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"Are you in a rush? Got somewhere to be?" he jokes and I nod my head.
"Oh yeah, where to?" he teases.
"On top of you," I lean forward, whispering the words softly.
"Here," he holds the no longer cold item to my mouth and I slowly open. Biting down, my teeth cut through the flesh like texture quite easy. I begin chewing and my nose picks up the scent before I can identify the taste.
"Strawberry!" I throw my hands in the air and Thomas wraps his arms around me, lifting me from the counter and carrying me a few steps across the room.
"That’s what I mean about being romantic. What guy goes and gets strawberries because a girl is coming over?" I quip and he’s silent for a pregnant pause before stuttering.
"Well, I didn’t… Umm," He stumbles through his words and I feel like an idiot. Of course he didn’t get them for me. He probably always has strawberries in case a girl stumbles by. And this is what I mean; he could very well play this game with everyone.
"Oh, right. You’re a bachelor, of course you have strawberries and stuff," I begin, trying to rationalize this not being just for me, but he cuts me off with his actions as he sets me on another counter and roughly pulls what I now see is a silk scarf from around my eyes.
"Look at me," he says seriously, and I do, although I feel a bit mortified. "What I was struggling to admit is that I didn’t buy the strawberries. I simply put them on a list and had my housekeeper get them," he grasps my chin between the pad of his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger, forcing me to look at him.
"Okay," I breathe the word, unsure of what he wants me to understand.
"But this is for you and only you, Nicole." He looks deep into my eyes like he can see the insecurities buried deep there. "I’ve never done this with anyone else, or anything remotely this intimate. I’m not a romantic person; I just like to do special things with you. Do you get the difference?" He asks bluntly.
"Yes, of course," I answer, and I do. He is doing special things for me, and although they’re not the same, he is having firsts with me, for me.
Leaning into him, I rub the tip of my nose back and forth against his, as he does to me sometimes. My mom calls them Eskimo kisses, and they’re so sensual and intimate I’ve loved them from the very first time he did it.
"Can I take this off?" He pulls at the hem of my dress and I nod.
Without a word, he lifts my dress over my head, my bare ass feeling the cold marble beneath me. Thomas has the remnants of my lace panties stuffed in his pocket somewhere after ripping them in the elevator. Reaching behind me, he unclasps my bra, my heavy breasts falling into his hands.
His mouth automatically begins to arouse his favorite part of me, massaging one breast with his tongue and the other with his hand as my nipples harden beneath my eyes. His hand cups the nape of my neck as his mouth pushing me down until my back is flat against the marble of the large kitchen island, my legs extended. His hand softly releases my breast as feel his fingers glide down my stomach. As his tongue delicately tickles my nipple, his finger slides into my wet pussy.
"Ooh," I moan, appreciating the small bit of pressure, my body arching.
Moving his lips down my belly, he teases me with that expert tongue of his while slowly sliding his finger in and out of me, my body heating to his touch. My muscles tense and instantly crave more. With every step he takes me further, and yet I want to race along. Thomas is constantly forcing me to slow down, savor every inch of him, but my appetite is unquenchable when he’s concerned.
There’s not enough to end my desires, which are constantly multiplying as my thirst for him exceeds anything I could have imagined or am able to comprehend. My behavior shocks even me when he’s involved, the way I move and bend for him, full of desperation and lacking any self-control.
Nothing matter at this point, nothing but my pleasure, and he dangles it in front of my face until he decides I can have it, a game of both danger and torture, but one I
enjoy playing so much. Glancing up, I can see in his eyes that he too enjoys the game, debatably even more than me. I love watching him change, his eyes grow darker and he always clenches his teeth together, his jaw line overly defined, like he’s biting back something.
Lying on my back, completely at his will as he works over my body before standing tall to look over my panting chest, I somehow feel extremely powerful. He is so concerned with my pleasure it’s almost like he’s a slave to it, and I know he wants to pay me back for how I behaved in the elevator. He’s definitely going to make me beg and cum all over the place, that I’m sure of.
Walking from my feet to my head, he traces my body with his fingertips, and although its not the most extreme touch, it feels electric with all of my senses heightened. I moan loudly as he circles my nipples, his fingers still wet with my arousal.
"Tell me what you want, Nicole," he leads me in the way that he has since we first slept together.
Although I like the idea of him controlling my pleasure, he doesn’t, and it’s like he always wants me to know it. He dominates me physically and can take that advantage whenever he wants, but he chooses not to, almost reminding me that he works only to pleasure me.
More importantly, I think he wants me to own my pleasure, and that’s so sexy to me. From our short time together, I’ve learned so much about my body, and what makes me tick, most of which Thomas taught me through example. I never anticipated having that type of experience from sex, and according to Lisa its not too typical.
When I think of it, nothing between us it typical really. We both have come into the other’s life and switched things up in a way neither of us saw coming. That’s what makes it so fun; it’s the spontaneity and excitement of it all. Everything is new in the beginning, but you also have the opportunity to keep it new as time goes on, and I think we both have a plan to do just that, keeping it interesting.
Knowing that Thomas has never played his taste testing game with another woman makes me feel special and even demonstrates his effort to open himself up to me in ways that don’t come natural to him.
Even bringing me to his home was a big step, one I am grateful for. Now, spread out on the marble counter of his kitchen island, my body grows weak with anticipation as he looks over my body like a surgeon, or better yet a mad scientist, deciding which part to explore first.
"Baby, what do you want?" He repeats his question and I realize I’ve not answered, lost to my own moans and delight with my body twisting and turning to lean into any attention his fingers and mouth place upon me.
