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“So you do listen when I speak,” Ethan laughs, “It still doesn’t mean the market isn’t saturated.”
I start to mix a few ingredients in a bowl, melt butter in a pan and soon the kitchen is filled with the smells of the beginnings of breakfast.
“But you obviously have no idea what market I’m getting into,” I say, putting Ethan’s coffee on the table and steering him away from what I’m making.
Ethan takes a sip and sighs, “What did you put in this coffee?” he asks.
“Memories, old and new,” I laugh.
“You’re starting to sound like a witch,” he laughs, taking another sip, savoring it before he swallows.
“That’s the point, I’m making magic. Time travel, reminding you of happy memories you forget you have. Even a sour grouch like you smiles at the taste of a good cup of coffee,” I say standing pageant style in just my underwear.
Ethan laughs and nods, “So you’ll add good coffee to your menu. What else?”
I scoop some batter onto my finger to taste it, it’s too good not to share, I scoop more onto my finger and put it into Ethans waiting mouth. His eyes slowly close as his tongue whirls around my finger licking every bit of creamy batter off my finger.
“Hmm, what is that?” he asks, finally satisfied that finger has been licked clean.
“How does it make you feel?” I ask, turning back to spoon the batter into a sizzling hot pan.
“Not sure, but it’s delicious,” he admits.
“Can you imagine feeling this way every morning?” I ask, suggestively rubbing his shoulders, pressing my chest against the warm skin of his back.
The kitchen smells of melted butter and vanilla and chocolate, coffee and sugar, just like my bakery used to in the mornings. I am in my element.
“Are you going to rub up on all your customers?” He laughs.
I melt chocolate over a makeshift boiler and dip fresh strawberries in it, drizzle it over blueberries and leave them all to set as I stack the dark fudgy pancakes with light fluffy chocolate cream.
“Close your eyes,” I say, bringing the plate to Ethan.
I scoop a little bit of everything onto the fork and feed it to him. His mouth closes slowly over the fork and he hums as he chews. I see his face change with the taste of every flavor.
“I’m in the business of selling experiences, happiness, fulfillment. The feeling that all your dreams will come true,” I say, circling Ethan and running my hands over his body.
“Can you taste the chocolate fudge from your seventh birthday?” I ask, “What about the fresh tartness of the berries from the berry sorbet you had on our first date on the helicopter?”
Ethan nods, smiling, remembering. “Pancakes, the soft pillowy texture from the first breakfast we shared at this table?” I ask, rubbing his chest.
Ethan shivers, his eyes flicker open. “Okay, okay you got me, it’s delicious,” he says, waiting for his next spoonful.
“And is it addictive? Is this how you want to feel every morning?” I ask. “What about at the end of a bad day?”
Ethan nods, his mouth too full to speak.
“I’m not talking about just a bakery, my dreams have evolved since then you know,” I giggle. “I’m talking about giving people experiences, reminding them of happy times, reviving romance, fueling dreams, fantasies. Do you still think the market is saturated?” I ask.
Ethan smiles, he loads a fork full of chocolatey goodness and feeds it to me. Some of the chocolate escapes the fork and drips onto my chest. He leans down and licks it off me.
I moan softly at the warm touch of his wet tongue over the tops of my breasts.
“Chocolate on warm skin,” he smiles, “That’s a new one locked into my mind and my taste buds.”
I giggle, “Can you imagine it? A sultry chocolate lounge, the smells, the feeling of soft silky cake, on your tongue under candle light?” I say, painting a picture very different from my first bakery.
Ethan hums again, my nipple in his mouth sends vibrations through my body.
