“No!” I screamed, slamming the second egg on top of his head, disturbing the perfect mold of his close-cropped blond tufts as he swept a hand over the piles of paperwork on the table. I heard the cascade of pages right before my back slammed against the polished wood. “This is fucking Ann Taylor. If you—”

The buttons popped off my shirt like the legs of a can-can line, stunning me into silence. He paused, his eyes devouring my exposed stomach and lace bra.

“You have problems, you know that?”

He pulled at one of my high heels, then the other, tossing both in the general direction of the kitchen. One hit his framed Pudge Rodriguez rookie card and cracked the glass. “You should have taken these off. You might have gotten away from me then.”

I lifted my chin. “Maybe I didn’t want to get away.”

His fingers undid the button on my pinstriped slacks with the ease born of a thousand actions. Ignoring the zipper, he gripped the waist and hooked his fingers underneath the hem of my panties. “Lift your hips.”

I planted my feet on his chest and obeyed, inhaling as he skimmed the pants and panties down my legs. He lifted my knees and leaned forward, gently caressing my bare mound with his mouth, his breath tickling the delicate skin, his tongue playing along my opening as he spread my knees further. I gasped out his name, my hand stealing into his hair and tugging on the sticky strands. Tilting my pelvis deeper into his mouth, I cursed as his tongue dipped inside of me, his face buried in me.

My husband loved going down on a woman. I certainly wasn’t the first. In addition to rumors of his dick, praises of his oral skills had circled the sorority houses with impressive consistency. The last seven years had honed his skills to custom-fit my needs. His mouth could make me come a dozen different ways, as quickly or as slowly as he deemed necessary. He wouldn’t let me come now. I knew it, yet still clawed at his shirt, trying to keep his head between my legs, even as he straightened up, a cocky smile crossing those damp lips.

He reached to the side, his fingers digging into the open carton as his eyes held mine. I moved to my elbows and tried to shimmy back. “Easton…”

He crawled onto the table with surprising ease, and I gripped the edge with one hand, concerned about the additional weight. The wood creaked, then held. Moving above me, he tossed the egg into the air, then caught it. “You remember those shakes you used to make for me?”

“The protein shakes?” Every day of his first spring training season, I’d woken up at dawn with him. That was back when I’d abandoned law school to dive into the life of a baseball wife. Head nutritionist was my first role, one I had managed with the precision of a rabid elephant.

“Right. See, you see eggs as an ingredient. Or…” He frowned, glancing down at his shirt. “A weapon.” He pressed on my shoulder with his free hand, pinning me back onto the table. “But I see this as a snack.” He cracked the egg on the table’s edge, then opened it above me, letting the thick yolk drip over my cleavage and stomach.

I tried to squirm away from the cold liquid. “E—”

He lowered his mouth onto my collarbone and sucked along my skin, his tongue swiping and flicking as he moved. He kissed, teased and bit his way along the egg’s path, his mouth growing rougher, his body settling atop mine, my arousal heating as he clawed my bra down and centered his attention on my right nipple, then my left. I yanked at his tie, my fingers wet yet efficient as I freed the noose from his neck and undid the top button. Lifting his head off my breast, he reached over his head and tugged at the back of his shirt, yanking it from its tuck and pulling it over his head, his tan and muscular torso suddenly exposed.

His belt and pants were next, the buckle clanking loudly against the wood, our bodies repositioned as I wrapped my legs around his waist and he gripped the top edge of the table and thrust forward, pushing his cock in.

It wasn’t smooth. It hurt, my vertebra crunching against the unyielding table. A page that didn’t make it to the floor was stuck to my cheek, egg dried on my stomach, and his head slammed into the chandelier at one point, but it was motherfucking hot. Animalistic. Raw. He grunted as he rode me, his dick beyond hard, my body greedy and ready, our mouths finding each other for frantic kisses at odd intervals. I broke first, clawing at his chest as I cursed my way over the peak of orgasm, my heart hammering in my chest as pleasure pulsed through me. He followed a few minutes later, his breath hot in my ear, his body lowering to mine as he gave a few final thrusts.

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