"What dream?" Marie replied, moving about on the bed. She pulled the sheet up and over her breasts and was embracing it like armor.

Gezza looked at her, lust fading. "Don't really remember." His finger moved through his hair, "Like the book was making the girls more obsessed to me. You know anything about that?"

She went quiet. Too quiet.

Marie threw back her legs. She picked up her glasses on the night stand, and put them on, Wild hair, red lips, red skin--she was a wreck. Rough. Sexy as hell.

But her eyes wouldn't meet his.

"You know that book can't do you any good," she said, her voice flat, as she headed to the bathroom. "From the day you first held it..."

She stopped at the door, and her fingers closed tightly round the wood. "You're doomed."

She stepped inside. The shower hissed, steam bled across the frosted glass, devoured her profile.

"Doomed." Gezza muttered to himself the words echoing in his head.

"Not helpful!" He said outloud but he got, stirred his cock heated, as he stared at the figure of her body.

Then his phone rang on the nightstand like a gunfire in the silence.

Gezza snatched the phone. Screen flared.

[From: Linda ]

He smiled at his screen.

[ I missed you. Come over. Husband's gone. Baked cookies just for you. ]

"Round two, motherfucker". He punched off the bed, grabbed his hoodie. I'm out," he called into the bathroom.

"Wait--" the head of Marie, wet hair plastered against her cheeks, poured down her neck, came out. "You're not joining me?"

Gezza stood paralysed, half hard already at the thought.

Shower sex with Marie... or cookies with Linda and a vacant house.

Damn can't decide.

I could still fuck Linda in her shower.

Linda it is.

"Maybe later. Bye." He bolted.

"Wait—" Marie stretched to grab him but he was already gone.

He got his bag in the couch in the living room where he had skidded. Almost left the prize. The Playbook pulsed once pale, warm, the rune glowed crimson, alive he swung it on his shoulder and got out.

---

Gezza pulled down the boulevard in Victoria's Mercedes AMG GT, which was now his.

He felt like THE alpha, and as he stomped the throttle every time the engine snarled.

The Sun was banging on the black paint; the heat was boiling off the hood. City melted behind: people crowded on the sidewalks and turned their heads to look at his automobile.

He threw the window open, letting his arm hang out as if to announce himself to the whole world. His chest was broad—like he'd labored his entire life just to earn that kind of horsepower.

He murdered the motor in the driveway of Linda. Door slammed thunk. Sneakers were trudging on the walk, and, stopping on the porch, he drew in the heavy afternoon air: heat-baked asphalt, clipped grass, a small tincture of gasoline still lingering in his clothes.

He did like that smell.

His fist rapped on her door very politely and firmly; he glanced about the neighbourhood—he hoped no one was observing.

The door then opened, and Mrs. Linda stood before him, curvy hips on display, and with shining skin.

She had just an apron, the taste of her nipples peeking through the material, a tray of cookies in her hands.

His jeans became tight; his eyes wandered over her body. She received him in the house. Peak MILF.

She lifted the tray, the motion loosening a curl from her neat auburn bun. It slipped down, soft and careless, settling in the warm hollow of her throat.

Her Green eyes—laugh lined, kind looked up at him, blinking then went down.

"I just pulled these out the oven", she said in the same voice, still as soft as usual and now with a certain huskiness.

She moved aside, the apron parting as she did, offering a brief glimpse of the lace edge of her bra.

Flour had smeared her cheek: She put the cookies down, hands waving, and snuck that escaped curl behind her ear. An inch more of bun uncoiled.

Each drawen breath raised up the neck of the apron; each anxious eye cast a glow of glow she neither requested nor was able to conceal.

He sat down in the chair of the kitchen whose surface was cool to his forearms. Took a cookie, chewed it: melted chocolate, warm dough, a pinch of salt. "Hmmm. Damn, these taste good."

Linda smiled, like proud-mom smile now wicked.

Her finger caught a cookie, she bent down over him and slowly fed him.

Pieces of crumbs fell down her open palm in his chin.

The cock of Gezza tightened, denim squeaking. His face was warmed by her breath; her cheeks flushed, her eyes gleamed with that Playbook light.

The fingertips of his fingers touched her thigh—naked, slippery with oil. The free hand she placed on his jaw brushing his lower lip with the thumb.

"Should we go upstairs?" She fiddled a strand of hair, voice gawky, eyes otherwise. "Or you want to finish your cookies?"

He looked at her then the tray. "Cookies," he said, voice rough. "But you can entertain me as I eat."

Her eyes were on the bulge struggling with his zipper. She dropped on her knees, her apron up, and flicked the button with a snick.

She unzipped it bit by bit, jeans unzipping like a drawn breath. His cock strobe free, erect and full, a drop of pre-cum gleaming at the end. The breath of Linda froze;

Silently she pulled the bow of the apron. The cotton slipped off her shoulders, collecting at the waist, and her bra—lacy, dove-gray—slid, pulled down enough to liberate her breasts.

They spilled forward, full and frecked, nipples hardening with the cold air in the kitchen.

She slid her hands beneath them and lifted, drawing them together—soft, warm, enclosing him completely.

She glaced look up, meeting his eyes and she bent forward. The initial slide was greasy—warm flesh, a foot of cookie oil on her palm-flesh—velvet heat consuming his length.

Gezza moaned, and sank his teeth in the cookie that had been kept in his fist.

He licked the chocolate from his lip, trying to focus on the salt-sweet taste. But her breasts moved against him—soft, warm—sliding up and down until the flavor dissolved and thinking became impossible.

Every upward stroke brought her nipples in touch with his thighs; every downward action pressed him deeper into that soft passage.

Crumbs were still on her cleavage; they fell with each breath. His hips jerked with his free hand snatching another cookie even as he hovered over the tray.

She started slowly, rocking upon her knees, the soft bobbing of her breasts caressing him at the very bottom.

Gezza sank his teeth into the cookie crumbs falling on his shirt. He mushed, with eyes fixed on how her freckled face flushed pink, how her thumbs circled round the head on the upward stroke, spreading slickness, enticing another involuntary moan out of him.

The cookie crumbled at his fingers; he put another bite in, teeth set, struggling to thrust.

"Like that?" she mumbled, her voice shaking, her eyes on his. The wrinkles of smile at the corners of their eyes were deepened with a smile of secret.

She moved faster, breasts now rolling like pillows, the damp thwack of skin on skin perfuming the silent kitchen. Flour sprayed along one curve like a fingerprint.

Gezza choked on the breath, and he took a third cookie pushing half of it in his mouth to suppress the groan.

Melted chocolate on his tongue, but that felt like nothing compared to a heat slipping down his cock.

His hips jerked once more; she clutched him tighter, and led him, squeezing out every throb. He gnashed his teeth wildly, the crumbs falling, trying to root himself in the flavor of sugar and salt as sensual delight wound, and wound tighter.

When he came, it was Hot—white bursts spray on her collarbones, pouring down in the space between her breasts.

The cookie dropped out of his hands and broke in pieces.

His eyes remained open as he watched her through the haze, still stroking till the last shudder left him slumped against the chair.

She then stopped, hand slipping toward his thighs, her cheeks flushed, lips parted, apron forgotten on the floor.

Heat flushed the Playbook, there was a rush of pulse that shook Gezza and swelled his cock, balls full and sore as they had filled up within a few moments.

The eyes of Linda were opened wide and this embarrassed glow flaring through.

Without a sound she leaned in and wrapped her lips around him, sucking the remaining cum off him. Once, twice, her tongue swirled, and she withdrew with a moist pop that reverberated in the silent kitchen.

A strand of saliva, thin and long, flew out of her mouth toward his tip and broke.

Then she stuck out her tongue, and warm strand of spit went sliding down his dick, slicking him all the way to the root.

Her hand wrapped him, putting its slow firm strokes and fingers threshing to find its way through the mess. "Can we go now?" She said, whispering, trembling with the need of it, yet looking up, half the cookies remaining.

Gezza looked at the crumbs lying about on the floor, and then up at the stack left. "Tray's not empty", he croaked, jerking his hips into her. "Finishing the cookies first."

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