You were at the door by the time I groggily registered your kiss goodbye and your squeeze on the nape of my neck. I got up from my tea, just caught up as you were ready to go, to kiss you back. “Have a good day,” I croaked and you laughed, and winked and smiled. “You too,” you said, and closed the door behind you.
I was writing through a knotty section with the afternoon sun on my back when I noticed. The warmth of our kisses had faded away, but the feeling of your fingers lingered like a cat perched all day on my shoulders. I leaned into my chair, loosened up, sent you a text, and tried a new line of attack.
Oh shit, I thought, as I looked up from my work and realised you’d be home soon. Our fridge was a mess but I could turn the leftovers into something passable. Half an hour later, giving the pan a good, last toss, I heard your key in the lock, the door open, your slouch against our closet. I turned the heat off and walked over to you. As I held you, you leaned into me. “Long day at the office, huh?” I asked into your hair; “So many meetings I didn’t need to be in,” you said as you mussed up mine. You turned your head to show me the gleam in your eyes was back, and then you pulled me in for a kiss.
You probably meant it as a peck, but I was in the middle of you now and I wasn’t going to let go. I turned you around, I felt your lips on mine, I tasted the whiskey on your tongue. You pushed me against the wall as you brought your arm up against my back. We kissed.
I felt the warmth under your jacket. “Let’s take this off,” I said and your reply was hungry eyes and a arched shoulders. I pulled it off of you, and your sweater; I savoured the sight of you in your dress and tights for just a second, and then pushed you back by your chest. I kneeled before you. I rolled down your tights. I kissed up your thigh. I watched your eyes widen until your dress came between us. I tasted the wetness on your panties, felt the warmth of your labia on my tongue. You put your hand on my shoulder and wrapped your hand behind my neck and put your weight on me so you could push your panties down. I tracked your vulva like a falcon while you shimmied them off.
You tasted like sweat and iron and a mountain stream. Your lips lead a familiar path, ridges along your folds a hike of peaks and valleys I never tired of exploring. You were impatient with my dashes around your hood. We journey together. I caressed your clit, from base to tip, with the tip of my tongue. You moaned. I did it again. You moaned. I did it again and you growled. You pushed against my face, you pulled me in by my neck. I circled you, savoured you, devoured you. My tongue writhed around your clit as I brought a finger from your back forward; you shuddered as I got further, settled down on your asshole, strolled along your perineum, penetrated you slowly. “Faster,” you moaned, so I was. And again. And again. Your gasps grew quicker. I drank your wetness with greed, filled you with need. Your eyes closed, you stretched out between the my mouth and the wall. You tightened around my fingers. I slowed but didn’t stop. “Yes. Yes. Yes,” you cried, until you were drowned out by your stomach.
You looked down at me, torn and a little embarrassed. I grinned, said “dinner’s ready,” and went back to my dessert. You looked at the stove, longer than normal with my tongue on you, before you pulled me in again by the back of my head. I went faster. Your gasps got quick again, and your stomach rumbled. I slowed, even as you squeezed my neck with your knees. You shuddered as I said “Maybe we should eat?” and just moaned out no,no,no. I kept entering you slowly, just grazed your clit. It took a moment for you to look and see a grin you would normally call shiteating, but today you could only laugh “Asshole!”
“Fine,” you said between gasps, “if that’s the way you want to play it, I’m game.” You pulled away from me (I was reluctant to actually let go), put your knee on my chest and slowly pushed me down.
“But, dinner’s that way,” I said pointing up.
“Yes, but it’s only fair I get a little _amuse bouche_ too,” you said as you pulled my pants off. You ate me with hunger, from your stomach, from your lust, from a refusal to give up the upper hand. I could’ve cum just watching you. But of course you wouldn’t let me.
“Delicious,” you said, and stood up. I looked at you dazed; you looked back and winked. “I’ll serve these up, could you grab the cutlery?”
I followed, pointedly pantsless. I didn’t really need to press up against you as I got our chopsticks, and you didn’t need to shimmy against me, but we did anyway and laughed. You didn’t need to sit with your knee up either; under our glass table we both could both see how impatient we were. But for now, we talked about our day.