Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

In the box	By : LuluDreams Category: S through Z > YOU Views: 198 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: all characters belong just and only to the marvelous Caroline Kepnes, Netflix etc, I just own my sick ideas, lol

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
Summary:
Smutty muffins. Be warned!
Hello again,
it's a lot disheartening to realize the only comments I got are from an exchange reviews challenge... I really need the opinion from someone who's really in the fandom *sighs*, but probably this is the price I pay for loving so damn much a ship everyone hates :(
Or maybe I'm a terrible writer, I don't know ^^' , but here' s another attempt, because I love those two way too much to stop, so I apologize for invading this fandom.

Setting: a missing moment between end of episode 2 and the beginning of episode 3
Warning: explicit foreplay, smut, explicit language

And then that smell, as if it were yesterday

“Come in!” Your cheerful voice welcomes me behind the still closed door. “As long as you keep your eyes closed.” You add.

Such a odd request.

“May I ask why?” I inquire, as I obey and I hear the door opening.

“It’s a little surprise, and I want all your senses to lead you, every single one, save for the sight.” You explain.

If you wanna play, Bronte, I’m surely in.

The first sense that I use is my favorite: the touch.

Your soft hands, grabbing my arm as you make me walk into your flat.

Actually, the flat I gave to you. My flat.
I wish I could call it ‘our flat’, Bronte.

Your shoulder brushes against my forearm, I can even feel your fluttering hair smashing it, like waves against the rocks.

As we walk closer to… I still don’t know which room, I can hear something like a fan, it must be some electrodomestic you’re using.

But it’s the third sense that gives me all the answer.

There’s an incredible smell of something that’s baking in the oven. Something sweet.

And out of the blue it’s yesterday, back when I worked at Anavrin, when I opened my closet every morning and I found a cupcake, a tart and every sort of baked dessert.

This happened back to the golden times I loved Love - please, don’t mind at the pun -, when I thought she was as sweet as the delicacies she cooked.
Long before I figured out she was bitter than 100% dark chocolate.
But you’re nothing like Love.
You could be something more special than her and maybe you will.

There’s still a sense I have to use and you anticipate me.

“That’s the second batch, but these ones are ready, have a taste!” You murmur, pushing something aromatic and soft against my lips.
I would have preferred a kiss from you, but I bite into the muffin.

Mm.. dark chocolate with hazelnuts and almonds with a sprinkle of cinnamon.

“Mm, if you wanted to kill me with gluttony, mission accomplished!” I smile, with my eyes still closed; because I’m a good guy, Bronte, I play by the rules and I wait for your permission.

“You can open your eyes now!” You say, immediately after, as if you had read my mind.

And there you are, smiling at me, happy like a child.

And this only because I gave you a place to stay.

Oh, Bronte, there’s so many other things I wanna do for you, I’d set the world on fire for you.

We sit at the table and now that I have my sight back there are three things I can't help noticing.

The first thing: the empty sachet of the muffin mix in the sink.
Another proof that you’re nothing like Love.
Probably you left it there, because you wanted me to see it, because you don’t like hiding behind something you’re not.
You’re genuine and I like that. No. Correction. I love that.
If we were a couple, I’d do the cooking in our house, with a smile on my face as I watch you enjoy what I prepared, maybe with an irresistible moan of yours that would lead us to more interesting activities.

The second thing: you topped the muffins with coloured smarties and they all form the letter ‘J’.
Joe. Me.
It may be a small gesture, but it is something that really melts my heart.
You do care for me, Bronte.

The third one: you decided to serve the muffins with some whipped cream, in a bowl at the centre of the table.
This is giving me certain ideas, but I know I must behave.

“Don’t you also think that simple things are the ones that really matter?” You say, as you dip a muffin into the whipped cream, with your sparkling eyes never leaving mine.

Are we still talking about muffins? Nope, I don’t think so.
Now I’m rich and famous, married to one of the most powerful women in the world. Basically I can have whatever I want, then why do I feel so incomplete?

You get up and walk towards me, your hand still holding the muffin.

“I’m a very simple thing, Joe,” you purr, sitting on my lap and smearing the whipped cream you gathered all over my mouth and chin. “Make me matter!”

Whispering that, you start licking the whipped cream away in such an orgasmatic way that sends my rationality to Hell.

I lift you up and place you on the table, laying you down, fuck the muffins we pushed on the floor.
There’s the second batch, after all.
I’m not kissing you yet, I wanna crave that moment.

I dip two fingers inside the bowl of the whipped cream and bring them to your mouth.
You open it, suck my fingers, your tongue wraps around them, your teeth gently nibble them, as I push them inside out, deeper with every push.
An anticipation of what is going to happen later with another part of my body.
You’re so eager for more, after all.

I make this little torture end and you lean closer, trying to kiss him, but I back off and turns my head away.

“Later, Bronte. I want to kiss you more than anything else, but there’s so much more we can do, first that will make our very first kiss even more special...”

You sit on the table and smile to me, as you start such a slow striptease that my little previous torture pales, compared to that.

Bit by bit, the sleeves of your green/blue cardigan go lower and lower, discovering inch by inch your snow-shite skin that is waiting for nothing else but my caresses, my kiss, my lips, my bites.

I can’t wait to taste you, as your cardigan finally reaches the floor, like my black shirt I’ve already unbuttoned.
You take off even your white T-shirt and lay down again on the table, inviting me with your gaze

“I’m your blank canvas, Joe. Paint me.” You purr again.

And just like a good painter, I get the brusher ready.
I smear the whipped cream all over your neck, licking it off my way.
I make one of the most delicious desserts ever, stuffing your navel with whipped cream and smarties I take from the top of one of the surviving muffins.
Your lustful moans are the most perfect topping.
I undo your bra and use some more smarties to place them on your left boob, making a small ‘B’, a temporary tattoo.
I stare at it, pleased, before sucking it away and this pleases you.
I give my attention to your other boob with no cream, no candies or other stuff, I just wanna taste your original flavour and it drives me mad.
I suck and gently nibble your turgid nipple and when my hand goes down to your lap, still covered by your jeans, I figure out that this drives you crazy as well.
Even more when my fingers go over the edge of the jeans, feeling the soft cotton of your panties, feeling how wet you are for me.
But it’s well known that the main course should be left for last.
After all, I have another important goal.
I take my hand away as I dip the other one in the bowl.

I playfully smear your nose with the whipped cream.
You giggle and then I bend down to kiss you.
Slowly at first, exploring you, almost tentatively, with reverence.
The more I kiss you, the more I know I can’t ever get enough.
You’re really participating, too, nibbling my lower lip, tracing my teeth with your tongue, engaging in a battle with my tongue.
A battle where we both are winners.
Without me barely figuring it out, you make me roll on the table and switch roles, now you’re on top of me and I would lie if I'd say I don’t like it.
I love watching you take control, as I love that our wild kisses have been going on for a very long time.

Moaning, you part from me, kissing my chin, my neck, my shoulders, my nipples, my chest and going down to my belly and further down.
We both figure out that my trousers and boxers are no longer needed.

And then you dip your hand in the bowl, covering my already hard and pulsating cock with whipped cream.
Every touch from you sends oh so pleasant shivers down my spine.
Take me, Bronte. Take all of me.

“It’s time for my banana split!” You sneer, right before your hot mouth reaches the tip of my cock.

“Joe…” You call my name as you suck it.

Wait a minute. How the hell can you talk if your mouth is… rather busy at the moment?

“Joe? hey, Joe!!”

And here I am, back to reality, when you - fully dressed, like me- are frowning at me.

“Joe, what’s wrong? You’ve been staring at me for a lifetime… Do I have something on my face?” You ask me, puzzled.

Well, you had me. Just a few seconds ago. In my mind.

“Huh? Nothing, it’s just that I had the troublesome feeling I was forgetting something important… and all those muffins just reminded me there’s a birthday party of one of Henry’s friends this afternoon, I have to drive him there and I’m already late.”

I’m a very skillful liar and that allows me to get up from the chair and walk towards the threshold, without making you suspicious.

I turn towards you once last time and, ohhh, is it a pout what I saw?

“I promise we’ll eat your lovely ‘J’ muffins another time. Thanks for everything, Bronte.”

“It’s me, the grateful one. Never forget it.” You smile, waving your hand at me, as I close the door.

It’s getting worse. Or better. I don’t know.
However, it wasn’t enough having smutty fantasies about you when I’m alone. Now I sexually daydream even when you’re with me.
It’s getting harder and harder to keep you in the box.

The smell of bakery keeps me company even in the hall, but it’s no yesterday anymore.
It’s now.
And now I decided I need you in my life, you broke into my heart, the way you broke into my store.
Maybe one day I’ll let you read about my fantasies about you. Maybe.

Bye for now, my precious simple thing. Can’t wait to make you matter.

--

THE END
Notes:
p.s. I apologize if I don't call her 'Brontë' , I'm too lazy to paste and copy it everytime ^^'
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

In the box

Summary:

Notes: