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- 02/09/2017
- 544 Words
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The Dame - 7. Chapter 7
Reeves Restaurant on F Street was known for its bakery and more especially their strawberry pie but they also served a fine dinner often of locally caught seafood. The Chesapeake shores were a boyhood favorite for fishing, crabbing and general goofing off with my brother. I’d grown up eating its bounty.
Wearing a knit skirt, angora sweater and a strand of pearls, Dorothy smelled of lilies and looked like a million bucks. With her on my arm, I knew I was preening like a tom cat after mating season. The sweater and skirt fit like a glove around those strong shoulders and narrow hips. Those mile high heels made another appearance and I appreciated the view as we walked to our table. I wondered how she managed the strut while balancing on the stiletto heels but guessed it meant strong leg muscles and a lot of coordination. My mouth went dry at the potential in that idea.
We sat at a table on the side of the dining area where I could watch who came and went. The lighting was low but I could still see the glint from the diamond earrings dangling amid those caramel locks that curled around her face. She ordered the Bluegill while I went with the Strip steak. We chatted about recent changes in the city, what we liked about the new administration, the weather. Mostly we avoided discussing the upcoming benefit or our run-in with Damian.
“The strawberry pie and two forks.” she murmured politely to our waiter.
When the pie arrived she picked up a fork and ask if I wanted the first bite. My smile and nod may not have said what I was thinking but she got the picture clear enough.
Her fork danced in the air a moment before she dipped it into my open lips, the flavor bursting upon my tongue. I let out a soft groan of pleasure. Slowly withdrawing the utensil, she drew her own bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes never leaving my mouth. She swallowed then flicked her gaze up to mine while a faint blush graced her face. Then she released the air she was holding in a puff.
"Delicious", I managed to eke out, my voice an octave lower than usual.
She waited while I regained my senses enough to grab the other fork. My heart was tripping out double time while I lifted that strawberry laden utensil to her lips. Her tongue darted out eagerly sliding under the tines to capture the drizzling juices. It swirled over the berry and before returning to her mouth. Her answering moan was deep and vibrated my insides. I leaned in as I moved the fork closer feeling an inescapable pull and watched as she opened her mouth in time with mine. As the dessert disappeared between her lips, I watched the movement of her jaw, the flex of throat as she swallowed and realized two things. One, her seduction skills were impeccable and, two, I was wholly caught like a fly to her spider’s web.
We traipsed on over to the Georgetown Theatre where we saw the latest Hitchcock thriller, “I Confess” starring Montgomery Cliff, Dorothy's favorite actor.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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