Chapter 150 Fucking in my kitchen

Chapter 150 Fucking in my kitchen
Tegan

The incessant ding of the turkey timer fades into the background, a meaningless metallic clatter compared to the blood rushing in my ears.

Hayes spins us, a sudden, dizzying movement that presses my back flush against the cool plaster of the wall. The contrast between the chill at my spine and the heat radiating from his front makes me gasp, my head falling back to thud lightly against the surface.

His mouth descends immediately, hot and wet, trailing a path of fire down the column of my throat. He isn’t gentle, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin over my pulse point.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard, princess," he murmurs against my damp skin, the vibration of his deep voice sinking straight into my chest.

"But first, I need to hear you beg for it."

His hand leaves my waist, moving up to roughly palm my breast through the thin fabric of my top. I arch my back involuntarily, pushing the heavy mound deeper into his grip.

He finds my nipple instantly, his thumb circling the peak through the material, teasing it until it beads into a hard, aching nub. The sensation shoots down to my clit, making my thighs tremble. I bite my lip, trying to hold onto a shred of dignity, but the friction of his thumb is maddening.

"Please," I breathe out, the word barely a whisper. "Hayes, please."

"Tell me what you need," he commands, his hand squeezing tighter, a mixture of pleasure and pain that makes my knees weak.

"I need you to fuck me," I whine, my hands fisting in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. "I need your cock, Hayes."

A low growl rumbles in his chest, approval and hunger mixed together. He grabs my hips, lifting me effortlessly, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

The movement is frantic, mindless. He carries me the few steps to the kitchen island, but then changes course, sweeping an arm out.

A bowl of fruit and a stack of mail go crashing to the floor, the sound of shattering ceramic and scattering papers loud and violent. He doesn't even flinch. He sets me down on the heavy wooden kitchen table, the edge digging into my thighs.

He yanks my leggings down, taking my panties with them in one rough tug. The cool air hits my soaked pussy, but before I can shiver, his hands are on me. He spreads my thighs wide, exposing me completely to his gaze.

I feel vulnerable, open, my chest rising and falling between us in rapid breaths. He pauses for a fraction of a second, his hand coming to rest possessively on the swell of my belly, his thumb stroking the tight skin there.

Then, he’s undoing his belt, the buckle jingling, the zipper hissing down. He frees his cock, thick and angry, pulsing with need. He lines himself up, not waiting, not teasing anymore. With one sharp thrust, he buries himself inside me.

"Fuck!" I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders as he stretches me open. He fills me completely, the sudden invasion stealing my breath.

He sets a punishing rhythm immediately, his hips snapping against mine. The table creaks and rocks with every thrust, the wooden surface hard against my back. He leans over me, one hand braced beside my head, the other still cradling my belly, ensuring the depth of his strokes doesn't jar me too roughly.

It’s a dichotomy of sensations, his cock pounding into me with relentless force, while his hand on my stomach is tender and reverent.

"You feel so fucking good," he grunts, his forehead resting against mine, his breath hot and ragged. "So tight and wet for me."

I can’t speak, only moan as he drives into me, hitting that spot deep inside that makes my vision blur. The kitchen smells of sage and butter and sex, a heady, intoxicating mix. I meet his thrusts, lifting my hips to take him deeper, desperate for the friction.

The tension in my belly coils tighter and tighter, the pleasure building to a breaking point. We are lost in it, a frenzy of skin and sweat and need, the world outside these four walls ceasing to exist.

The distinct click of the door handle cuts through the haze of my approaching orgasm.

Before I can react, before I can even warn him, the door swings open. A burst of cool air rushes in, followed by the sound of voices and laughter that dies instantly.

I freeze, my eyes flying open. Hayes stops mid-thrust, buried deep inside me, his head snapping toward the intrusion.

Standing in the doorway are Charlie and Sophie, their eyes wide, mouths agape. They came for the turkey, but instead, they find us. The shattered bowl on the floor, my leggings around my ankles, Hayes with his jeans undone, his hand possessively covering my pregnant belly as we’re locked together on the table.

"Okay," Sophie breathes, her voice pitching up an octave as she stares at us. "I wasn't expecting that."

Charlie stands frozen behind her, looking like she wants to be anywhere else on earth. Her eyes dart around the room, taking in the chaos, the scattered kitchen, the broken fruit bowl, us.

"Oh my god," she mumbles through her fingers. "I can't believe you guys are fucking in my kitchen." She gasps.

The adrenaline, the embarrassment, the overwhelming pleasure still humming in my veins, it bubbles over. I let out a breathless laugh, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the kitchen.

Hayes groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder, his body shaking against mine, whether from frustration or amusement, I can't tell.