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Her blush deepens. "I love eating." She frowns.
And I’d love to eat you.I twirl more pasta onto my fork, bring it to my mouth and close my lips around the fork. "Don’t let me keep you from your food."
She swallows, lowers her gaze to her own plate, then digs in with a relish that is fascinating to watch. Her every movement so immersed in taking full enjoyment from the moment. Everything she does, she puts her heart, her passion into it. When was the last time I was that…involved with what I do? Be it my work, my people, the things in my life that I took forward to... When had I begun to take it all for granted? When had I become so cynical that everything had begun to blur into a meaningless mess? A patchwork of black and white and grey, sometimes interlaced with crimson.
Then she’d splashed right into the center, a joyous rainbow. Something... Someone to be savored and held and stroked. Caressed until blood swells her skin, thrums at her fingertips, pours into her veins and engorges her pussy. As I drag my fingers up her curves to her neck, across the creamy expanse of her chest, where I squeeze her nipples, tease them into hard peaks of delight to be nibbled on, sucked on.
Her fork hits the plate with a clatter, and I look up.
She leans back with a sigh. "That was the best meal I’ve had in…forever."
Good.I take another leisurely mouthful.
"Who is the chef? I’d love to pass on my compliments to him."
"Her," I murmur.
"What?"
"Larissa cooks all of my meals."
"Oh," she tilts her head, "I’d love to meet her."
"You will."
As I place my fork on my plate, there’s a knock on the door.
