Page 62 of Blow Me Down
Miraculously, he was still on the bed when I returned with my hands full. He’d lit a candle, though, so I could see the unhappy look on his face.
“Where have you been? What do you have?” he asked.
I smiled and set down the three bowls I was carefully balancing, quickly removing my clothing before taking one of the bowls and sitting next to where Corbin lay. “This is fygey. It’s an almond and fig pudding.”
“I know what it is. I researched all the food used here,” he said, frowning as he watched me swirl my finger around the still warm pudding. “You’re going to eat now? I have the commute from hell, Amy. I don’t have a lot of time before I have to leave.”
I gave him my best leer. “Oh, yes. I’m going to eat now.”
Without waiting for him to respond, I tipped the bowl so a bit of the pudding slopped onto his belly. With much gusto, I licked and sucked the pudding up, licking my lips at the taste of Corbin-flavored dessert.
“That was good, but you know, I think we can make it better.” His eyes got big as I turned to look at that part of him that was expressing its approval of my change in dining habits.
“Yes, yes, I’m sure we can make it better,” he said, grabbing handfuls of bedding as I tipped the bowl again, slathering his penis with the sweet pudding.
“Oh my God, Amy. You’re not… dear Lord!”
His eyes all but rolled back in his head as I licked up the pudding, leaving him hot and hard and clearly wanting more.
As did I. “Hmm. Good start, but a little unsatisfying,” I said, licking the last little bit of pudding from him. His chest sheened in the candlelight, his face flushed as he struggled to keep from grabbing me. I smiled. “Such good manners should be rewarded. I have here some treacle tart.”
“I love treacle tart,” he said, his chest heaving.
“Do you? I’ve never tried it, but you know, it looks awfully sticky and gooey.” I dipped my fingers into the open-faced tart, smearing the thick filling along the length of his shaft. He twitched. “It looks so thick, in fact, that mere licking isn’t going to take it off.”
“No?” he asked hopefully.
“Nope. This is going to take some serious sucking to get every last morsel of goodness.”
“Thank God,” he moaned, his head falling back on the pillow as I flicked my tongue across his treacly parts.
“Mmm. Tasty. I think I’m going to enjoy this.”
“I know I am,” he said, but it was the last coherent thing he said for a while as I consumed the treacle tart in a manner that had both of us keyed up to point where I thought one—or both—of us might explode.
When he warned me that to continue would be folly, I looked sadly at the last bowl. “But I still have the apple cream custard.”
“No problem,” he said, suddenly lunging up. Before I knew it, he had flipped me onto my back and was nudging my knees apart, the Bowl of custard in his hand. “I happen to love apple cream. If you don’t mind sharing, that is.”
I didn’t even hesitate. “It’s all yours,” I said.
He smiled at the double entendre, but instead of dabbing me with bits of custard, as I expected, he poured the whole thing over me, starting at my crotch and ending at my chest.
“Corbin!” I shouted in surprise. His hand clapped over my mouth.
“Quiet,” he warned.
I nodded my head but said when he removed his hand, “Ew! You got it everywhere! Now I’m all sticky.”
“Sweetheart, you’re going to be a hell of a lot more sticky by the time I’m through with you,” he said.
And he was right. By the time he’d licked off the custard bedecking my groin, he’d sent me spinning to heaven twice. My pleasure had pushed him farther than he’d imagined, but neither of us complained when he abandoned the cleanup job to thrust hard into me. The custard acted as a lubricant on my torso, causing our bodies to slide together in the most erotic sensation of flesh rubbing on flesh that I’d ever felt, the feeling of his custard-dampened chest hair brushing against my sensitive breasts almost more than I could stand.
I came again, hard, my legs locked around his hips in my attempt to pull him deeper into me, triggering his own release. I caught his groan in my mouth as he pumped, his hips straining as he poured himself into me.
“I love you, Amy. God help me, I love you,” he panted into my ear, following that declaration with a wet kiss.
I kissed his neck, smoothing my hands down his back, wondering if he really meant it, wondering how we were going to resolve the problems facing us, and most of all, wondering why I suddenly didn’t give a damn about anything but the man who lay in my arms.
