And chocolate (erotic prose)

You brought out the chocolate fondue and the platter of fruit, and then, the world was audacious enough to exist.
 
Fuckers.  
 
But I never stopped looking back at the neglected supplies, just dropped where they were.  
 
Because that’s a real kink I have.  
 
That’s something that makes me sit up and bite my lip wherever I am.    
 
There’s something about receiving sustenance of a sort from a body. It’s a living metaphor. It’s the realization of desire. That consuming desire, the need to take in everything all at once. To have you in me.  Bringing all of the senses together in one giant overload.  
 
It’s sweet, predatory, intimate in a different way that drives me fucking crazy.    
 
Like swallowing come. Like tasting the sweat on a body with the tip of my tongue.    
 
Not just any body.  
 
Yours.  
 
I love your body. I love your size, your strength and resilience. I love the way I feel tiny against you, and safe from everything but you.  
 
So I’m stealing this moment back. Fuck it. I’m taking that fondue pot and platter of fruit, and stripping naked right here.  
 
My cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, and I keep slowly exhaling as I crawl back into your lap. Hair pinned up, because while we aren’t in a scene, I want you to feel desired, respected.  
 
I’m a bundle of barely controlled energy and I can’t break eye contact as I slide your cock against my slit, so that it’s resting on me, nestled between my pussy lips, coated already by my juices. And you can feel my natural lube slicking out of me. My body is a wretched whore for you and it’s letting you know … I’m ready.  
 
It would just take a… shift. A small … shift. And you’d be in me.  
 
But I’m asking with my eyes, ‘Not yet.’  
 
Your head presses against my clit, and I rock a little closer so there’s a constant, aching pressure on me. I wrap my ridiculously long legs around you.  
 
And I start small.  
 
You don’t flinch at the feel of warmed chocolate drizzled on your traps muscle.  
 
My eyes leave yours, and I’m entranced at the sight of the paint-drip pattern sliding down your chest.  
 
I fumble at the fruit tray and put the end of a strawberry in my mouth, just holding it in my teeth, as you dip your fingers in the fondue pot. I run the berry in my mouth through the chocolate on your shoulder as you paint my nipples.  
 
Even though your cock is outside, you feel everything tense. You can feel my cunt try to pull you in in anticipation.  
 
I offer you the strawberry, and shudder at the sensuality of your lips… not quite meeting mine. You take half, and I pant a little watching your mouth work. You smile, and take the other half, and it’s everything  
I can do to not come.  
 
Our lips meet this time.  
 
Your mouth closes against mine as you chew and swallow, and I bite the outside of your lower lip, tasting you in a new way, feeling you in a new way, wanting you in a new way.  
 
You push me back enough to run a small slice of apple across my nipple, and then feed it to me with your hand while your mouth cleans up the mess on my chest. The hard crunch, the texture, the slightly tart taste, while your tongue circles my hard nubs, while you suck and lick, it strips me of any form of premeditation.  
   
Fuck, I need you.  
 
But not yet.  
 
I dip my hand in the pot and run it down your chest, stopping at your navel. Your hands are making chocolate prints on my ass as you rock me closer. The velvet steel of your cock is driving me crazy, and your head is hitting the exact spot I need. You push a little harder.  
 
You can always tell when I’m close.  
 
Fuck I’m so close.  
 
And the next tidbit of pineapple gets smashed between us when I drop it, and we resort to licking the chocolate off each other with flat, sloppy tongues, and suction guaranteed to leave hickeys in the morning.    
 
You draw my messy fingers into your mouth, and I moan, when you curl your tongue around my middle finger and suck. Fuck. The way that feels. I mirror your actions, hips rubbing harder against you.  
 
And then we lose all semblance of civility.  
 
In a single move, you lift me, sink me on your throbbing cock, and pin me to the floor, my legs still wrapped around you while your teeth scrape against my skin, and I give your index finger the best head it has ever had.  
 
I arch up as my orgasm takes me, nearly cracking your ribs with my thighs, and you push my hand down and capture my mouth again. We taste like fruit and chocolate and sex, and coupled with the feel of your sticky skin against mine, I hit a second orgasm on the top of the first. You catch the screams with your lips, and shove into me so hard my shoulders get rug burn from the wood floor as you chase your own release.  
 
I feel like I’m in danger of breaking your cock off in me, I’m clenched so tight, the waves of spasms just on the outside of this never ending moment. I can feel you pulse. I can feel the way you get thicker, harder, deeper, and the way you release into me.    
 
Then I’m over the edge and beyond words.  
 
It takes me long minutes to find my breath.  
 
It takes me long minutes for my thighs to stop trembling enough to unlock you from me, for my cunt to relax its grip on you. For you to slide out. The ground below us is slippery, and not with the drying chocolate and smashed fruit.    
 
We head to the shower, and as you step in after me you make me smile like an absolute idiot when you ask… if I have plans for lunch.