“All the strawberries. All the whipped cream.” I took the knife from him and made three more cuts. Wills had taken out the dessert plates, and I placed a slice on each one.
“You can never have enough.” He ran his fingertip along the edge of the cake, gathering up some of the whipped cream.
“Y’know, now that I think of it….” We hadn’t used whipped cream in any of our love play. I’d used the entire carton of heavy cream to make this for his cake, but I could go to the mom and pop store for more tomorrow—no, tomorrow was Sunday, and they were closed. Well, there was always Safeway.
“Now that you think of what, babe?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing. I lost track of what I was going to say.” I’d let it be a surprise.
He gave me a look.