Hmm… should I put a warning on this? I think I’ll call it “Iffy.”
“To be a healthy young woman, you need to eat more fruit,” he said as he placed on the kitchen table before me a peach and a bowl of blueberries.
When our relationship was new, he explained that he wanted to wait until at least the third month before we slept together. He enjoyed the anticipation, he told me on our first date. The concept was new to me, but so far I had to agree. Now, with the second becoming the third month, we both felt the rising tension.
He wished to take care of me. Feeding me seemed a little extreme, but I decided to go along with it. He hadn’t lead me astray yet, after all.
Turning his chair around, he straddled it, sitting at the end of the table, to my right.
“Are you hungry?” He raised his eyebrows and I took in his smile, the roughness of his five o’clock shadow, his lean body all the way down to his belt, below which I could only imagine.
“Famished.” I clasped my hands together in my lap, not wanting to look down but hoping my shirt was unbuttoned enough at the collar to tempt him with a little cleavage.
He picked up a single small blueberry and held it to my lips. I opened my mouth but he didn’t let go of the fruit. Instead, he twirled it between his thumb and forefinger.
“I want to put it on your tongue,” he said. “Don’t bite it.”
I allowed him to place it in my mouth.
“Press it against your palate with your tongue … move it around … resist the temptation to eat it.”
I moved the little nub of fruit around inside my mouth as I was instructed. It was firm and round and I couldn’t … I shifted it with my tongue to my molars and gently closed them until the blueberry exploded in a tiny burst of bitterness.
I blushed. “Sorry,” I said.
“We’ll try again,” he said, patiently. The one he brought to my lips next was larger. Softer. I knew it would be sweeter and more difficult to resist. The skin of it was wrinkled and on my tongue it felt malleable. This time when I pressed it against the roof of my mouth it gushed, yielding easily to the pressure.
“You really are hungry, aren’t you?” He smiled at me and shifted in his chair to ease his discomfort. “Let’s try the peach then, shall we?”
He held it out to me and I took it. Its scent was as ripe and luscious as it looked.
“Bite it,” he commanded, his eyes half-lidded. “Open wide and …”
My teeth penetrated the delicate skin of the fruit, and the juice cascaded past my lips in a great wash of fluid. I tilted my head back to guzzle as much of it as I could but some of it dribbled down my chin as the flesh of the peach made contact with my tongue. I took as much down my throat as I could handle, but the excess dripped from the edge of my lower lip. I felt it drop and then trickle down between my breasts and I moaned.
Licking his own lips in sympathy, or perhaps it was lust, he stared at me, hard.
“Do you want some?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he whispered, hoarsely.