by Amber Burns
Instead she sat down on the edge of the couch and emptied her glass of wine, and when she had emptied hers, she drained mine.
“I get the feeling you are being completely honest with me. Thank you, I really appreciate it,” She turned her eyes toward me, “What are you going to do with it?”
I shrugged.
“I honestly do not know, I have no need of it, and I don’t mean that arrogantly,” I added quickly, “I want to do something good with it.”
Her next actions surprised the hell out of me. She came to me and put her arms around me, putting her head down on mine.
“You will find the right cause, thank you again for answering me.”
I nestled my face into her blouse and kissed her stomach.
“I’ve never known any woman like you, thank you for not being angry, or screaming, or running away without letting me explain, I think that might have destroyed me.”
I stood there holding her.
When she tilted her head toward me I kissed her chin, something I’d always thought much more intimate than any make-out session, or kiss on the lips could be. She made a little mewl, and then leaned back.
“Hey, I want you to meet my dad. It’s not too soon to suggest that is it?” She asked, cringing.
I laughed, “Of course not, I’d love to meet him.”
We ate our dinner on the porch under a roof and curtain of fairy lights I’d hung up for her, a pretty place that she would like, and somewhere I planned to make love to her one night soon too, as soon as it was warm enough… I’d cooked a corn and seafood chowder that was a recipe passed straight down my family’s Cajun lines, and the enjoyment on her face was evident. She cut large slices of the rich chocolate cake while I made coffee, and then we moved to sit in the lounge with our dessert, admiring the painting against the stark white wall, where its stormy shadow and cloud connected to the dark blue of the opposing wall perfectly.
9
Annabelle picked at her cake, watching Michel from where she sat cross-legged on the floor against the old armchair perpendicular to the couch. He was comfortably reclined on the couch and very much enjoying his, when he saw her staring at him and stopped mid-bite, sliding from the couch. He now knelt beside her on the floor and unhooked a few of the buttons of her blouse, letting it fall open to expose her cleavage. He placed his plate on the edge of the table, within reach, and then ran his finger through the ganache frosting.
“I want my dessert this way.”
And with that he smeared a finger full of frosting straight down the centre of her breasts. Annabelle was not expecting this, and reared back, thinking of her white blouse and the staining of the dark chocolate.
“Hey!” She cried out.
As she shifted her weight back, the chair moved, leaving her to land flat on her back with chocolate down her front.
“Michel! This is going to stain!”
He ignored her, and chuckled as he crawled up her body, the spoon he was using now full of frosting. He sat with his thighs across her upper body and used his free hand to rip the blouse open completely.
“I’ll buy you two new ones that are even nicer, I’ll take you shopping Mermaid,” he said, using the spoon to trail more frosting across her chest and pulling the cups of her bra down to expose her nipples.
She bit her lower lip as the cold metal passed across her nipples and they hardened into little nubs under it.
“Right, I think I can eat my dessert now,” he said, laying the spoon aside.
Michel lowered his mouth to her and start licking, sucking and scraping the thick chocolate away with his teeth. She bucked under his mouth as the stimulation became too much, and gasped when he latched firmly onto her one nipple. Once the frosting was gone he sat up, and Annabelle almost fainted at the mischievous expression on his face.
“Stay here,” he said, and stood, walking to the kitchen.
Annabelle heard him wash his hands, and drawers opened and closed, and when Michel re-appeared he held a pair of scissors in his left hand and the rest of the cake in the other.
“What are you planning to do with those Michel?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the scissors.
He put both of the items down and straightened to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. When Annabelle tried to sit up, he pointed, gesturing for her to stay down.
“Don’t move… I have not quite finished with you young lady.”
She watched as he methodically folded back the sleeves of the light blue shirt, all the way to his elbows, and then took off the shoes and black socks he’d been wearing, so that he now stood over her in his jeans, barefooted and with his muscular forearms exposed. Annabelle felt her loins melt as heat pooled in her pelvis at the sight of him, and the authority he seemed to exude. He looked dangerous, and there was so much about him she didn’t know that scared her, and she would ask him, but not yet.
Michel bent to pick up the scissors and knelt down on one leg next to her, and much to her horror, picked up the bottom edge of her skirt. As she watched, he took the scissors and cut it open in one smooth movement, the fabric parting like butter under the sharp blades. It fell open and she lay exposed in just her simple white bra and panties, looking completely wanton with the cups pulled down below her breasts.
He swiftly snipped through the panties at both hipbones, and through the bra between her breasts, and when she blushed and tried to cover herself, her moved her hands aside.
“No, I want to see all of you, you’re so beautiful. And look, I have a plate to eat my dessert off now.”
He smiled down at her. She moaned as he squeezed her breasts and kissed her, and felt bereft when he sat up to reach for the plate of cake. She was amused anew when Michel started cutting cake into bite sized pieces and placing them all over her body. He covered the area of her body, collarbones, hollow of the throat, he even splayed out her arms and placed small nibbles in the inner elbows. Annabelle lay panting in anticipation by the time he finished laying out the cake on her torso, and when he lifted her legs lightly to part them. She closed her eyes in mortification, laid bare to his gaze.
“So gorgeous, pink and rosy,” he murmured.
Her eyes were pinched closed tightly and she tried not to think of the view he had at that moment. She jumped when she felt cold creaminess slicked onto the lips of her sex.
“Hey! Hey, hey, hey! What on earth?”
She exclaimed, her eyes flying open. He placed a hand on her lower belly.
“Hold still, you’re going to ruin my masterpiece here.”
She watched as he stood again, and vanished, coming back with a digital camera. He adjusted her hair to fall out behind her, bent her one leg up, and then moved the coffee table out of the way. She looked straight into the camera and didn’t smile, her mood very clearly not one for laughter anymore. As Michel put the camera down and walked over to her, her breathing changed. Her chest was rising and falling faster with her arousal as he bent his mouth to her skin.
He started at her collarbones, then he kissed her, and alternated like this, all the way down to her hips. By the time he had finished all the bits of cake, his shirt was smeared with chocolate. His mouth and face was a mess, as was hers. When he kissed her a final time before he moved down to her sex, he looked into her deep green-blue eyes and winked.
“Now for the grand-finale…”
Annabelle pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes as his tongue brushed the first of the melted ganache from her skin. Everything felt warm. As he pushed her knees farther apart she stopped worrying about his view, and concentrated only on the sensation of his mouth on her skin. She felt the melting chocolate and cream mingle with her own moisture, and moaned aloud when his tongue ran rough as a kitten’s over her clitoris, his fingers spreading her to his ministrations.
“Anna, you are delicious,” he murmured as he licked her.
She arched her back as he fastened his mouth onto her clit, and cried out when she came seconds later; the protrac
ted stimulation and build-up just too much. Michel crawled back up the limp length of her body and kissed her again, and she tasted herself on his tongue. It was the most erotic sensation she had ever experienced, and her fingers dug into his back when she felt his jeans rubbing against her.
“I want my dessert now Michel, sit back on the couch…” She whispered, biting the lobe of his ear.
******************************
I sat back on the couch and watched Annabelle get on to her hands and knees and crawl to where I reclined, having tossed her hair over her shoulder. She reached for a handful of chocolate frosting with one hand, while with the other she unzipped my jeans. I was granite-hard beneath my fitted briefs and when her deft little fingers moved the tightly stretched fabric aside my cock sprang straight out from the base of my stomach like a pillar. She took her icing-filled hand and covered me in the gooey mess. My clothing didn’t escape the carnage of chocolate and it got everywhere.
It took a very strong will to not tangle my hands in her long messy hair and pull her down onto me once she started licking, nibbling and sucking. When her mouth closed around the head of me, I physically put my hands under my legs, concentrating on breathing as I watched her. At one point she looked up at me, and I got the perfect sight of her face, big eyes, and a mouth full of me…
I was sorely tempted to reach for the camera, this was a sexy image. Her face was smeared with chocolate, and God, did anybody understand how amazing it was to see how sexy a cock was in a woman’s mouth? Especially when she raises those eyes to you, and you see how turned on she is by what she’s doing to you. She took me deeply into her throat, and her eyes closed. She gagged, but carried on moving her mouth up and down on me, doing the same with her hands, using them to circle the shaft of my cock.
“I’m going to cum Anna, slow down if that’s not what you want.”
She quickened her movements, and I dropped my head back, my hands balled into fists under my legs.
“Oh God, okay. Jesus Anna, don’t stop.”
I exploded into her mouth, and as my balls tightened, she moved a hand to squeeze them gently. Everything felt so intense with her, and when I looked back up at her, she sat there grinning like the Cheshire cat, licking her fingers.
“Well don’t you just look like the cat that got the cream, lame pun, nonetheless,” I asked, lying back, flat.
She giggled.
“Well, it was chocolate flavored…”
My one downstairs bathroom had a large bath, a very old Victorian Porcelain tub, and we stumbled giggling down the passage toward that bathroom to go and clean off. Lying in the tub with her back to my chest was blissful, and I reached for a bottle to pour shampoo into my hands. I sat there, lathering it into her hair, and massaging her scalp. We soaked until the water got cold, and then dressed in some of my T-shirts and track pants.
“I want you to meet my dad this week, would you like to come over to dinner at my place?” She asked me later as we sat on the couch with fresh mugs of coffee cradled in our hands.
I nodded, “Just tell me which night and what to bring and I’ll be there.”
She snuggled back into me, and just then a storm started rumbling in the distance.
“We can do Tuesday evening if that suits you?” She said softly, “Maybe six o’ clock?”
I happily agreed. We were both startled when we got pounced on with the sound of the next thunderclap and Armand landed right on Anna’s head.
“Hey kitty, easy there!”
He was meowing frantically and soaking wet.
“I didn’t realize it was raining,” she said, picking up a loose throw to rub him dry with. “It’s not, smell him, it’s bathwater. He must have fallen in the bath, we never emptied it.”
We laughed at the little thing and cuddled him with us, opening the curtains to watch the lightning out over the sea. The tourist season was coming to a close and the stormy weather would be picking up again now.
“Anna, is this what normal feels like? I mean, happiness?” I asked, my arm around her and the kitten purring on her lap.
She glanced at me, and then looked back out through the window.
“Haven’t you ever just felt content with something like this?”
I didn’t know how to answer her.
“I don’t know how I have felt in the past, but I’ve never had something like this.”
“Michel, will you tell me everything about your past please? Not now, but when you are ready, because I want to know what makes you not know what happiness is,” she murmured as she lay there against my shoulder.
It started to get very late, and though I was wide awake, I heard her deep and even breathing against me, so I gently picked her up in my arms. Armand was still sleeping soundly on her belly and carried them both to bed. She mumbled something and turned her head into my shoulder as I walked down the passage, and the kitten started purring on her. I couldn’t help but smile. This was exactly what happiness was to me, this is probably what I have wanted my entire life without knowing it, and at that point this was exactly what I wanted for the rest of my life.
Meeting Annabelle’s father was a pleasant surprise, he was a white-haired man in his sixties, and very cheerful. We sat around the dinner table after she had introduced me when I arrived, and chatted amiably as she set a roast chicken and bowl of mashed potatoes, peas and carrots and fresh bread rolls on the table.
“So Michel, what do you do for a living?” He asked, dishing up a hearty plate of food.
“Well, Roy, at this stage I haven’t quite figured that out. My inheritance sustains me and I have fixed up the house I got with that, so now I need to find what makes me happy. I have my boat, but she needs some tender loving care, and then I might do a couple of fishing tours, or trips around the lagoon. I am happy on the water.”
I chewed on a piece of the juicy chicken. His eyes lit up at the mention of the boat, and Annabelle chuckled.
“Oh now you have your hands full, my dad loves fishing.”
After a momentary hesitation and glance between us two, she added.
“Quite possibly more than he loves me.”
Roy shook his head.
“Never Annabelle, but if you need help on that there boat of yours Michel, I’d love to give you a hand. I used to have one until I had to sell it to help pay for the treatments for my wife’s sickness…”
He trailed off, looked down at his food and ate the rest of the meal in an odd melancholy mood. While I ate, I realized what I wanted to do with the bag of money in my cupboard, and this one I wasn’t going to discuss with Anna, it was my decision and she would probably try and stop me.
“Why don’t we take the Mary Jane out for a bit of fishing over the weekend Roy? Would you come and join me?” I asked.
The older man’s face lit up and he looked ten years younger in an instant.
“Annabelle, would you manage the store? Maybe Sunday?”
He looked to her. She shook her head.
“Of course I will, Michel, you’re creating a monster…” She winked at me.
While Roy and I had coffee after the amazing dinner, she cleared the table and I heard her moving about in the kitchen and dining room.
“Shouldn’t I go and help her Roy?” I asked.
He smiled, and said, “No, her mother did this too. It’s a Smith woman thing, believe it or not, she enjoys clearing up and will join us just as soon as she’s done. So, tell me about your time in Afghan, I served time in France, during World War two. I am amazed I made it home some days.”
We talked a while, and when Annabelle came through with her own coffee, changed the subject to more pleasant things, preparing houses for storm season.
“Are you putting up big shutters?” He asked me.
Now, I had no idea how intense things got out here, so exposed, and I told him. He made his recommendations and I suggested we perhaps shop together to save some money.
“I have spare shutters for you Mi
chel, just come pick them up,” he said.
He stood, and excused himself.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be getting myself home, this body’s tired.”
He kissed Anna goodbye and strolled across her yard through the small gate to his own house just next door. Annabelle hugged me tightly as we stood on her porch.
“I hate to do this, but I kind of need an early night too, I am tutoring at the University tomorrow.”
She kissed me, her arms around my neck, and then I went to fetch my jacket, and took a walk along the beach home.
