Dominic: I don't want pie.

She frowned at the text with a rhubarb pie in her other hand and typed out her reply with her thumb, a skill she honed in high school when having a phone out was a major offense. She tapped 'send' as she moved onto the next pie hoping it would be the one.

Amila: And? I'm shopping for pie, though

Her sent text-filled her with some joy and she smirked at the sight of the three dots appearing on his sign of the screen. She knew his fingers were busy pecking out a paragraph. Maybe it was the dismissive tone of 'and' that would rile him up or the casual way she ignored his want to change topics. Texting Dominic had become one of her pastimes and since he was always busy, when he was away from her it was their primary mode of communication. They could text while he was at a board meeting. They could text when he was walking through a restaurant to have lunch with a potential business partner.

Dominic: I want pussy

"Oh," The sound snatched Amila's eyes off her phone and led directly to the middle-aged woman claiming the spot next to her.

"Do you mind?" Amila scoffed, bringing her phone closer to her chest. "Invasion of privacy.

"No, I was um..." The woman's cream hue was disrupted by the redness spreading along her cheeks. "I wasn't trying to. I was trying to get an apple..." She pointed to the stack of apple pies in the middle of the table that was closer to the deli than the bakery. "It was an accident."

"Uh, hmm." Amila slid her eyes away from the woman to the apple pies. They were near her and their story was unusually crowded due to the approaching holiday. "Here."

She grabbed a pie and handed it to the woman. "Have a happy holiday."

"Thank you. Happy holiday, too." The one placed the pie in the only empty space her cart had.

The woman heaved her cart away still blushing as she uttered under her breath, 'I wish Harold would text me like that.'

Amila smiled to herself as a faint sadness formed in her chest from the words her brain whispered out. Her contentment started to fade knowing the fact that Dominic wasn't her husband nor her boyfriend. Their relationship was temporary and her future fiance and husband might not do the same things that Dominic did. He might be conventional and simple. Not showering her with lavish gifts, flying her to a different area code on a whim, or sending her provocative text during the middle of the day on a Wednesday. He'd probably be normal. Average. And she didn't know what was more saddening; that he'd be a regular guy or that he wouldn't be Dominic.

Her phone vibrated in her hand calling her out of her thoughts.

Dominic: Your pussy

Dominic: On my tongue

She slapped the phone against her chest but this time no one was near her. She wondered how long a flight from Aspen to Houston was but didn't do the calculation; he was already in the air. Had been for a couple of minutes and since the flight was private loading and departure was a breeze.

Dominic: Be naked when I get there

Amila didn't waste time doing the math in her head nor did she waste time in the checkout lane. She no longer cared about pie either. Anyways, what was she doing looking for a store-bought one? Homemade was where it was.

******

"Fuuuckkk," Amila moaned out as she gripped the sides of the dining room table.

Dominic toyed with her pert nipples as she stroked inside her from the back. The grocery bags were still on the countertop and her silk robe was slung over the couch. He arrived twenty-something minutes after her. His presence was a shock. She thought she had more time to spare once she was fresh out of the shower; maybe she would be able to unpack things and store them away.

But the only thing that was unpack was her. She didn't complain, either. He was giving her the exact thing she wanted. The thing she told him she wanted. Raw, dirty sex on the dining room table. He didn't supply her with a greeting when he entered the front door. No words were exchanged as he advanced towards her at a determined pace; he just tugged the sash to her robe, let it fall, dropped to his knees, and ate her cookie like it was better than anything that Nabisco could ever concoct.

"Fuck you how?" Dominic gruffed, he pulled out of her and turned her around.

The seconds she was empty felt like an eternity but once he hooked his arms under her knees, lifted her, and spread her wider she let out a satisfying whimper as he slid his thick manhood back into her warm entrance.

He didn't move an inch further and she groaned out her disapproval while gyrating her hips.

He stilled her hips with his hands, "You're too quiet. Tell me how you want to be fucked."

"Dom...in...nic" She whined out his name not wanting to have a conversation or talk at all. All she wanted to do was reach her climax again and have him reach his. "Just fuck me how you fuck me." She clung to his broad shoulders trying to get him to move.

"I don't want to fuck you how I want to fuck you." He stroked his thumb over her blazing cheek. "I want to fuck you how you want to be fuck." His hand went back to her thigh and his sight lingered on where they were joined. His mouth slid up slightly before he peered back at her.

She wondered what was lying behind his eyes. Was it just lust?

"Tell me how." He started moving slowly.

She bit her bottom lip as she closed the space between them. Her heart raced against his and she dropped her head in the crook of his neck.

"Faster." She breathed out. "Fuck me faster."

The table was no longer needed. He took on all of her weight as he glided in and out of her with quick, deep strokes. Strokes that made her wine her hips. Strokes that made sweat trickle down her back as she dragged her nails up his. Strokes that made her cry out in pleasure. A pleasure that she wished would last forever. A pleasure she didn't want to part from. It filled her up from her head to her feet.

Her climax came within minutes and lingered for minutes later, intensified by his hot eruption.

"So, what kind of pie did you get?" He asked, releasing her hips.

"You said you didn't want pie." Her eyebrows crinkled as she placed her feet back against the cool floor, a juxtaposition to the core temperature of her body.

He chuckled with a tilt of his head, "You mean after a seven-minute conversation about pie...you didn't get pie."

"Ugh." She pushed him away. "You make me sick."

His hand stayed at her waist and he pulled her back against him. "Lies."

"What—" She started but he muted rebuttal with his mouth. He rendered her breathless with a deep passionate kiss that called her thigh to stroke the outside of his. She knew if her chocolate skin had matched the candy she'd be melting for the heat ignited in her. Dominic James was the match and she was the kindling and together they had an unquenchable fire.

He pulled back although she wanted more. "So..." He glanced over to the bags on the countertop. "Are we making a pie?"

"I'm making a pie." She corrected. "But you can help if you want."

"I'd love that." He whispered, with his eyes locked to hers as if he was hypnotized.

"Fine. Just keep your hands to yourself." She pulled out of his hold and retrieved her robe. "I don't want the crust to burn."

"I can be good." He crossed his heart. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout."

"I can still be good, though." He added following her into the kitchen.

She took a long look at him growing warm again. "Then can you start by putting on some clothes?"

He let out a laugh as he backtracked out of the kitchen that filled her with humor. She knew this year's Thanksgiving would be better than last year's. She was thankful for that.

The lady in the story had Amila thinking about her future husband, how do you think he'll be? 

How do you think Dominic's treatment will effect her standards for a partner?

Why do you think Dominic wanted her to give him instructions?

Do you think her holiday will be better than last year's?

Why do you think Dominic would love to make a pie with her?

What's your favorite type of pie? Mines is Pumpkin (Don't judge me. My mom was heavy on the spices so it was so so good when it was cold.)