Sugar and Sin

Ryan pushed the front door open and was immediately hit by a wall of sweet, warm air and the unmistakable scent of vanilla, sugar, and something burning.

"Autumn?" he called, dropping his keys in the bowl by the door.

No answer. He rounded the corner into the kitchen and froze.

Flour covered every visible surface--the counter, the stools, the floor, even the edge of the sink. A handprint smudged across the fridge door like she'd used it to steady herself mid-sprint. Trays of cookies and cupcakes were scattered everywhere, some frosted beautifully, others halfway done or still cooling. And in the middle of it all, barefoot and wild-eyed with focus, in one of his oversized shirts and a pair of white cotton shorts, was Autumn.

She had a piping bag in one hand, her hair in a messy bun, and a streak of chocolate across her cheek. Her face lit up in concentration as she bent over a cupcake, mumbling something about symmetry and swirl technique.

He leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, trying not to laugh. "So... how many people is this charity event feeding? The entire city?"

She jumped. "Shit! You scared me."

"Clearly," he said, stepping inside and plucking a rogue sprinkle off her collarbone. "I thought we were robbed by a very enthusiastic baker."

She groaned, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. "The gallery's doing this art and bake sale thing, and Jamie was like, 'Oh Autumn, you're such a good baker, you should do it,' and I said yes because I'm an idiot--"

"You're not an idiot," he murmured, brushing flour from her cheek with his thumb. "You're just... covered in sugar and slowly spiraling."

She narrowed her eyes, but she was smiling. "I'm fine. Just behind on frosting. And sanity."

He stepped closer, pretending to inspect a tray of cupcakes. "You know what I'm noticing?" he said thoughtfully.

"What?"

"You're hot when you're stressed."

She blinked, caught off guard, and then tried to swat his arm with the piping bag. "Don't even."

"Too late," he said, already slipping an arm around her waist. "I come home from work, hoping for a quiet evening, and instead I find you in my shirt, looking like a walking dessert. Do you really think I'm going to just let that go?"

"I have frosting to do."

"Frosting can wait."

"Ryan."

He was already kissing her neck, slow and lazy, his other hand finding her hip. "Tell me you don't want this," he murmured, lips brushing over her jaw, "and I'll stop."

Her breath hitched. "I... hate how persuasive you are."

He chuckled against her skin. "That's not a no."

She let her head fall back, surrendering for just a moment. "The oven's still on."

"I'll turn it off."

"And the frosting--"

"Will survive."

His fingers slipped under the hem of her shorts, gripping her thigh as he nudged her back against the messy counter. Cupcakes were bumped, a tray clattered to the floor, and neither of them cared. He kissed her like he'd been waiting all day for it--like he needed to taste the chaos on her lips. Flour dusted their skin, sweet and soft. Her hands gripped his shirt twisting the fabric as he lifted her onto the counter with ease. Her legs wrapped around his waist. He tugged the shirt she was wearing over her head, revealing the white lace bra beneath, his breath catching at the contrast between the clean lines of her body and the utter disaster surrounding them.

"You've got frosting here," he said, dragging his thumb across her collarbone and lifting it to his mouth.

She laughed, breathless, and leaned in to kiss him again, this time deeper, hungrier. He kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered. Like frosting could melt and cupcakes could burn and the world could go to hell, and he wouldn't stop until he had her trembling in his arms. Flour, frosting, chaos--and her. His favorite recipe.

"God, look at you," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. "You're a mess."

Her lips curved. "So are you."

He smirked. "I didn't start this war."

"No, but you're definitely finishing it."

She tugged him down, kissing him again--deep and slow at first, all sweet tension and soft mouths. But it didn't take long before it shifted, before her fingers were threading through his hair and his hands were dragging up her thighs, gripping her like he couldn't get enough.

The counter creaked under them as he leaned in, crowding her space. His mouth moved hungrily over hers, tilting her chin so he could deepen the kiss. Her lips parted with a breathy sound that went straight to his chest--and lower. His fingers slipped under her shorts, gliding up the warm skin of her waist, then moved up, the pads of his thumbs brushing just beneath the band of her bra. She gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed it, one hand splaying across her lower back to press her closer, anchoring her to him like he needed to feel every inch of her. Her hands wandered too--over his chest, under his shirt, nails grazing his skin. She tugged it up, fingers skating over his stomach, the muscles tightening under her touch.

"You smell like vanilla," he murmured against her mouth, trailing kisses along her jaw, down her neck.

She tipped her head back, letting him taste her skin. "I smell like chaos."

"You taste like sugar and bad decisions," he whispered, letting his tongue flick just beneath her earlobe, "and I want more."

Her nails dug lightly into his shoulders, and he hissed, loving the way she clung to him. His mouth found hers again--deeper this time, more urgent. His hand cupped her breast over the thin fabric of her bra, thumb flicking over her nipple, and she let out a soft moan that vibrated through his chest.

"Ryan," she breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him, her eyes dark with heat.

He didn't say anything. Just held her gaze as his hands slid behind her, lifting her hips slightly and pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. Her heels pressed into his lower back, urging him on. Their kisses grew hungrier--more ragged, more desperate. Like the mess around them, they were all heat and chaos, the scent of warm sugar hanging thick in the air. Her hands were in his hair, then on his neck, then gripping his jaw as she kissed him like she couldn't get enough of him.

He let his forehead fall against hers, their breath mingling. "Tell me you don't want me to ruin you right here."

"I definitely didn't say that," she whispered, her voice wrecked, her eyes burning into his.

His lips crashed into hers again, and they melted into it--hands roaming, hips shifting, the edge of control blurring beneath the heat. And still, neither of them cared about the frosting. Autumn let out a soft, shuddering gasp as Ryan's fingers stroked between her thighs--just enough pressure to make her hips twitch, to make her want more, need more, and he damn well knew it.

He watched her face as he teased her, his mouth brushing against hers but not kissing her yet, his fingers just barely slipping beneath the fabric of her shorts again.

"You're soaked," he murmured, voice low and rough. "And I've barely even touched you."

She whimpered, biting her lip, already breathless under his stare.

"Take these off," he said suddenly, tugging lightly at her shorts.

She blinked. "Here?"

He didn't answer. Just stepped back a little, eyes dragging slowly down her body, then back up, and gave a short nod.

"Here. Now."

Her pulse skipped. She pushed herself upright and slid her shorts down her legs, panties along with them, the air brushing her bare skin as she stepped out of them. Her bra still clung to her, the cups making her tits sit up proudly under her chin--until he closed the space between them and slowly undid the clasp.

"You really came in here wearing this under my shirt," he murmured, tugging down the straps and pushing it off her shoulders, letting it slide down her arms.

Her nipples were already hard, her chest rising with every quick breath as he looked at her--fully bare now, perched on the edge of their messy, flour-dusted kitchen counter, surrounded by trays of cooling cookies and chaos.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathed.

His hands were on her again before she could say a word--one gripping her waist, the other sliding up between her thighs with no more teasing, no more games. He dipped his fingers between her folds, slick and hot, and she let out a broken moan that shot straight through him.

"Ryan..."

He groaned as he kissed her, deep and hungry, his fingers circling her clit in a slow, filthy rhythm while she rocked against him, her hands braced on his shoulders. She was already squirming, already moaning into his mouth, and he wasn't nearly done with her yet.

"Lay back," he said roughly, his voice thicker now, threaded with heat.

She obeyed without hesitation, lowering herself against the cool countertop, her hair spilling out beneath her like a halo. Her thighs fell open for him, flushed and trembling, and he stepped between them, drinking in the sight of her completely laid out for him--naked, needy, beautiful. Then his gaze flicked to the can of chocolate frosting at the edge of the counter. He reached for it slowly, meeting her eyes as he dipped his fingers in and brought them up, glistening and thick.

She swallowed hard. "Ryan..."

"Oh, sweetheart," he said darkly, "you knew exactly what you were doing."

He brought the frosting to her inner thigh and smeared a thick stripe just beside where she needed him most. She gasped, hips jerking, but he didn't touch her there yet--he just leaned down and licked a long, slow line up her thigh, the warmth of his mouth a wicked contrast to the cool air. She moaned, head tipping back, legs twitching. He did it again--this time closer, his tongue brushing the edge of her heat, but not quite where she ached for him. Then he spread more frosting--right above her mound, a swipe across her lower belly, one just below her navel.

And then he went to work. He licked every bit of it off with agonizing care, his tongue slow and hot, kisses growing filthier as he made his way down. When he finally reached her center, she was already trembling. Then he devoured her. No hesitation. No mercy. Just the full heat of his mouth sealing over her, tongue flicking and circling, tasting her like she was everything he'd ever wanted. His hands gripped her thighs as he sucked her clit into his mouth, moaning low at the taste of her mixed with the sweetness. She was writhing beneath him, hands gripping the edge of the counter, her moans echoing through the kitchen.

"Fuck, Ryan--" Her voice broke, breathless and wrecked. "That's--oh god--"

He didn't stop. Didn't let up. He kept going, licking her deeper, wetter, slower, until her whole body was arching off the counter and she was gasping his name over and over like a prayer. Sugar and sweat. Chocolate and skin. The taste of her and the way she trembled. He was addicted. And he wasn't done until she came apart on his tongue, shaking and moaning, legs locked around his shoulders, her whole body pulsing with it.

Only then did he rise up, his mouth slick, his chest heaving, and look down at her flushed, spent body.

"You," he said hoarsely, dragging his thumb along her thigh, "are never baking without supervision again."

Her breath was coming in short, shaky bursts, legs still trembling as Ryan slowly kissed his way back up her body--mouthing at her stomach, her ribs, the frosting he'd licked clean from her skin. But her eyes were still dark with need, her chest rising as she looked down at him between her thighs.

"You okay?" he asked softly, though his voice was thick, rough, like restraint was wearing thin.

She nodded, biting her lip. "More than okay."

He smirked, dragging his hands slowly up her thighs. "Good. Because I'm not done."

He reached for the frosting again, twisting the lid off one-handed like he'd done it a thousand times, eyes locked on hers. She swallowed, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

"Say it," he murmured.

Her voice was barely there. "Put it where I want it."

"Where's that?" he asked, even though he damn well knew.

She flushed deeper but held his gaze. "You know."

He dipped two fingers into the can and brought them low, and slow--watching every flicker of her face as he trailed the frosting along her inner thigh again, this time closer. He pressed a messy kiss there, sucking a little, then dipped his fingers again. And finally, he brought them right to her center. He smeared a thick, deliberate swirl over her clit--slow, obscene, so wet and warm and sticky--and her whole body jolted at the sensation.

"There?" he asked darkly.

Her breath hitched. "Yes."

"Good."

Then he dropped to his knees again and dragged his tongue over her, slow and filthy, licking the frosting from where she needed him most--sweetness and heat and nothing gentle now. She gasped, her back arching hard as he latched onto her clit again, flicking, sucking, licking her raw and sweet and frantic. It was a mess--chocolate and wet heat, her thighs sticky with sugar, his mouth working her open until she was trembling again, already building fast toward a second high.

She gripped the counter beneath her, toes curling, every sound coming out of her raw and ruined.

"You taste so fucking good like this," he groaned between licks, his voice reverent, sinful. "Like sugar and sin."

Her thighs clenched around him, and she broke--harder this time, crying out his name as the orgasm tore through her, sharp and overwhelming. He held her there through every wave of it, licking her through the aftershocks, hands gripping her hips like he'd never let her go.

And when she finally went still, flushed and panting on the counter, he rose up again and kissed her hard--letting her taste the frosting, the mess, herself on his lips.

"Next time," he whispered against her mouth, "I'm putting it everywhere."

She shivered. And somehow--flour-dusted, naked, and trembling in the middle of their chaotic kitchen--she still wanted more.

Ryan was still kissing her--deep, desperate--when his hands slid down her thighs, gripping them, pulling her to the edge of the counter. Autumn was breathless beneath him, skin flushed, mouth slick from his kiss and smeared slightly with chocolate from his tongue and fingers. He pulled back just enough to look at her. Hair wild. Chest heaving. Legs open for him, her inner thighs sticky with frosting and slick. Her eyes dark with want. And he snapped.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, reaching for the zipper of his jeans and shoving them down just enough.

Her breath caught when she saw how hard he was, already thick and leaking, and her hands reached for him on instinct. But he grabbed her wrists and pressed them back to the counter.

"No," he said, voice rough. "Not this time. Hands right there. I need you just like this."

She whimpered, thighs twitching, her body still pulsing from the orgasm he'd just dragged out of her. And now, the look in his eyes--completely undone, completely focused--made her throb all over again. He lined himself up and dragged the thick head of his cock through her slick folds, slow and deliberate.

"Ryan," she gasped, trying to lift her hips.

But he held her down with a firm hand to her stomach. "You're so wet. You want me to ruin you, don't you?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Please--just fuck me."

That was all he needed. He thrust into her hard and deep in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Her back arched, a cry ripping from her throat as he filled her, stretched her, hit every aching spot she didn't even know was empty.

"Fuck," he groaned, head dropping to her shoulder. "You feel so good."

Then he started to move. Hard. Messy. Desperate. The counter shook beneath them, the edge digging into his thighs with every thrust. He grabbed her hips and pulled her to him, her body sliding slightly against the floured surface, bowls rattling and falling to the floor one by one. A metal spoon clattered across the tiles. A piping bag exploded behind her somewhere, frosting splattering the cupboards.

None of it mattered. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he slammed into her, again and again, her moans rising with every stroke.

"Yes--fuck, Ryan--don't stop--"

"I'm not fucking stopping," he growled, slamming deeper. "You're mine. Every fucking inch of you--this sweet, messy, perfect body--mine."

He drove into her harder, so hard the bag of flour on the counter behind them tipped off and exploded against the floor with a loud poof, covering his calves in a cloud of white.

They both froze--just for a second--and burst out laughing, breathless and wild, their foreheads pressed together. And then he kissed her again, rough and possessive, hips not slowing in the slightest. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper, her body arching up into his, greedy for everything he gave her. He reached between them and found her clit, rubbing tight, fast circles as he pounded into her, eyes locked on hers.

"You gonna come for me again?" he whispered, forehead pressed to hers. "Come while I'm buried inside you like this?"

She nodded frantically, mouth open, moaning his name like it was the only word she knew.

It didn't take long. The pleasure snapped hard through her again, her whole body tightening around him, legs shaking, hands fisting in his shirt as she broke apart beneath him. Her cries were loud, desperate, shameless--and his. He followed with a growl, hips jerking as he buried himself deep one last time, spilling into her with a raw, guttural sound that echoed through the kitchen. They stayed like that--bodies pressed close, covered in sweat and sugar and flour and frosting--panting, shaking, completely wrecked. He finally lifted his head and looked around at the wreckage. There was a shoe in the sink. A tray of cupcakes on the floor. Frosting on the cabinets. And her, sprawled naked on the counter, flushed and wrecked and radiant.

He laughed, leaning down to kiss her again. "So... what time's the bake sale?"

She just groaned and pulled him back into her.

"You're still hard."

*********

Autumn's body trembled as Ryan slammed into her again, the rhythm unforgiving, relentless. She was barely upright on the counter anymore--propped up only by his grip on her hips and the way her legs were locked tight around his waist. The shirt he'd been wearing was discarded somewhere behind him, half-draped over a bag of powdered sugar. Her skin was flushed and slick with sweat, smeared with flour and chocolate in places he hadn't even touched yet. Her head lolled back, hair wild, breath catching with every deep thrust. She was wrecked. Ruined. And aching for more.

Ryan groaned low in his throat, watching the way her breasts bounced with each movement, her nipples taut, her mouth slack and breathless. He drove into her harder--rough, deliberate--until the counter shook beneath them. Cupcakes toppled. A frosting can rolled off the edge and clanged to the floor.

"Look at you," he rasped, eyes dark and fixed on hers. "Completely fucked-out and still so fucking tight around me."

She whimpered, nails digging into his biceps as he pushed deeper, grinding at the end of each thrust like he wanted to break her.

"Ryan--fuck,--I'm gonna--"

"Not yet," he growled, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the counter above her head, his mouth crashing into hers as his cock drove harder. "You wait for me."

His words alone nearly undid her. She moaned into his mouth, helpless against him, his body hot and hard and caging her in. Her thighs trembled around his waist, her slick coating his cock, dripping down the backs of her legs. It was messy. Filthy. Perfect. Flour floated through the air like dust in the afternoon light, clinging to their skin, their sweat-slick bodies painting a portrait of chaos and lust. His abs were smeared with it now, dusted like he'd rolled across the counter, and her thigh bore a perfect handprint in white. She looked like dessert. He was feral.

A deep, frustrated groan left him as he pulled out suddenly, just long enough to flip her over, chest to the counter, ass in the air.

She gasped, hands slipping on the floured surface. "Ryan--"

His hand slid between her legs again, stroking her--fast and rough, not to tease this time but to make her fall apart. "You're dripping, baby," he growled, leaning over her, lips brushing her ear. "You wanted this. You needed this."

"Yes," she choked out. "Yes, yes, please--"

He didn't hesitate. He slammed back into her, burying himself to the hilt in one savage stroke that had her crying out, her fists curling on the sticky counter as he set a punishing pace.

They were wild now--grinding, gasping, moaning. The counter was a disaster zone. A rolling pin hit the floor. A mixing bowl full of batter shot off the counter and spilled all over the floor when she slammed her arm down. Neither of them gave a damn.

"Touch yourself," he growled again, voice jagged, shaking. "I want you to come all over me like this."

One hand slid beneath her, between her thighs, and she obeyed instantly--fingers slick and fast over her clit while he pounded into her from behind, the wet slap of their bodies obscene, echoing between the cabinets.

It was too much.

"Ryan--Ryan--I--" Her voice broke completely as she shattered, her orgasm slamming through her like a lightning bolt. She convulsed around him, sobbing out his name, thighs shaking as her body bowed off the counter.

"Fuck, yes," he growled, losing control, slamming in one last time before spilling into her with a raw groan, his release thick and hot, his whole body trembling as he poured himself into her.

Silence fell. Except for their breath.

He stayed inside her for a moment, both of them frozen, bodies still pressed together, barely standing. Then slowly, he pulled back, his cock slick and still twitching from aftershocks, and he looked at her--utterly ruined on the counter.

She turned her face just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. "I think the cookies are ruined."

Ryan laughed, husky and wrecked, brushing a streak of flour from her cheek before bending down to kiss her mouth, soft and sweet and reverent this time.

"You're a fucking masterpiece," he murmured. "Flour and all."

She was still trembling when he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her carefully from the counter. She clung to him without thinking, spent and still breathless, her body humming from every place he'd touched. He carried her through the wreckage like she weighed nothing, stepping over cupcake trays and crumpled frosting bags, past the cloud of flour dust that still hung in the air.

She buried her face in his neck. "You're so not getting out of cleaning that kitchen."

He grinned, pushing open the bathroom door with his foot. "Fair trade."

He set her down on the counter for a moment and turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam began to rise around them. Then he stepped back to her, sliding his hands under her thighs again and lifting her effortlessly.

"You're still a mess," he whispered, kissing her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. "Let me clean you properly."

He stepped into the shower with her in his arms, the spray hitting their flour-dusted skin, warm and sharp. She gasped as the heat rushed over her, his body pressed fully against hers now, hard again already.

And the look in his eyes made one thing very clear. Round two wouldn't be gentle. Not even a little.