Beach Reads: from Amuse Bouche Enjoy!

It had been our anniversary. My husband had arranged for a weekend at a romantic Victorian hotel. Not that we need a special occasion to celebrate, our time together is always special. Although we enjoy trying new restaurants, it had been a while since we’d had time just to ourselves, and the last thing on our minds would be getting dressed up and going out. Well, the last thing on my mind anyway, and I hoped, his. I checked into the room early while he was still at a meeting and decided to prepare an indoor picnic.

The city market was nearby and the many specialty shops surrounding it would provide all we would need. As I wandered the maze of stalls, I was overwhelmed by the choices. The smells, the colors, the sounds of the shoppers wheeling and dealing filled me with excitement. I was aroused thinking about sharing it with him and I couldn’t help but transfer that arousal to my choices. Decadent, sensual, spicy choices; fresh crusty bread, piquant olives, creamy cheeses, sweet, juicy fruits—and when I saw the delicate smoked lobster, I couldn’t resist. I had enough food to feed a family of four, but my appetite for food was being fueled by a hunger of a different kind. The large ripe strawberries caught my eye on the way out. I almost passed-too cliché, but the sign said, ‘homegrown.’ I bit into the sample and the authentic flavor hit my tongue, I groaned in ecstasy.  The vendor raised a brow before bagging my purchase.

I returned to the hotel and borrowed a few items from their kitchen. I still had time to prepare for his arrival, so I soaked in the claw foot tub, running through my mental checklist. I wanted it to be perfect. I took extra care with my make-up and hair and dressed as if we were going out. I knew he would be in a suit coming from work, and if I greeted him in lingerie, we would never get around to eating—food anyway. What took hours of preparation would be cancelled out within five minutes when we lost our battle to be patient. We try, but we just never seem to be able to wait.

My heart was racing. He had just called to say he was five minutes away. I couldn’t wait to see him even though it had only a day since he’d kissed me goodbye. I always felt that way though. After all these years my heart still skips a beat when he walks through the door. I checked my reflection one last time, smoothed the duvet, plumped the pillows and paced the room my pulse racing, my tummy fluttering. I saw the wine bucket empty on the desk—I had forgotten the wine! Everything so perfect and I forgot the wine. I picked up the phone to call room service but heard the key turning in the lock. I pushed out a breath as my heart squeezed in anticipation.

He looked good enough to eat. His black cashmere coat hugging his broad shoulders, the crisp white shirt and striped silk tie. He always looked so put together. I could see a little of his day lingering in the shadows under his eyes, but when he looked at me and smiled, the tiredness seemed to be swept away. In one hand he held a dozen red roses, and in the other, a bottle of pink champagne. Sounds like a romance novel I know, but we are old fashioned romantic that way. I nodded toward the bucket full of ice and he dropped the bottle and the roses into it before taking off his coat.

He stood there, still looking at me in the snug fitting wool dress and fuck me heels like I was dinner. I could feel his thoughts touching my skin. I was trembling, my nipples were so hard they hurt, but I was enjoying the tension of waiting. He opened his arms and said, ’Come to me.’ I love when he demands things of me—in the bedroom anyway. I stepped into his embrace and my body relaxed against him. I could feel his erection pressing into my thigh. We just stood like that; close, quiet, wanting—for what seemed like an eternity before he pushed me toward the bed. ‘No’- I’d told him. ‘First we eat and then we fuck.’ He laughed and pushed his hand under my tight skirt wiggling his fingers in the moist heat of my cunt. I moaned, the need strong, but I clamped my hand over his wrist and pulled his fingers from my aching flesh.

I pushed his suit coat back slowly then made an elaborate event of straightening it and hanging it on the chair. Slowly, I unknotted his tie and opened the buttons on his shirt one by one. Next the intricate work of removing the cufflinks before pulling the shirt from his trousers and again, hanging it carefully over the chair. I urged him toward the bed, making him sit. I could hear his breathing now. We didn’t speak, he knew and I knew. I removed his shoes and socks then grabbed his belt buckle and pulled him up. He stood so close to me that each deep breath he took caused his body to graze mine. I shoved his pants and briefs to the floor. I wanted to drop to my knees and taste him. His cock was thick and hard and so very close to my mouth. As I bent to retrieve his slacks, I exhaled; sending a warm burst of air over his groin. My mouth was watering, but all that food…

I pulled the tablecloth covering the picnic away and he looked in amazement at the spread I’d prepared. He took a plump berry and pressed it to my lips. I opened slightly and he thrust it into my mouth along with his fingers. The sweet juices exploded on my tongue then he kissed me. Oh, the taste of him and the strawberry mixing was so exotic. My head was spinning. I felt my stomach clench in anticipation.

His soft chuckle reminded me that I’d said we’d wait. He turned me and unzipped my dress. I felt the fabric parting exposing my warm skin and I shivered with desire. His fingers ran the length of my spine and as he knelt and pushed the dress to the floor, his tongue followed, tracing the line to my bottom. His teeth found the soft mound and I squirmed with need as he bit into the tender cheek. He inched the panties over my hips and down my trembling legs. Lifting each foot, he kissed my instep before removing my shoes then rolling the stockings off. I could feel the dampness on my thighs and I pressed them together until I felt a sharp tingle run through my clit. He stood and unhooked my bra pushing it down my arms and letting it fall to the floor. His cock pressed into my bottom, his warm chest against my back. He lifted my hair from my shoulders and kissed along my neck. I was so ready. Then he whispered in my ear, ‘Food first, remember?’

He poured the champagne and we toasted to our future. We sat naked, sharing the delicacies, and each other. A kiss here, a caress there, a slow tease and we sated one hunger while fueling another. We reminisced, shared dreams and fears, we laughed and remembered how good it is to just be us. The passion was there, in every moment, but it took a different form. Our passion was for one another, not just for sex. We finished with some artisan chocolates and fruit. He took the bowl of bright red berries and the half-full bottle of champagne and set them on the night stand. I know, he is so romantic, and I am the luckiest girl in the world but wait—it gets better.

I was putting the food away and he watched me moving around the room, I could tell he was contemplating what he would do to please me. We were comfortable naked, but the way he looked at me was making my skin burn. As if we hadn’t taken a break, the intensity of arousal returned and I could hardly breathe. He didn’t ask, but I knew he needed me. The walk to the bed was only a few steps, but it seemed miles away. I stood before him. His hand stroked my tummy and my breasts. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me down onto him, his mouth covering mine in a deep slow kiss. My control was slipping, I was lost already. I didn’t care how or when or why, I just had to be with him.

He popped a berry into my mouth and kissed me again. The sweet kiss was pushing my orgasm close. Another berry, crushed against my nipples, he licked and lapped until my back arched and I forced my breasts against his mouth, begging for release. Each time I neared orgasm, he stopped. The tiny seeds and soft pulp sliding against my clit was more than I could bear and now I was running for the edge of the cliff. The cool juices ran over my labia mixing with my own and I wondered what it tasted like. He could tell me, because now he was sucking and licking—tasting all of me. My hips were moving, my legs taut, I was ready to explode.

He pushed his tongue inside my cunt and I screamed. He drew it out and I groaned, then I felt it, the plump berry sliding into my pussy. It was soft and cool and very naughty. He dipped it inside, twisting the stem so it swirled against my g-spot. He pulled it back out and looked up at me before taking a bite. A trickle of juice ran down his chin and it made my mouth water. Again, he pushed a berry inside. Carefully he moved it in and out. When he offered me a taste, I could see my own creamy juices dripping from it before he plunged it into my mouth. It was exquisite to taste my desire for him. He gorged himself on the heady treat until I could hold back no longer and exploded, pushing the last of the fruit from inside me.   

Content in my afterglow, he stroked my body. He took a drink of champagne then kissed me, letting the sweet wine flow into my parched mouth. He always cares for me so tenderly. ‘We need to clean you up,’ he’d said. I didn’t want to move. He was in charge now.

I felt the hard, cold glass pushing at my wet slit. I wasn’t sure at first, but when I felt the lip of the bottle pass through into my cunt, I panicked. I trust him completely, but ‘what if’ was racing through my mind. Slowly, he eased it deeper; the smooth, cool phallus soothing my heat. I opened my eyes and looked down at him. He peered between my legs like a surgeon, careful to protect me, but when he glanced up and I saw the dirty boy looking back at me, my pleasure swiftly came to a head. He moved the bottle slowly, twisting round and round, sliding it in and out. I could hear the liquid sloshing against the glass keeping the cylinder cool. My nerves were alive, my body tingling, my need to come front and center. I tried to keep my hips still, but he increased the pace and I started to peak as he fucked me. I was panting, begging, reaching—then it happened, he pulled out sharply and thrust back in, the champagne erupted like a fountain inside my cunt. The tiny bubbles expanded, popping like tiny pinpricks against my flesh; a fine, delicate, high-pitched hum of sensation so new, so exciting, so exquisite that my scream came out with no sound as the orgasm ripped through me. He covered my pussy with his mouth and drank his fill of the cool luscious fizz.

​I guess we didn’t need the wine after all. Both, my juices, and the champagne, flowed freely all night long.

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