“Where else would he like to kiss me?”
“Everywhere.”
Elisa steps back, leaving me momentarily confused. She stands up, puts her right hand behind her back, and pulls the end of the bow that’s holding up her dress at the waist—that’s right, that diabolical bow sitting exactly an inch above the curve of her butt, which has tormented me all evening. With her left hand, she does the same at the back of her neck, undoing the second bow.
“So, Michael,” she whispers as the dress surrenders to gravity and pools on the floor, leaving her naked with the sole exception of her panties. “You’d better get busy.”
“You know, Elisa,” I say, taking her by the waist and pulling her to me. “You shouldn’t provoke me like that.”
“And why is that?”
With my finger I take a dollop of custard from my cup and slide it into the hollow of her breasts. “Because once I start, I don’t intend to stop.” I lick up the sweet trace I’ve drawn on her skin, and she moans.
“I did well,” she replies in a choked voice. “That was exactly my intention.” She takes my finger, still dipped in cream, brings it to her mouth, squeezes it between her lips, and sucks it.
“Are you sure?”
“And when you’re done, I want you to do it all over again,” she takes my face in her hands, touching my lips with hers.
“Darling,” I grab her by the buttocks, lifting her against my pelvis. “You’ll have to beg me to stop.”
We throw ourselves on top of each other, overwhelmed by the explosive mixture of desire and anticipation. Lessing said that the anticipation of pleasure is pleasure itself.
Wrong.
This is pleasure.
It’s having Elisa in my hands.
It’s having her tongue in my mouth.
It’s having her naked body pressed against mine.
But there’s no doubt that it was worth the wait.
“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable, where I can do everything to you I’ve been imagining,” I say, picking her up as she clings to me.
“Do you at least remember where the bedroom is?” she teases me.
“I can get there with my eyes closed.”
I enter the dark room, but removing my hands from Elisa’s hips to find the switch is not my priority. I lay her down on the bed, illuminated only by the blue light of the London night that penetrates the window and ... damn, she looks really good. “My bed has never looked so good as it does with you on it.”
“Yeah, but it would be even better if you were on it too.”
“I’ll undress and join you,” I reply, intent on untying my apron knot.
“No,” she stops me, kneeling in front of me. “Let me undress you.”
Her hands move up and down my chest until they stop on the buttons on my shirt, which she undoes one by one with a disarming slowness. “You’re so hot in your chef’s outfit. You’re the erotic dream I never knew I had.”
“Feel free to share any of your fantasies with me.”
Her hands move to the fly of my trousers, and her touch has a dramatic effect on me: I love it. I love it too much, actually, and my sprinttoward pleasure accelerates vertically—rather literally—so, instead of giving in to her every gesture, I hold myself back.
Once my trousers are off, Elisa hooks the elastic of my boxers and pulls me onto the bed with her. “Now we’re even.”
“Don’t count on it,” I reply, lowering her black panties. “I still have a job to finish.”
