“More chocolate cake?”
She raises the knife and waggles it, the razor-thin blade catching the light. I glimpse my reflection as I gaze into the gleaming steel and smile.
“Oh, no,” I say, pushing aside my dessert plate, cleaned of every last speck and crumb of cake. “I don’t think I can have another bite. That was great. Dinner was great.”
“Really? You really mean that?”
“Mm-hmm,” I say. “You’re an amazing cook.”
She tilts her chin down and blushes, then she picks up my plate and brings it to the sink. I look at my fingers and note a brown smudge of cake on my thumb. I suck it clean of the grit.
“Coffee?” she offers from the kitchen.
“No thanks. I’ll have trouble falling asleep.”
“That’s true,” she replies. “I wouldn’t want that. Nothing more painful than staying up all night, unable to sleep. Heart racing. Mind turning. Tossing on the bed.”
“Yeah. It’s a terrible feeling.” I nod and scratch at my collar. It feels warm.
She returns from the sink, wiping her hands with a towel. “But you’ve been sleeping okay, haven’t you? The bed is comfortable enough?”
“It’s really comfortable. Such a great bed.”
“I’m glad.” Sweeping her hands behind her skirt, she sits down in front of me, directly under the light, smiling. “And you’re sure dinner was alright? I’m sorry. The meat was a little undercooked, I think.”
“No, no. It was great.”
“Do you really mean it?” she asks, tilting her head aside as she leans forward, crossing her legs, grinning at me.
“Really, I love my meat rare,” I say. I sweep my tongue around my mouth and suck on my saliva, still recalling the juices, the mild tang of blood.
“You’re too kind,” she says, her brow twitching.
Nodding towards her, I say, “That’s a really great dress. Really lovely on you.”
“You think so?” She sits up and looks herself over, brushing her hands along the skirt. “I wasn’t so sure when I found it.”
“It’s really beautiful... just like you.”
She curls a finger under her lip and grins, a bloom of pink appearing on her cheeks once more. “You’re such a flatterer. You don’t mean that.”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” I say. I pause and add, “You know that.”
She gives her head a coy shake. “I’m not so sure about that. I think you’re lying,” she says, her voice low, a sly smile teasing at the edge of her lips. “I hope you’re not.”
“I’m not,” I say, shaking my head. I match her steady gaze as I hold my breath for a moment.
Still grinning, her hand lowers to her lap as she uncrosses her legs. Slowly, her fingers claw at her skirt, raising it steadily, pulling the hem higher.
I watch quietly as she settles back and slips her hips down further till they're at the edge of her seat. She continues to ease her skirt up, exposing more of her pale white and pink thighs. I see a tuft of curly hairs revealed between her legs as she slowly spreads them apart.
“This is what you want,” she says.
I can’t tell if it’s a question or a demand, but I nod, regardless.
She sighs, a cooing giggle trickling from her throat. Raising her fingers to her mouth, she gives two of them a suck, withdrawing them slowly from her plush, crimson lips, and painting them with one final drag of her tongue for good measure.
I can see the sheen of saliva coating her fingers as she reaches down to her crotch. Another playful giggle slips through her grinning teeth like an amused child playing with dolls, before she touches herself, teasing her lips apart, exposing her raw pink flesh and crinkled bud to me.
I lick my lips as I hold them in my mouth, tasting the bittersweetness of dinner, of the almost-raw meat again.
Her fingertips swirl and pinch and pull and push. Her purrs and hums announce the delight of her own touch, and when she sinks a finger into herself, her red lips round open, forced apart by a pitched gasp that segues to a languished moan.
