"This is … better than I expected," I say, withholding further comment. Willow's face is hungry, awaiting more. I like this expression, and I take a few moments to savor it.
Food can do a lot of things. It can ease the pain of a hungry stomach, or it can slam you into the past, a memory you've long forgotten. It can be filler for the empty space in your body, your heart, or your mind. Maybe I've spent too long eating food that was better appreciated in photographs, food so meticulous and contrived in its conception that it made you feel the presence of the chef. Some food makes a critic of you, and other food reminds you that you're flesh and blood, beating heart and lusting tongue.
"Better than expected, yes," Willow urges, gesturing at the plate, "but what else do you think?"
I let the words disappear, feeling too animal to talk now, too physical to think.
"I think it's sensational," I say, slowly. "You're an incredible cook."
She lets out a sigh of relief, but my cock hears something different in her gasping exhale. I bring my thumb slowly to a speck at the side of her mouth, fingers resting on the round perfection of her jawline. She stills under my touch and catches my gaze, time slowing with the deliberateness of my movements.
I brush the speck, but don't pull away. Instead, I bring my thumb back across those ever-pouted lips, tracing their dip and fullness, letting her feel the texture of hands rough and scarred from a lifetime in kitchens, our eyes locked together in a moment of anticipation, emotions raging like an angry sea against the dam of the distance between us.
///
Her lips part slightly, I feel her shortening breath on my hand, and I push my thumb between those juicy, perfect lips, fingers pressing against the base of her ear. Her gentle gasp breaks the silence, before she closes those soft lips around my thumb, the sight of them pressing against my skin making my cock full against my pants. Her teeth gently squeezing my nail, tongue flickering as I push the finger inside the hot wetness of her mouth.
My other hand already on her waist, I pull her toward me, press her lithe body up against mine. Those magnificent hips swaying and rubbing against mine, her weight shifting onto me, breasts heaving, nipples so hard now I can feel them through that sweater dress.
"You're fucking incredible," I growl. Prelude to pulling her toward me, my finger in her mouth still, angling her head so I can taste the tenderness of her neck, run my sensitive tastebuds down the taut muscles, follow the path that leads me to the front of her chest. Quiet moans getting louder as I run my tongue down the softness of her cleavage, her dress my enemy now as I pull it down and bury my teeth in her breasts.
"Oh God … " she moans. "Cole … "
I pull away, pull my thumb from her mouth to leave it gasping, lips red and ripe. Wordlessly, I take her hand and lead her into the back office, before either of us can really think, and back up onto the desk, pulling her in front of me. I bury my hand into that hair and pull her face to mine, sucking down the succulence of her tongue with the hunger of a madman. Her tender throat stretched, swallowing gasps and purrs as I bite and pull on those soft lips, while her body undulates against mine. Her nipples still so hard I can feel them through our clothes, the tension of her ass under my smacking palm.
Willow pulls away for a second, breathlessly, then works my pants open with the same deft hands she used to work up the meal, and I grab the condom I always carry in my wallet.
She gasps when she sees my cock, hard and thick with the whole evening's worth of desire. She stares at it with almost fearful admiration, bringing those graceful fingers to trace its length softly and driving me so wild I almost howl.
"Should we be doing this?" she says, almost to herself, still stroking my cock with the gentleness of a lover.
"Shoulda thought about that when you decided to wear that dress," I say, holding out the condom. "What do you want to do?"
She smiles at me as she snaps the condom out of my hands, tears it open and slides it over my cock. I pull her lips to mine, taste them softly like a chardonnay, swirling tongues in each other's mouths. The gentlest of touches, plenty of time to taste, to appreciate, to let the ache for more really build up. I bring my hand under her dress, between her thighs, peeling the lace panties aside to tease the fruit of her pussy, squeeze the juices from her, make her ripe with desire as she turns my cock even harder with longing.
Her tight body turns to liquid, so that she melts against me. I'm leaning back on the desk now, the weight of her body against me. Our bodies acting as one, clambering and shuffling to find space, knocking things off the desk in our desperation for each other. I fall back onto the hard surface and pull her on top of me, her thighs straddling me, knees on the wood, her breasts exposed, the sweater dress just a thin strip of cloth around her waist now.