In this excerpt from Cream: An Erotic Romance by Lana Fox, the dominant Marcus, who has just spent the evening having kinky sex with Caroline, has poured her a bath. He has also brought up a glass of white wine for her, along with a terracotta jug of cold double cream.
“Now,” he said. “Are you ready for cream?”
“Double cream,” he said. “Get ready for some coolness on your back.”
Then he held the jug over me and poured. It was the most incredible sensation. Thick cream—the kind you whip into clouds—fell down my back, unctuous and cool. I moaned just to feel it, and I heard him moan, too. Then I felt his hands on my back, rubbing the cream into me, massaging my skin. I relaxed into it, aroused by the sensations, and asked, “What are you doing?” before quickly adding, “Sir?”
“Cream is a perfect reward,” he said, “and you’ve earned it, Miss Spence.” There was a heaviness in his voice—a lustful appreciation—as the cream swirled through the water and against my thighs. Then he rose to his feet and made me fall back into the bath before slowly pouring more of the cream over my chest. It splashed onto me and ran over my breasts in rivulets.
I gasped to feel the cool thickness pouring over my nipples, caressing them, chilling them, hardening them with pleasure.
I heard him unzip and when I looked up, he’d set down the jug and was producing his hard cock. “Rub it in,” he said, cock in hand, his voice faltering slightly with lust. “The cream.” He was breathless now. “Rub it…into your breasts.”
I did as he asked—and God, did I feel horny, my fingers rubbing voluptuous cream into my nipples and skin, while Marcus Sir breathed heavily above me, his hand jerking faster and faster on his cock.
“God, Miss Spence,” he said. “How many times can you make me come in one single night?” He moaned again, long and low. “This is a record.” His face seemed to pain with pleasure as his gaze swept down my body. “Rub the cream into your pussy, too,” he said.
The cream had trickled down my belly, so it was easy to arch my spine a little and rub the silken fluids into myself. Marcus Sir was jerking off crazily now, his teeth gritted, his eyes filled with the wildness of an orgy. I felt it, too—and just rubbing the cream into my clit was enough to bring me to the brink of climax. I rubbed harder and harder and he didn’t tell me to stop—just kept moving his hand faster until he stumbled forward, gasping, “I’ll cream your body, I’m going to…,” before coming over me in streams.
Against the coldness of the cream, the heat of his come felt warm, and I found this so deliciously dirty that I climaxed against my fingertips, bucking and bucking as the room spun and blurred. When I finally came down from the high, the bath water was a mess of spinning, clouding cream. I saw him above me, candlelight flickering over his features as he gently tugged at his still-hard cock. His gaze seemed to be filled with glistening amazement. “God, you,” he said. Then he repeated, “I knew you were extraordinary as soon as we met. But I never imagined you could make me lose control.”
I smiled, parted my lips, and sang the opening bars of The Mamas & The Papas’ “Dream a Little Dream of Me,” telling him that the stars were shining brightly, and the night breezes were whispering “I love you.” And when I sang those words—I love you—they didn’t seem out of place at all.
From Cream: An Erotic Romance by Lana Fox (Go Deeper Press)