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"Every bloke is different." I wrap my arms around her waist and hoist us both onto our feet. "Besides, I once spent a weekend with a lovely woman who taught me all about meditation and tantric sex. That's how I learned to make love to a woman slowly, sometimes for hours."
"But you didn't go that slowly with me."
I chuckle softly, and affectionately, as I brush my fingers over her cheek. "Rebecca, you are the only woman who has ever aroused me so intensely that I forget about all my own rules."
"You mean your rules of sex."
"No. I mean all my rules." I draw her into my arms, tucking her head under my chin. "Believe me, gràidh. I wish I could tell you everything about myself, but I cannae do that."
"I know, and I understand why you can't share more with me."
Rebecca is the most unusual woman I've ever met. She doesn't get angry when I can't tell her my secrets but simply accepts my limitations. Is she the perfect woman for me? I believe she might be. But I have no idea whether she can accept my secrets for the long term. That might be too much to ask of the lass.
We amble out into the living area and spend a few moments admiring the view and the starry sky. Then she jogs over to the kitchen to retrieve our dessert. I sit down at the table and enjoy the view of her erse until she moves behind the island. That lass has the bonniest cheeks I've ever seen, and I'm not referring to her face.
She jogs back to me, giving me the chance to admire her bouncing tits.
Rebecca holds one plate in her hand. It contains a single slice of some sort of pie. She settles her bonnie erse down on the chair beside mine, then sets the plate on the table along with a dessert fork. "I made this yesterday, since it wouldn't have been done in time for us to eat it this evening if I'd tried to make it today."
"Dinnae care when you baked our dessert. It looks lovely and delicious, just like the lass who cooked it."
She kisses me firmly on the lips. "You're the best date any woman could hope for."
"Are ye going to tell me what you've whipped up for our dessert?"
"Oh, yes, of course." She pushes the plate toward me, so it's now squarely between us. "I found a recipe online and modified it a bit. It was originally bourbon peach streusel cheesecake, but I realized that for you, I needed to switch up some of the ingredients."
"Whatever you've done, it looks like something you'd find in a posh restaurant. If the pie itself is as good as the presentation, I'll be eating more than one slice."
She smiles, and her cheeks dimple. Then she focuses on the pie, pointing at each element in turn. "It starts with a graham cracker crust for a simple cheesecake that's laced with thick, dark caramel. Instead of peaches, I used strawberries, both in the cheesecake and on top of it as part of the brown sugar streusel topping." She aims a teasing look at me. "Can you guess what the secret ingredient is?"
"Hmm." I pretend to think deeply about the answer to her question. "If it's not bourbon, then it must be beer."
She laughs but tries to suppress it, resulting in a snort. "I know you don't really think I'd put beer in a beautiful cheesecake."
"Go on and tell me about your secret ingredient."
The lass leans in to whisper into my ear, "It's your whisky, Thane."
"Ahhh, I see. Dinnae think anyone has ever used my whisky in this way. You are a clever lass."
"Wanna taste my dessert?"
"Dinnae need to ask. I'm waiting with bated breath to experience your culinary masterpiece."
She pats my cheek. "Don't go overboard with the phony praise."
"It's not phony. I am very impressed by your prowess in the kitchen."
Rebecca hands me the fork. "I want you to try it first."
"Haven't you tasted it already?"
She shakes her head. "I wanted us to enjoy it together. And I really hope it doesn't taste like sewer sludge."
"Nothing crafted with your lovely hands could ever be sludge." I hold up a hand when she seems about to dispute my claim. "Dinnae try to tell me I should temper my expectations."
I pick up the fork. Then I decide to have a wee bit of fun with Rebecca. I'm going to narrate my first taste of her concoction. "My fork penetrates the delicate flesh of the cheesecake so smoothly, sinking down into the caramel, straight through the pliant crust."
