05-21-2014, 03:42 PM
Ayden echoed his toast with a smile. The crisp citrus flavor was cut with the tingling bubbles of the champagne, and he felt them through his nose. Connor relaxed even more. And then they both cut into their steaks. Perfect. It melted in his mouth. Everything was good. Ayden seemed to savor the flavors of her food as well. But around bites both of them talked about everything and nothing, nothing real or substantial. They both knew what they were working toward and wanted nothing to bar their way.
The mimosas had their effect on them. They smiled and laughed a lot, flirty playful touches and brushes of hand and arm. Connor felt warmth suffuse his body and felt flushed. The meal took on an ethereal aspect, as if the world had closed in around them and only they two existed; the only sound was that of their voice, the world outside muffled by the fog. Ayden's foot bumped his leg but didn't immediately retract. He thrilled. But it happened again, foot lingering more and more, and running up and down his leg. His reaction was immediate and once there, remained firm. There would be no more pulling back, no lull this time. His heart thundered in his chest, his breathing becoming shallow and predatory, a hunter. When he let his breath out through his nose, he felt a deep trembling.
He stared at her. It was all he could do not to sweep the dishes from the table and pull her to him and have her there. But the anticipation, the hovering on the brink, that sweet build up, the rising tension, the hunger itself, was as delicious as any meal they had eaten. Better. He savored it, the delayed gratification, seeing her pupils dilate, her skin become flushed and her voice more breathy, the brush and touches more lingering.
When breakfast was done, she rose to stack the plates and he watched her body move. So lithe, panther-like, taut muscle and curves moving beneath her shirt, as she leaned over to get everything. He could almost feel her with his gaze. His eyes seized hers for a moment and she paused. Hunger pulsed between them, pulsed again. His mind slowly had extinguished every avenue of thought until only one thing remained. She came over to his side of the table and he sat perfectly still, not turning his head, wanting to savor the moment. He became aware of her behind him, and then her hand running through his hair. Inwardly he growled. His heartbeat sped up. He needed this woman As she leaned over to get his plate, he felt her breast against his neck, her arm reaching out beside his face. For a moment, he was partially enclosed by her, feeling her body radiate heat. He felt safe and warm.
She lingered, and then she pulled back, walking to the kitchen. He suddenly felt cold and alone. He didn't want to be alone. No more. He needed this, he needed her. Months of storms churned inside him. He needed an anchor, a safe harbor; a place of peace. He didn't want to weather storms alone anymore. This, this woman, this was what he wanted, what he needed, what he craved. Now. He watched her perfect rump sway as she walked everything to the kitchen. The chair made a scraping sound against the floor as he stood up. He was the hunter and he moved like a predator, coming up behind her, putting his arms around her, burying his face into the side of her neck, inhaling her in, letting their bodies merge. His hands around her waist began to rove upward, cupping breast, brushing collar bone, caressing neck, pulling her against him. Turning her face to the side, he kissed her....and it had begun.
He turned her around and enfolded her in his arms, kissing her deeply. Then he picked her up- she was air in his arms- and took her to the couch. He began to undress her, first shirt and jeans, all the while kissing her gently. He moved back to appreciate the goddess before him, her perfect ivory skin; her beautiful breasts and inviting stomach and waist; her legs sculpted from marble. With that hair she was Pele, goddess of fire, who burned alive mortal men with her volcanic power. She demanded worship and obeisance, everything that was her due.
And he would worship her, would pray in the temple of her body. He would perform the rites of passion and the liturgy of lust. He was going to take his time. He was going to make sure that she had her moment repeatedly. And he would entomb himself in her, let her rip his heart out and devour his soul.
The mimosas had their effect on them. They smiled and laughed a lot, flirty playful touches and brushes of hand and arm. Connor felt warmth suffuse his body and felt flushed. The meal took on an ethereal aspect, as if the world had closed in around them and only they two existed; the only sound was that of their voice, the world outside muffled by the fog. Ayden's foot bumped his leg but didn't immediately retract. He thrilled. But it happened again, foot lingering more and more, and running up and down his leg. His reaction was immediate and once there, remained firm. There would be no more pulling back, no lull this time. His heart thundered in his chest, his breathing becoming shallow and predatory, a hunter. When he let his breath out through his nose, he felt a deep trembling.
He stared at her. It was all he could do not to sweep the dishes from the table and pull her to him and have her there. But the anticipation, the hovering on the brink, that sweet build up, the rising tension, the hunger itself, was as delicious as any meal they had eaten. Better. He savored it, the delayed gratification, seeing her pupils dilate, her skin become flushed and her voice more breathy, the brush and touches more lingering.
When breakfast was done, she rose to stack the plates and he watched her body move. So lithe, panther-like, taut muscle and curves moving beneath her shirt, as she leaned over to get everything. He could almost feel her with his gaze. His eyes seized hers for a moment and she paused. Hunger pulsed between them, pulsed again. His mind slowly had extinguished every avenue of thought until only one thing remained. She came over to his side of the table and he sat perfectly still, not turning his head, wanting to savor the moment. He became aware of her behind him, and then her hand running through his hair. Inwardly he growled. His heartbeat sped up. He needed this woman As she leaned over to get his plate, he felt her breast against his neck, her arm reaching out beside his face. For a moment, he was partially enclosed by her, feeling her body radiate heat. He felt safe and warm.
She lingered, and then she pulled back, walking to the kitchen. He suddenly felt cold and alone. He didn't want to be alone. No more. He needed this, he needed her. Months of storms churned inside him. He needed an anchor, a safe harbor; a place of peace. He didn't want to weather storms alone anymore. This, this woman, this was what he wanted, what he needed, what he craved. Now. He watched her perfect rump sway as she walked everything to the kitchen. The chair made a scraping sound against the floor as he stood up. He was the hunter and he moved like a predator, coming up behind her, putting his arms around her, burying his face into the side of her neck, inhaling her in, letting their bodies merge. His hands around her waist began to rove upward, cupping breast, brushing collar bone, caressing neck, pulling her against him. Turning her face to the side, he kissed her....and it had begun.
He turned her around and enfolded her in his arms, kissing her deeply. Then he picked her up- she was air in his arms- and took her to the couch. He began to undress her, first shirt and jeans, all the while kissing her gently. He moved back to appreciate the goddess before him, her perfect ivory skin; her beautiful breasts and inviting stomach and waist; her legs sculpted from marble. With that hair she was Pele, goddess of fire, who burned alive mortal men with her volcanic power. She demanded worship and obeisance, everything that was her due.
And he would worship her, would pray in the temple of her body. He would perform the rites of passion and the liturgy of lust. He was going to take his time. He was going to make sure that she had her moment repeatedly. And he would entomb himself in her, let her rip his heart out and devour his soul.