Kitchen Sex Quotes

“My boyfriend likes to fuck my brains out on our kitchen island. Which tile would you recommend for that?”
― Alice Clayton, Rusty Nailed

“Kitchen life is getting steamy. Charles looks up from prepping his mise en place for two seconds, blows me a kiss, and then his hand swipes a bowl of salt and the grains scatter on the counter.
"I can't take it anymore," he says, lifting me up onto the prep station. My legs wrap around his waist, as his kiss starts off slow and then turns hungry. Vegetables scatter, cherry tomatoes rolling onto the floor. Dishes break. Not one burner is on, but the kitchen gets hotter. Oh, and hotter. Hello, volcano. His hand latches around my ponytail, tilting my head back. His mouth finds my neck, and he covers it with his kisses, slowly making his way down to my exposed shoulder, his fingers running along my clavicle.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“When we first started dating, my talent in the kitchen was a turn-on. The prospect of me in the kitchen, wearing a skimpy apron and holding a whisk in my hand- he thought that was sexy. And, as someone with little insight into how to work her own sex appeal, I pounced on the opportunity to make him want and need me.
I spent four days preparing my first home-cooked meal for him, a dinner of wilted escarole salad with hot bacon dressing, osso bucco with risotto Milanese and gremolata, and a white-chocolate toasted-almond semifreddo for dessert. At the time, I lived with three other people in a Columbia Heights town house, so I told all of my housemates to make themselves scarce that Saturday night. When Adam showed up at my door, as the rich smell of braised veal shanks wafted through the house, I greeted him holding a platter of prosciutto-wrapped figs, wearing nothing but a slinky red apron. He grabbed me by the waist and pushed me into the kitchen, slowly untying the apron strings resting on my rounded hips, and moments later we were making love on the tiled kitchen floor. Admittedly, I worried the whole time about when I should start the risotto and whether he'd even want osso bucco once we were finished, but it was the first time I'd seduced someone like that, and it was lovely.
Adam raved about that meal- the rich osso bucco, the zesty gremolata, the sweet-and-salty semifreddo- and that's when I knew cooking was my love language, my way of expressing passion and desire and overcoming all of my insecurities. I learned that I may not be comfortable strutting through a room in a tight-fitting dress, but I can cook one hell of a brisket, and I can do it in the comfort of my own home, wearing an apron and nothing else.
Adam loved my food, and he loved watching me work in the kitchen even more, the way my cheeks would flush from the heat of the stove and my hair would twist into delicate red curls along my hairline. As the weeks went by, I continued to seduce him with pork ragu and roasted chicken, creamed spinach and carrot sformato, cannolis and brownies and chocolate-hazelnut cake.”
― Dana Bate, The Girls' Guide to Love and Supper Clubs

“Her hands found the button of his jeans, and then glided his zipper down. She wasted no time in seizing his cock with her hand, stroking him up and down as he pulled down his pants, then his boxers. He stopped her only so he could sheathe himself. And when he looked back up, she'd removed her robe, which fell around her in waves like drizzled icing.
As he did, she began to guide his cock to her entrance, stroking her clit with the tip of him. He was already so fucking hard, and he hadn't even sunk into her yet.
"Ready?" she breathed into his ear.
He nodded, and his hands found her hips. His fingertips dug into her as he eased himself inside her, so slowly he could barely breathe, and they both moaned as she cradled him with her pussy. She braced her hands against the table as he slid further, burying himself deep inside her.
Fuck. How did Nina feel so good? They both paused, him filling her. She stretched and tightened against him. He hadn't even begun to fuck her the way he planned to, but she already felt better than anything he could've imagined.
He rocked into her, hitting her core deeper, and her head rolled back as a moan escaped. She fit around him in such a silky way that he already knew he'd want every waking moment to be inside her. She moved back and forth on his dick, his hands steadying her hips. He wanted to make sure that every time he pumped into her, she felt all of him. He was going to delve into her so deeply that she'd have no other choice but to come all over him. He needed to feel her heat pulsing against him.
Her breathing quickened, and she said, "I need you."
All he wanted was to hear this woman moan so loudly that he'd be able to hear it whenever he closed his eyes.
So when he slid his cock back inside her, he made sure to push until he was all the way in. She arched her back in response, and he slowly pulled out, then pumped back in.
Their moans, their thighs meeting and the slap of his balls against her ass were the only sounds in the room. He reached toward her heavy breasts and pinched one nipple tightly as he continued to fill her.
"I'm..." She couldn't get the words out, but he knew what she was trying to say. She was going to come. He moved the hand that pinched her nipple down to her clit and gently rubbed.
"I'm almost there," she said.
He grunted in approval and pushed into her slower, bringing his length almost fully out, then plunging back in. She tightened around him. As her groans reached a crescendo, he knew he was going to erupt as well. He thrust hard and deep until his aching cock came.”
― Erin La Rosa, For Butter or Worse

“I can chop, sauté, dice, whisk, knead. Massage. And rub. Among other things."
I bite my lip. This feels like some sort of indecent kitchen pillow talk. My eyes skim the shiny metal surface of the nearby prep table. If only there weren't a handful of servers due back in the kitchen at any minute, I'd demand he bend me over the shiny cold surface and show me for the millionth time just how good he is with his hands. That's a decidedly friends-with-benefits thought.
I shake my head and glance at the clock. Only four minutes of ogling time left.
"You look like you've got something on your mind." It's as if he can read the naughty thoughts crowding my head.
My eyes fall to the floor. It's time to rein in the pornographic kitchen euphemisms and focus back on the task at hand.”
― Sarah Smith, Simmer Down

“If those Nina and Leo fanfic writers could see us now," she said.
She grabbed the bottom of his shirt, and he helped raise it up and over his head. "Oh, I'm pretty sure I read a few that involved a kitchen...”
― Erin La Rosa, For Butter or Worse

“When I return, Charles stands at my station and he says, "Come here. You have to taste this."
I set the bottle down and step up to him. He holds out a berry, but before I can reach for it, he places it in his mouth, half sticking out. He pulls me toward him and raises his brows. I'm so into this. My lips part and we're like human forms of Lady and the Tramp---our lips touching, a quick chew, and our tongues meet. I'm not trembling from fear of the paparazzi anymore but from full-blown lust. When we separate, Charles licks his lips and traces my mouth with his finger. "That was the best damn strawberry I've ever eaten. You're delicious, Kate---”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“A few weeks past and it's the middle of July. Bistro Exotique is still as full as my heart, Charles and I now not only business partners with the restaurant but also in bed. Don't worry: one can still eat at Bistro Exotique without fear of our sexcapades, his kitchen our new playground where we re-create the bread-and-butter scene from 9 1/2 Weeks---often.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“We only have five minutes before dessert's ready," she protests.
"I can do a lot to you in five minutes, sweetheart."
"Then what are you waiting for, boyfriend?"
He moves with purpose, hooking his hands around her thighs so that he can lift her up and lay her down on the kitchen table. The dishes have already been cleared, save for a pair of forks that clink together with the sudden movement. His skillful hands make quick work of the front of her jeans, tugging them off hurriedly before kneeling on the kitchen tile between her thighs.
They've already eaten dinner, but he's ravenous. With the time now sitting at four minutes and thirty seconds, he wastes no more time and dips down to enjoy his meal.
The sounds she makes. Alexander's so hard, it's almost painful.
He teases her with his tongue, his fingers; makes his business her pleasure. Eden reaches her peak just as the timer on the oven beeps. Alexander can't help but smirk at himself. He always knew he worked well under pressure.
"Mmph, thank you for that," Eden mumbles. "Sit tight. I'll go get dessert."
"I've already had dessert."
She rolls her eyes. "Cheesy."
Alexander reclaims his seat just as Eden returns with a piping hot baking dish. It's a layer of molten chocolate topped with a gooey marshmallow layer and a buttery graham cracker crust. She also retrieves a tub of vanilla bean ice cream from the fridge and a can of whipped cream...
Which she immediately sprays all over his chest. He's momentarily shocked by the cold, but then Eden gets on her knees with that mischievous glint in her eye that he adores so much.
"Food needs to cool," she reasons. "We've got time to kill.”
― Katrina Kwan, Knives, Seasoning, & A Dash of Love