Best of Best Women's Erotica by Marcy Sheiner Read Free Book Online Page B

beautiful little roses to decorate the plates. The carrots became swirls of orange cascading around trays of succulent pineapple, honeydew, and mango. His strokes with the paring knife as he slit the fruit open were sure and sweet. She admired how each dish got its due—a pat here, a caress there. He kept up a running banter throughout, not seeming to care whether she responded.
    She found herself smiling at the way it all seemed to be choreographed. Each of them twirled around the other, working, moving closer and then farther apart. Brushing past the other
casually, raising the heat each time. The friction created a spark so hot the kitchen seemed to swell in an effort to contain it. He watched her knead the bread dough, swirling it around in her fingers, working it to the peak of perfection. She allowed it to rise, and rise again. It was the only time that he was quiet. The moon surged within her and she knew they were equals; each had gifts to bring to the other.
    She listened while he explained the exotic foods as he worked, turning each lecture into a love song. When he talked about the artichokes he stuffed, he warned her about the outside bristles, how they could prick the skin. “But if you’re patient, you get to savor the sweet meat on each leaf and deep in the core.” He showed her how to gently scrape off the flesh with her teeth.
    She was dripping by the time the meal was served by the silent maids in their black-and-white uniforms. Every pore of her body was open to him, ached for him. It was late. Now the moon poured in through the darkness that had settled over the landscape outside, shining on her dark skin and singing through the stone on her breast. He had faded a bit too. His once-clean white jacket was mussed and stained. The top button lay open and his skin glistened with sweat.
    He pulled the dessert from the oven and motioned for her to bring over the chocolate sauce. Islands of meringue swam in the depths of black cherry richness, bubbling temptingly around the edges. Carefully he placed a serving in each dish. Then she drizzled the chocolate in lazy, seductive swirls. Each pass with the spoon was an invitation, each turn of the dish an answer. When the last one was done they stood silently, poised on the edge of the moment, swaying slightly with exhaustion, the soaring heat of the kitchen, and their desire.
    She took charge now, dispatching orders to the maids about
serving the drinks and cleaning up. Then she reached for him. She took him to her cabin through the moonlight that graced the stone path. The moon encouraged her, pushed her, pulsed in time with her heart.
    She left the door open and drew back the curtains. She wanted to see him in all his glory. And glorious he was. She sat on the bed and watched as he slowly unbuttoned his jacket, undid his shoes, and took off his socks, tucking them neatly inside the splattered black footwear. Then he removed and folded his pants, hanging them over the foot of her bed. She liked how neat he was, his body as tidy as his actions. His underwear and his smile gleamed white in the reflected moonlight and then only his smile remained. He spun in the light of the moon, humming that same tune he’d sung when he’d asked her to dance.
    She stood to remove her clothing, but he stopped her. Kissing her slowly, his mouth moist with sweat and desire, he took over. He blew on her neck; it was cool and hot at the same time. He stepped behind her, unzipping her damp uniform and pushing the dress down over her shoulders. He nuzzled each shoulder before dropping the dress to the floor. It had been too hot to wear a slip and she was conscious of being exposed. She worried suddenly about her size as his hands roamed over the front of her while his mouth and tongue roamed her back. His thumbs circled her nipples through the cloth of her bra and she arched abruptly, caught by the depth of her arousal. He unhooked the cloth and allowed her breasts to