What starts as a cozy home cooked dinner turns into a wickedly sweet seduction when Jack Traven sets his sights on dessert and it’s not on the menu. @scarlettspectra grab your man.
Jack was sitting cross legged on the floor, his back resting against the couch. His short hair was still damp from the shower and he was wearing only a comfortable pair of sweatpants.
He watched you as you moved gracefully around the kitchen, a small smile on his face.
He leaned his head back and rested it against the couch, his eyes following your every move. As you prepared the meal, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm wash over him. It was moments like this, just the two of you together, that he cherished the most.
After a moment, the silence is broken by the sound of Jack’s stomach growling.
Jack huffs a laugh and rubs his belly. “Can’t wait for you to finish, I’m starving.”
He says with a playful grin. You laugh and turn to look at him. “Impatient much?” you tease as you continue stirring the pot on the stove.
Jack laughs and shrugs. “Can you blame me? I haven’t eaten all day.”
He says as he glances at the clock, it’s approaching 7 pm. “Plus, your cooking is the best.” He adds with a grin. “Flattery won’t make the food cook any faster.”
You reply with a smirk and give the pot a final stir before placing it on the back burner and turning the stove off. “But lucky for you it is done.”
You say with a knowing smile. Jack grins and gets to his feet, crossing the room to come stand next to you.
“Awesome, I’m starving.” He puts his hands on your waist and pulls you close, nuzzling his face into your hair. He inhales deeply, taking in the scent of your shampoo.
You lean into him, enjoying the feel of his hands on your waist and his face in your hair. You let out a soft sigh and close your eyes, enjoying the moment.
He presses a kiss to your neck and chuckles. “I smell food.” He murmurs into your ear and you can tell he is teasing you. You laugh and give his chest a playful shove.
“Food can wait, you need to set the table first.” You say with a smirk and give him a gentle push towards the cabinets.
He lets out an exaggerated sigh and dramatically claps a hand to his forehead.
“You ask the impossible.” He pretends to swoon and puts on a theatrical voice.
“To set the table while I am famished, it is a crime against nature!” You laugh and shake your head, knowing his overdramatic nature all too well.
“Oh, quit being so dramatic. You’ll survive.” You swat playfully at his ass and gesture towards the cupboard. “The plates are right there.”
“Swatted like a common peasant.” He says with an exaggerated wounded expression. But his hand comes down to retrieve plates from the cupboard, a hint of a grin on his lips.
You roll your eyes and shake your head, trying to suppress a smile. You love his playful nature and his ability to bring lightheartedness to any situation. You watch as he sets the table, his movements familiar and comfortable in this domestic routine.
Once the table is set, Jack turns back to you with a satisfied smirk.
“There, all set. Now can I have my food?” He asks, a hint of impatience in his voice.
You laugh and give him a little nudge. “Yes, you can eat now. Go sit down.”
You ladle the food onto a plate and hand it to him. He takes the plate with a grateful smile and sits down at the table, already starting to shovel food into his mouth.
He takes a big bite and moans appreciatively.
“This is amazing. You know, I’d marry you just for your cooking skills.” He jokes between bites, the food disappearing quickly.
You roll your eyes and laugh, leaning your hip against the counter as you watch him eat.
“That’s all? Just my cooking skills?” You pretend to be offended, though your smirk betrays you. Jack pauses his eating long enough to give you a cheeky grin.
“Well, I mean, there are other qualities that make you wife material too. Like your intelligence, your patience, and of course, your looks.” He winks dramatically, clearly enjoying himself.
You laugh and give him a playful swat on the arm. You try to keep up a mock-indignant front, but the smile on your face betrays you. “You’re just trying to butter me up now.”
Jack shrugs unapologetically. “Well, it seems to be working.” He grins and takes another bite of food. He glances up at you as he chews, his gaze raking over your figure appreciatively.
Then his expression changes, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.
You notice the change in his expression and raise an eyebrow in question.
“What’re you looking at me like that for?” You ask, trying to keep the smile off your face.
He swallows the food in his mouth and sets his fork down on his plate. “I was just wondering something.” He says, a wicked gleam in his eye. You lean back against the counter, folding your arms across your chest.
Curiosity piqued, you arch an eyebrow in anticipation. “What were you wondering about?”
Jack leans back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the table as if contemplating something. Then a slow smile spreads across his face.
“I was wondering if I could have a taste of something sweet after this. AND DON’T SAY CAKE! Because I’m not talking about dessert…y’know?” He winks playfully at you.
You try not to laugh at his outburst and pretend to think about it, tapping your chin with your finger in mock contemplation. Then a sly smile forms on your lips.
“Hmmm...I suppose that could be arranged. On one condition.”
He leans forward now, his chin resting on his hands, clearly interested in your condition.
“Conditions, hm? Let's hear it then.”
You lean in closer to him, lowering your voice to a sultry whisper.
“You have to guess what flavor I have in mind. If you get it right, then you get your treat. If you get it wrong, then no treat for you.” You raise an eyebrow, a challenge in your eyes.
Jack’s eyes light up at the challenge. He loves a good game and the chance to win a special prize is too tantalizing to pass up. He sits up straighter, his smile turning more impish.
“You drive a hard bargain, but I’m up for the challenge. Tell me, what flavor should I be guessing here? Sweet, tangy, or maybe...spicy?”
You laugh at his eagerness.
“Those are all excellent guesses, but not quite right. Think a bit more specific. Something...intimate, sweet, and utterly enticing.”
You let your gaze linger on his face, enjoying the way his eyes are lit with excitement.
Jack raises an eyebrow at your description, a sly grin spreading across his face.
“Sweet, intimate, and utterly enticing, you say? Sounds like someone I know.”
He pauses, his gaze roving over your face, taking in every detail.
“Hmm...I think I have an idea of what it could be. But I want to make sure I get it right. Is it by any chance...honey?” You smile, a small laugh escaping you. The fact that he guessed correctly so quickly makes your heart flutter.
“Very good. You’re right, it is honey. You were quite quick to guess it though. Almost too quick.” You cock your head to the side, a sly smile on your face.
“It's almost like you had some kind of...inside information.”
He grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Well, I do have a certain...connection, let’s say, that might’ve given me an edge.” He stands up and pushes his chair back, taking a few steps towards you. He stands at the edge of the kitchen, his eyes locked on yours.
“You know...I do feel in the mood for some honey right about now.”
You feel a shiver run down your spine at the look in his eyes. Your breath hitches, anticipation building in the air between you.
Jack closes the distance between you in slow, deliberate steps. His smirk is pure trouble, eyes darkening with something deeper than mischief. His hands come to rest on your hips, his thumbs stroking soft circles against your skin through the fabric of your clothes.
“You know,” he murmurs, voice low and full of heat, “you didn’t say where the honey was supposed to go.” You tilt your head, playing along. “Why? Got a plan for it?”
“Oh, I’ve got plans, sweetheart.”
Without breaking eye contact, Jack reaches behind you, opening the nearest cabinet. He pulls out a small jar of honey, the golden liquid catching the light like a promise.
He dips a finger into it, slow and deliberate. Then, holding your gaze, he brings that honey slick finger to his lips and sucks it clean, his eyes never leaving yours.
You feel your knees weaken a little.
Then he grins boyishly and unscrews the jar completely.
“Your turn,” he says.
You blink. “My turn to…?”
“To paint me.”
Your lips part. “Excuse me?”
He sets the honey down on the counter and starts peeling off his sweatpants, not shy in the slightest. “You said the flavor was honey. I say we make this interactive.”
Now he’s standing in front of you, gloriously naked, muscles taut, skin warm from the shower. You hold the jar in one hand, heart thumping wildly as he leans back slightly against the kitchen counter, arms spread in a casual invitation.
You dip your fingers in the honey, and Jack’s breath catches when the first line of golden sweetness touches his chest.
You trail it slowly over his collarbone, letting it glide over the sharp line of his pec, down the center of his torso. He shivers beneath your touch, watching you like you’re some divine goddess and he’s at your mercy.
“Honey looks good on you,” you murmur, losing your breath at the sight.
“I’d ask how it tastes,” he breathes, “but I’m guessing you’re about to show me.”
You lean in and let your tongue follow the trail, slow and unhurried. Jack gasps, his hands gripping the edge of the counter behind him. The heat of his skin, the sweet tang of honey, and the sound he makes when your mouth finds the sticky path down his abdomen, it’s almost enough to undo him completely.
Without warning, he lifts you onto the counter, taking the jar from your hand.
“My turn,” he growls, and dips his fingers into the honey.
He lets it drip down your neck, then follows it with his mouth licking, kissing and sucking gently until you’re trembling against the marble surface.
“I told you,” he murmurs against your skin, “I was in the mood for honey.”
He lingers at your throat, nipping lightly as he works his way down, worshipping every inch with sticky sweet kisses that blur the line between hunger and reverence.
The kitchen fills with the scent of honey, the heat of your bodies and the breathless sounds of a night that started with dinner… and turned into dessert.
Jack pulls back slightly, eyes raking over your body, lips glistening with honey and sin. His breath is uneven, his skin flushed, chest rising and falling with barely contained restraint.
He grabs the jar again, and this time, he pours it directly, slowly onto the curve of your chest. The warm golden liquid slides down, pooling between your breasts, trailing toward your stomach. You suck in a sharp breath, your body already reacting before his mouth even finds you.
But when it does….oh god.
His tongue is hot, deliberate. He licks every drop off you with a reverence that borders on worship, his hands gripping your thighs as though anchoring himself to this moment. He groans low in his throat as he tastes you, the combination of honey and your skin clearly fucking his mind.
“You taste better than anything I’ve ever had,” he growls against your skin. “Sweet, sinful... fuck, you’re addicting.”
You whimper when his mouth finds your nipple, sticky with honey. He suckles it into his mouth, humming around it like it’s a piece of candy, his tongue flicking, teasing, savoring. One hand cups your other breast, slick and firm, while the other slips between your legs. No teasing, no delay.
You’re soaked. And when his fingers slide along your folds, gathering the evidence of your desire, he exhales shakily.
“Shit,” he whispers. “You’re dripping. Just for me.”
He lifts his honey slick fingers to his mouth, tasting you now, and groans like it’s the first drop of water after a desert drought.
Then he’s between your thighs in a blur of heat and hunger, kneeling like a man on a mission. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder, locking eyes with you and says, “Now this... this is the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted. My favorite kind of honey…”
And then his mouth is on you. Hot, wet, devastating. His tongue drags slow, flat strokes along your folds, then circles your clit with maddening precision. He moans into you, and the vibration nearly rips a cry from your throat.
You reach down, fingers gripping onto his head, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself against the spiraling heat.
He doesn’t stop. Not when your hips buck. Not when you beg. Not when your thighs threaten to clamp around his head. He keeps licking, sucking, plunging his tongue deep like he wants to consume you whole.
And when you finally fall apart, body shaking, eyes fluttering shut, a cry ripping from your throat. Jack holds you through it, his mouth never stopping until he’s sure you’ve given him everything
Only then does he rise, chin glistening, pupils blown wide, cock hard and leaking with cum..
“You ready for the main course, sweetheart?” he pants, already reaching for you again. “Because I’m not done tasting.”
You gasp, barely catching your breath as Jack pulls you up onto the counter like you weigh nothing. The cool surface kisses your thighs, a stark contrast to the fire burning inside you. You’re still trembling from the first orgasm, hips slick and thighs sticky with honey and his tongue.
“God, Jack,” you pant, voice breathy and wrecked, “I can’t—you just devoured me like you’ve been starving.”
Jack smirks as he lines himself up, his hands firm on your waist. His lips are still glistening, and that damn tongue of his swipes across them like he’s savoring every drop. He leans in, nose brushing yours, breath fanning over your lips.
“You say that like it wasn’t your idea to pour honey all over yourself, babe.”
You let out a breathless laugh, swatting at his shoulder with no real force. “I didn’t say pour it. I said a taste, you menace.”
Jack grins wide, devilishly. “Nah, you gave me a riddle. Said if I guessed right, I’d get a treat. You never specified what kind, sweetheart. So I helped myself.”
Before you can fire back, he thrusts into you with one deep, slow stroke that knocks the air clean out of your lungs.
“Jack!” you gasp, head falling back against the cupboard.
His hands tighten on your hips, holding you still as he begins a brutal, delicious rhythm, slamming into you with the perfect blend of hunger and control. The counter creaks under the force, your body jolting with each thrust but it’s the look on his face that undoes you. That mix of adoration and filthy satisfaction.
“Still complaining?” he huffs, breath hot against your neck.
You try to answer, but all that comes out is a broken moan.
“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles darkly, grinding in deeper. “Every time you look at that honey jar from now on, you’re gonna remember this. Me, fucking you so hard against the kitchen counter, you saw stars.”
You whimper, arms clinging to his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist like he’s the only thing holding you to earth which he might be, because your body is unraveling all over again.
Then he grabs the honey jar again, tips it slightly, and lets a slow stream drizzle down between your bodies. Onto your breasts, your stomach, your clit…his cock.
Jack groans, watching the honey coat your skin and drip down over where you’re joined.
“Sweet fucking hell,” he growls. “Look at that. Look what you’re doing to me.”
He starts to thrust harder, the wet slap of your bodies louder now, dirtier, as the honey makes everything sticky and obscene.
“Gonna make you come like this,” he mutters against your ear, “dripping in honey, moaning my name, too ruined to even tease me anymore.”
And god you do.
You fall apart with a cry, nails digging into his back, body writhing as your climax hits like lightning. Jack follows moments later, groaning your name like a prayer, burying himself deep as he spills into you, panting and trembling and utterly spent.
He doesn’t move right away, just presses his forehead against yours, both of you sticky, sweaty and ruined in the best possible way.
Then you murmur with a lazy, satisfied smirk, “Still your idea.”
Jack laughs breathlessly and kisses you slowly.
“You’re never living this down, honey girl.”
Jack stands there for a moment, still inside you, chest heaving against yours, both of you covered in sweat and syrup. He brushes your hair off your face with the gentlest touch, those eyes softening into something quieter, something caring and sweet.
“You good?” he asks, his voice low and rough, still catching his breath.
You nod, too blissed out to speak just yet. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips, soft and slow, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.
“You’re a goddamn masterpiece,” he whispers against your skin.
With one strong arm wrapped beneath your thighs and the other across your back, he lifts you off the counter effortlessly. You giggle, arms looping around his neck.
“Jack…I’m literally dripping,” you protest, laughing as the honey slides in slow, lazy trails across your skin and his.
He smirks, eyes dark with mischief but glowing with affection. “I know. Gonna clean you up properly.”
He carries you to the bathroom, the tiles cool against your feet as he sets you down in front of the mirror. The two of you look like something out of a dream or a porn magazine. Your skin glistens, flushed and glazed in amber gold. Jack stands behind you, just as marked up and messy, his eyes locked on your reflection.
He reaches up and turns the shower on, warm steam already curling around you both. He stands and pulls you in under the water, letting the heat wash away the honey bit by bit. The syrup melts from your skin in golden streams, and Jack watches each rivulet with fascination, his hands never leaving your body.
He lathers soap slowly between his palms, then spreads it across your back, your arms, your breasts. He kisses the slope of your shoulder, your collarbone, your jaw, working his way up with maddening patience.
He murmurs. “You taste like sin and sunlight.”
You shiver as his hands slide down your curves, soapy and smooth, then grip your ass and press you against him. His hard length is already pressing between your thighs again, hard and insistent.
Jack leans in, pressing his forehead to yours as the water rushes down your bodies. “One more time, baby,” he whispers. “Slow. Deep. I wanna feel everything.”
And when he finally pushes inside again, it’s like the whole world stops.
After a quick round in the shower, he lifts you again, his hands slick against your hips, still damp from the shower. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, your mouths meeting in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and gasping need. Water trails down your bodies as he carries you out, but neither of you care. You’re leaving a wet path through the apartment, and it just adds to the thrill.
The bed groans beneath your weight as he lays you down carefully. His eyes drag over your naked form.
“Jesus,” he mutters, brushing his fingers along your ribs, your hip, your inner thigh. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
You smile, pulling him down by the back of the neck. “Nah, not gonna let you die.”
He groans against your lips, kissing you deeply as he presses his body over yours. His weight against your body feels like safety.
Jack doesn’t rush this time. He slides back inside you slowly, watching your face as he does, eyes locked on yours like it’s the only anchor he has. You moan, your body arching into his, and he hisses through his teeth.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that.”
His thrusts are slow and deep, hips grinding into yours with slow, deep movements. The wet slap of skin echoes in the quiet room, mingled with the sound of your breathy whimpers and his low, rasping groans.
“Feel that?” he whispers against your neck. “That’s what you do to me.”
You nod, fingers gripping his back, nails digging into his skin as he rolls his hips just right, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.
“You’re mine,” he growls, the pace still unhurried, but now each thrust has a purpose. “I love you…god, I love you.”
“Yours,” you gasp, dragging your nails down his spine. “I’m yours, Jack..-FUCK…I love you too!”
He kisses you then, filthy and tender all at once. His tongue tangles with yours as he pushes deeper, harder now, but still so slow it drives you insane.
“I wanna come with you,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, his voice thick with emotion and lust. “Can you do that for me, baby?”
You nod feverishly, your body already unraveling beneath him, every nerve ending strung tight with pleasure.
He brings a hand between you, his fingers finding your clit, circling just right, his hips never faltering.
“Come on, honey,” he coaxes, voice smooth as fuck. “Let me feel you.”
You shatter with a cry, clinging to him as wave after wave crashes over you. Jack moans your name like a prayer, his thrusts growing erratic as he follows you over the edge, groaning deep in his chest as he spills inside you for the third time today.
The room falls quiet, just the sound of your breathing, your heartbeats syncing.
He doesn’t pull away. Not yet. He just buries his face in your neck and holds you like he never wants to let go.
“You,” he murmurs out of breath, “are dangerous.”
You smile sleepily, stroking his little damp hair. “You started it, remember?”
He lifts his head just enough to meet your eyes, that grin returning. “Yeah, but you’re the one who said ‘honey.’ So it’s basically your fault.”
You laugh, and he kisses the corner of your mouth.
