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She drops me once more, tilts her head, slides that talented hand quick, quick, quick along my shaft, then says, “I pictured you coming on my face.”
And it’s a damn good thing she didn’t listen to my pleas for her pussy. Because I’m not going to last. I’m seconds away from shooting as she swallows me whole once more.
She’s too good to me. Too sexy. Too perfect.
“God, yes, fucking yes,” I say on a pump.
Then, remembering that a man should always listen to a woman, I somehow, some way, find the will to pull out, wrapping a fist around my throbbing cock and aiming.
She gasps in excitement. “Yes,” she moans, inviting me to come on her face as she parts her lips and sticks out her tongue.
And like that, I paint her mouth white. My vision blurs, my brain going offline as I come on the woman I just can’t have.
It lasts for ages and it’s not nearly enough.
And I’m keenly aware of the ticking clock, of the responsibilities we both have, of my employees beyond the door, cleaning up.
But after she grabs a tissue from my desk and wipes her face, I lift her up, set her on my desk, and tell her to lean back.
She complies as I get in the chair and return the favor. It doesn’t take her long at all. Soon, she’s where I want her. Hands wrapped around my head, thighs gripping my face, whimpering and holding back her cries as she clenches and comes.
A few minutes later, we leave. I’m both sated and completely unsatisfied.
The next morning, as I fumble around for a coffee mug in the cupboard, the black box of chocolates from The Chocolate Connoisseur catches my eye.
That’s right. Last week, I tucked them away in the cupboard. But now I return to Sebastian’s invitation to try the autumn-themed bonbons.
Taking them out of the cabinet, I set them on the counter. As I brew the coffee, I open them. Study each one.
The raspberry is a rich red color. The caramel is a bright gold like fall leaves. The dark chocolate enrobed in a royal shade of burgundy. Then, as I take the first sip of coffee, I get on Elodie’s website and click on her gift boxes.
I grit my teeth.
His are identical. The same flavors and colors as hers.
24
A CHOCO-GASM
Elodie
“A chocolate truffle ganache would be perf.”
That’s the verdict from Silver on Saturday afternoon as the dessert influencer with the sparkly matching eyeshadow and gleaming metal bracelets surveys the display case at my shop.
Which is a smidge busier than yesterday.
I could kiss Felix. No, better yet, I could marry Special Edition. Kenji and Amanda are handling the extra foot traffic with aplomb as Silver studies the options with her practiced eye.
“I’ve got ganache galore,” I say, and I’m not surprised she’s picked that treat for the video we’re doing. I’ve watched her channel. Her fans love her shtick. So do I. She’s a woman who understands the sex appeal of chocolate. Of whipped cream. Of frosting.
She’s not one of the most popular dessert influencers for nothing. She knows her audience, and she knows how to sell sweets to them.
I pick a few ganache, set them on one of my robin’s egg blue Elodie’s trays, and head to the little café section in the back of the shop where we settle into a plush red booth.
Once she sets up her phone on a small tripod, she hits record.
“Hey, besties! It’s your girl Silver here, and I’ve got something that’s going to melt in your mouth. And isn’t that what we want from our desserts? Something that gives you a choco-gasm?”
