“You know what they say,” I murmur against the soft skin of her inner thigh, nibbling her there with some force, listening to her moans and gasps, taking my cues from all the things she isn’t saying.
She moans when I nip hard enough to leave a mark, momentarily distracted by her soft skin, before finishing my thought.
“A chef’s best friend is a sharp knife.”
Lexi’s barely had time to register the words before my hand emerges, gripped around the handle of old faithful, my Moritaka AS Gyuto.
Fear enters her eyes for just a flash, until she sees how I’m holding it. Edge of the blade up, spine down.
Which lets me trace her skin with the tip, across her hip, below my hand that’s still gripping the flesh of her belly, and over her mound.
“Wilder,” she calls out in warning, voice vibrating.
“Ah ah,” I cluck my tongue. “We’re in the kitchen. What’s my name in here?”
Lexi swallows heavily. “Chef.”
“That’s right.”
Gentle as I’d be with a priceless cut from a rare source, I run the tip of the knife down her open thigh, leaving the faintest white line in its wake.
It’s enough to send a chill through her system, and I take pleasure in watching her shiver in front of me, spread open on my workstation like this, thighs stretched wide enough for my shoulders to keep them open while I work.
The blade dances up her thigh, back toward the heat of her center, and her eyes stay trained to its every move, her hands steadying her upper body so she can watch, fixated there.
Her legs tremble beneath my touch, and while the adrenaline might do good things for her pending orgasm, fear isn’t my kink.
“Relax,bella.”
Those hazelnut eyes narrow on me, her breaths coming heavy.
I tsk. “You think I’d chance hurting you? Not a chance I’ll risk this perfect pussy.”
Twisting the handle of the knife in my grasp, I lay the flat of the blade against her folds and drag it across her flesh, watching what it does to her.
Lexi curses, a shaky breath leaving her, and I bite down on my smirk.
Pulling the knife to the side, I dive back in, taking another long lick of her.
I can hear her groan, even muffled by the press of her thighs around me, and when I pull back, her head is thrown against the shelf, tossing from side to side, wild hair shaking around her.
“Best thing I’ve tasted on the line, yet,” I confirm.
“Fuck off,” she says through short breaths that are closer to gasps.
“I mean it. I knew you’d be spicy. There’s umami there, something almost earthy in your taste. You’re complex on the palate, Lexi. Intoxicating. Addictive.”
I take another taste, taking my time, and not being clean about it. Core, clit, lips, I lick it all, sampling her, as the flat of the knife presses into her thigh.
“Just a touch of bitter, balanced out by that sweetness that’s almost—” My head dives down again for a refresh. “—floral.”
She moans, deep and low, and I don’t stop, tonguing her again and again, completing my analysis.
Layer upon layer of flavor, with different notes that resonate on the front and back of the palate. The flavor progression hits all the right spots.
A burst of something tangy and even floral on the attack.
That umami musk that’s allherlingers on the mid-palate, deepening the longer I taste her, with a finish that’s satisfyingly sweet.
