"Promise?" I go up on my tippy toes and he obeys, leaning down, and a full-blown pucker smashes my lips. I lower myself so my feet are flush on the cool wood floor again. "I'll hold you to it forever."

The click click click of the living room clock seems louder than normal as I catch my breath, wishing I could just chuck the dough in the fridge and pounce on him for a round of quick kitchen sex.

He takes my face between his hands, the smell of the linen soap from our shower wafting off his still dewy skin. "You'd better."

He takes my lower lip into his mouth and sucks it, rubbing it with his tongue before entering my mouth for a deeper kiss.

I might just melt into air. How did I get this lucky to find this man while browsing for cookbooks in the bookstore? That day he had been shopping for a rare Wisconsin hot dish cookbook, some old but once mega-popular book he wanted to surprise his mom with. She was eighty-five then and still loved to make big hot dishes, saving portions as frozen dinners to shove into her already full freezer, some of which I enjoyed more than I ever cared to admit. All of those mini-meals now sadly occupy our freezer space. That day he had a black trench coat on with expensive-looking shoes peeking out from his dress slacks. The gleam in his eyes suggested he knew how to fuck a woman into several orgasms and then oblivion. That look, and the diligence with which he carefully examined each cookbook until he found the right one, sold me over before he even opened his mouth to ask me out for a cocktail. I'd have to have been a blind asexual fool to not pounce on such a lusciously lust-filled man.

I pant against his chest, more and more wanton for him by the second.

He pulls back from our kiss, leaving me craving even more to shove him to the floor and ride that boner he's pressing into my gut into twenty orgasms or more, screaming like a banshee in heat the whole time. His intense stare wrecks my resolve every damn time.

"What are you making?" And his smile could melt the freckles off my cheeks If I'm not careful.

He leans down and licks my right nipple, which had slipped out the side of the apron as he jostled me.

My hands fly to my cheeks as they heat with pleasure. A little squeal penetrates my lips. "Um." What was I supposed to be doing again? Fuck. He makes my concentration bottom out. Oh yeah, he asked me a question. I close my eyes so I can answer without looking at him. "Oh. Yeah. I'm making Christmas tarts." Refocusing on my task, I reopen my eyes. "They are an old classic cookie recipe my grandma used to make. After she died, I picked up the tradition."

"I don't remember those last year. Did you make them?" He nuzzles his goatee into my neck, his mouth savoring my skin in a slow suck and kiss. He's the kind of man who would remember that.

I'm turning to floppy putty in his hands as he mouths me.

He gives a little satisfied grunt, though unmistakable and delicious.

I moan, writhe in his arms, my head falling back. If he doesn't stop, I'm going to fall into a wild tryst with him and this dough is going to dry out, be ruined. I glance at the beige mound of dough, seriously half tempted to say screw it and let him make love to me right here in the kitchen, and just start a new batch tomorrow. Or maybe if I wrap it really tight in plastic it will last until tomorrow. "I did make them last year. I must not have shared this kind with you. I do save a lot for my dad and aunts since I'm the only one left who makes them now."

He pouts, the twinkle never leaving his eyes. "I need cookies too." He releases me and dips his hand in the flour bowl. He spins me around and bends me over, placing his flour-coated hand on my naked buttock. "Your butt looked like it needed a handprint."

I giggle and squirm away from him. "Oh stop!" I shiver like I just stepped into a cold shower. "I hope that hand was clean, or you just contaminated a whole bowl of flour."

He claps the flour off his hands.

I resist the urge to grab a tissue to wipe the flour from my ass. "So, tell me about this toy. Is it on the agenda today?" I'm so hoping he has another one of his famous sexual plans cooked up. He thrills me with his sexual ingenuity, and I'm not intimidated by his advanced sexual experience, at least not anymore. I've learned to let him pamper me. It was a huge challenge at first to let go, to let him be in charge of my body, but it's so massively rewarding, not to mention scrumptious.

"Oh, yes. I'm going to play with you all day long." He holds up the toy and grabs his cell phone from the counter. "See, this toy is going in your pussy. Then I'm going to tease, shake, tingle, blast, and vibrate your sexy pussy so much that you will forget these cookies and beg me to fuck you."

I raise an eyebrow at him, the slow realization of what he's proposing settling in. A slow burn grin travels across my face in a smirk. "Oh really? Is this a challenge then?" I let the full sparkle of this tease play out as I let it fully reach my eyes.

Mischief skitters across his face and settles in the wrinkled corners of his smile. "Bat those hazel beauties at me, sweetheart. If it's a wager you want, I'm in." His nod tells me he's serious, and he's going to win.

"Okay. Name it." I tear off a hunk of dough and set the rest aside. Flattening it, I remind myself I still need to wash that rolling pin. It's probably now covered in dog fur from the floor.

"Hmmmm. This has got to be good." He taps his forefinger to his nose, his thumb tucked under his chin. He strokes his goatee as his eyes tell me he's cooking up an expert-level plan in that fabulously sexy brain of his.

I run the rolling pin under the water and slop dish soap on it, rubbing it quickly with my hand to soap it up instead of grabbing a washrag. I can feel his eyes burning into my bare ass as I dry off the rolling pin. Glancing back at him over my shoulder, I ask, "Enjoying the view?"

Him tapping his finger to his temple reminds me I need to go see if Maxi is at the door, which also reminds me I need to buy more dog food and schedule her vet appointment. What the hell? Rabbit hole. Why am I thinking about all that? I glance out the window before I leave the sink. Maxi is still hopping about and chomping mouthfuls of snow like it's food.

"Oh yes, I am. Loving my claiming of that ass

as an actual visual."

I shake my ass at him.

He moans, watching me as I roll out the hunk of dough. "I will bet you a twenty-minute massage, where the giver is naked too, that I can make you come with this toy and beg me to fuck you ... before you get all of these cookies done."

I guffaw, flare my eyes wide at him. "Whoa. That's not fair. These take forever to make. They are so meticulous and intricate. I'm at a serious disadvantage here." I throw my hands in the air. "They are really a slow go, which is why no one else makes them but me." I wield my knife in the air. "I have to make four cuts on each dough square at the corners, fill each of the tarts, and fold in every other point to make it look like a star." I sigh for effect. Blow a puff of wind upwards to make my hair flop. "Then bake them, not too long, not too short, just until the tips start to barely brown. Then take them out quick." I roll my eyes. "It will take me hours."

"Good. Then it's a fair game to test your re-solve." He grins as he snags a piece of dough and pops it in his mouth. "Mmm. Yum."

I scoff. "Fair? Seriously?" I raise my eyebrows as I shake my head. "I don't know about this." I drag my finger down his handsome jawline. "Oh, you are a doughboy, huh?"

As I roll the dough flat, my big breasts wiggle. My right one slips free when I roll hard to flatten the dough to proper thickness, the way mom taught me years ago. I glance up at him, his facial expression appreciative. I'm getting more turned on by the second, with him rubbing his lower lip with his tongue.

"I'm pretty sure I could watch you do that all day long and never get tired of it. You know I was kidding last night when I said I wanted to see you cook dinner naked, but now I'm super glad I said it." He raises his eyebrows at me multiple times. "Because look at you now." He lets out a low whistle.

Butterflies erupt in my gut. It's like I'm fourteen again, and the cute boy has taken an interest in me.

"I liked the idea, so I thought I'd surprise you." I grab my knife and raise it, ready to start cutting.

"My grandma taught me when I was seven. It was always her way, me making these cookies with her every Christmas." The day was always a busy one as we made six different kinds of cookies, all double batches. My mom had always got stuck wrapping the bazillion caramels Grandma cooked up, which had to meticulously be heated to the perfect temperature, leaving my sisters and aunts to do the peanut blossoms, my cousins to do the cutouts, and my dad to unwrap all the chocolates. We called ourselves lucky if he didn't eat too many.

The glow of that memory heats up my insides. This man brings such priceless goodness to my life. Every day he makes me smile.

I eye him up and down, taking in all his rugged handsomeness. An idea trickles through my brain.

Oh, my man, I'm getting in on the scheming this time. "Let's sweeten this challenge. Whoever begs the other for sex first has to fulfill the other's unfulfilled fantasy. A long-awaited one." I flash him my naughty grin.

The pearly sheen of his teeth a brilliant contrast to dark hairs in his goatee as he mutters, "Oh, I'm so in."

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