85

GIO
I woke up with a groggy sense of disorientation, my body reaching out instinctively for Millie’s comforting presence, only to encounter cold emptiness in the sheets beside me. Startled, my eyes snapped open, and I sat up in bed, casting my gaze toward the familiar nightstand. The digital numbers on the clock blinked, indicating that it was only six thirty in the morning, and a Sunday at that. Memories of our late return from Chicago the previous night flooded my mind. Questions buzzed like an incessant swarm of bees: Where was she? Why was she up so early after we had arrived so late? My drowsy obliviousness to her departure from the bed was a testament to the deep slumber I had fallen into next to her.
With a groan, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and clumsily rose to my feet. Instinctively, I reached for my Beretta, shoving it into the waistband of my sweatpants as a habitual precaution. Descending the stairs to the first floor, a faint, melodious hum reached my ears, guiding my steps. The sound led me to our open kitchen, where a scene of unexpected chaos greeted me.
Millie stood there, barefoot, clad in her satin nightgown, an ethereal figure amidst the mess. The counters and floor were dusted with a generous layer of white powder, reminiscent of a powdery snowfall, and she herself was no exception, her blonde hair haphazardly gathered in a bun atop her head, adorned with the same snowy residue. The distinct scent of something burnt hung in the air, mingling with the morning sunlight that streamed through the windows.
Caught by surprise, Millie let out a startled cry as I entered the kitchen. Her hand fluttered to her heart, her wide eyes a mix of guilt and innocence. Amidst the flour-coated chaos, her nose and cheekbones bore the marks of her culinary endeavors, a sight that tugged at the corners of my lips, conjuring a smile. She was a vision, even with the powdery mishap.
And then, as if a curtain was lifted, her expression shifted, blossoming into a smile that could rival the sunrise. Her voice, soft as a whispered promise, reached me. “I baked a cake for you.” Her steps closed the gap between us, and the endearing end of her sentence fluttered between us, “Happy birthday, my love.”
I realized then, with a jolt, that it was indeed my birthday. The thought had slipped my mind in the flurry of life’s demands. I wasn’t one to particularly celebrate the day, but the realization that she remembered warmed something deep within me. Closing the remaining distance between us, our lips met in a tender kiss, though the lingering taste of flour on her lips hinted at her morning escapades.
Stepping back slightly, her eyes still held a twinkle despite the chaos around us. “I must admit,” I began, a hint of playful reproach in my tone, “your foray into the kitchen has, historically, led to memorable disasters.”
Millie pursed her lips, a mixture of amusement and determination in her gaze. “I practiced with Marianna when you weren’t around.”
I arched an eyebrow, surprised. “You practiced?”
Her response was a soft admission, a whisper carrying her intentions. “I wanted your birthday cake to be perfect.” As my fingers brushed away the flour from her cheeks, the world seemed to fade, leaving only her and the mess she’d created. A step back gave us both space, her hand deftly pulling out mittens from a drawer.
The oven opened, unveiling a cake that, despite its slightly darkened surface, held a certain charm. It wasn’t perfect, but it was her effort made tangible. “It’s a chocolate cake with cream-cheese filling,” she explained as she set it on the counter. With practiced precision, she sliced two pieces, placing them on a plate before presenting them to me. Her proximity, her warmth, her intent-they formed an unspoken question in her eyes.
Taking the fork, I speared a piece of the cake and brought it to my lips, prepared for any outcome. To my surprise, the flavors exploded on my palate, a delightful warmth and richness that I hadn’t anticipated. While sweetness wasn’t usually my preference, the genuine effort she had put into this made it all the more enjoyable. As her eyes sought mine, I offered my verdict, “Delicious.”
Her radiant smile, in response to my simple word, was a testament to her happiness, a beat of my heart that refused to go unnoticed. The question arose, framed in curiosity. “How long have you been awake?”
“Three hours?” she replied, a touch of innocence in her admission.
My eyebrows arched in mock surprise. “I wasn’t aware that cake required such dedication.”
A rosy hue adorned her cheeks. “Well, it doesn’t, but I wanted to ensure everything went smoothly. The first two attempts were… less than ideal.” Her confession elicited a chuckle from me, my amusement mirrored in the affectionate gaze I directed her way.
My fork met the cake once again, but my attention couldn’t be solely on the dessert. My gaze traveled from the delicate expanse of her throat to the soft contours of her chest, lost in the allure of her presence, in the warmth of this morning and her unexpected gesture.
Millie’s touch sent a shiver through my body, her fingers tracing a path from my chest down to my stomach. The fork in my hand found its way back to the plate, forgotten. Every inch of my skin responded to her caress, a surge of arousal tightening my muscles. In response, a rush of desire surged, making me acutely aware of my body’s reaction to her. Millie’s eyes locked onto mine as her hand reached for the Beretta nestled in my waistband, effortlessly extracting it.
Ordinarily, anyone touching my concealed weapon would have immediately triggered a heightened sense of alertness within me. But with Millie, an unusual calmness prevailed, dispelling even a hint of unease. Her contemplative gaze lingered on the firearm for a fleeting moment before she placed it deliberately on the counter. My attention, however, remained steadfastly fixed on her. With deliberate intent, she slid her hands beneath my waistband, teasingly dragging my sweatpants down over my hips. A sharp intake of breath escaped me as her fingers grazed my hardened length. Our eyes met once again, and the intensity in her gaze resonated deep within me, causing an undeniable stir in my core.
Then, unexpectedly, she gracefully lowered herself to her knees. In that heart-stopping moment, I was poised on the edge of ecstasy. Her unwavering gaze met mine, a rosy blush gracing her cheeks as she leaned in. Those perfect, pink lips parted, enveloping the tip of my arousal in their warm embrace. I fought against the urge to thrust forward, instead allowing my fingers to find solace in her hair, loosening the bun and tangling in the silken strands. Her lips worked their magic, each movement coaxing my length deeper into her mouth. The sensation was nothing short of electric, every fiber of my being consumed by the intoxicating dance of pleasure and restraint.
Millie’s eyes, laden with desire, remained locked onto mine even as her head bobbed rhythmically. A throaty moan escaped me as she skillfully traced the length of my shaft, her touch sending shockwaves through me. And then, with an expert swirl of her tongue around the tip, I was undone. I jerked involuntarily, a guttural exclamation of pleasure slipping past my lips, praising her name. Her eyes glittered with a mixture of satisfaction and pride, a sight that intensified my own fervor.
Control became a delicate balancing act as I fought to temper my urgency, allowing Millie’s mouth to work its enchantment while my hands grappled with her hair. She cupped my balls with a tender touch that sent ripples of sensation through me. Her other hand continued its rhythmic exploration of my throbbing length, each movement stoking the fires of my desire. As she took me deeper, my senses reeled, a crescendo building within me until it erupted with an intensity I could hardly contain. Waves of pleasure cascaded over me, and I gripped the counter, my body surrendering to the consuming ecstasy. A strangled cry accompanied my release, and as I pulled back slightly, I watched through half-lidded eyes as Millie withdrew, her lips releasing me as she wiped them clean.
It was this moment, this vulnerable aftermath, that she remained self-conscious about. Determined to erase any trace of uncertainty, I scooped her up by her armpits, lifting her onto the counter with a sense of urgency. Claiming her lips in a fervent kiss, I delved deep, the taste of myself mingling with her essence fueling a possessive ache within me.