A Story of Romance, Food and Sex
"Island Flavour" a vanilla erotic story by
A.M. Hartnett
I was so intent on my study of the old hand-written recipe book that I didn’t notice Colin coming up behind me, and so when his mouth brushed my neck I jumped.
His big arms went around me and he nuzzled against my hairline with a low growl. “You smell like a million bucks.”
“Three dollars, actually. Well, a combined total of six.” I wriggled my ass against his groin. He was already sporting a half-erection and the friction between us only served to get him harder. Or maybe it was the scent lingering on my skin. Who the hell cared? He was warm and his mouth was soft against the bare slope of my shoulder.
“Smells like …” He nosed my skin and drew a deep breath. “Coconut cream and … key lime.”
“Good nose. The shampoo is lime; the body lotion is coconut.”
“You smell like pie.” His grasp on me cinched a little more. He propped his chin on my shoulder and peered at the book in front of me. “Whatcha making today?”
“Strawberry Grand Marnier jam. We’re almost out of the blueberry peach I made on the weekend.”
“What else?” When I twisted my head and raised both brows, he grinned. “Homemade jam, homemade bread or something like that.”
“Buttermilk biscuits?”
“Mmmm.” He ran his rough hands along my arms and gooseflesh popped.
Colin with rough hands. It was unreal, just as my spending my mornings in the kitchen was unreal. We were city stock, born and bred. We ate out of cans and from the microwave. If we worked up a sweat it was on the treadmill or in bed. I wouldn’t go so far as to say we had been tamed by our time in the country this past month but we had certainly adjusted to the pace.
For months we had weighed the pros and cons of various vacation spots and had settled here, a half an hour outside of Charlottetown in a rented house that we were now giving serious consideration to putting an offer on. Getting fresh lobster straight off of the boat and digging our own clams had done that to us. Morning had once translated to roughly noon but since our arrival we hadn’t missed a sunrise. We drank tea with whole milk instead of coffee. We had built a bonfire and had gone swimming under the stars. We didn’t jog but raced barefoot along the beach. My hair hadn’t seen a flat-iron in a week and he shaved only when I complained. We’d had the best sex of our lives on those rainy days when staying in bed was the only way to keep the chill from seeping to the bone.
Though I had vetoed the idea of making the move permanently—his argument that we both worked out of the home had been trumped by my argument that in the winter we’d have to shovel out—there was no question that we would return, if not here to this house then somewhere else on Prince Edward Island.
His mouth returned to my shoulder, around the Celtic knot tattooed next to my shoulder blade. He ran his hands along my bare arms and plucked at the spaghetti strings of my sundress, tugging it down just enough that the bodice buckled and my tits spilled over the edge. Calloused fingers tugged at my nipples and I hung my head as I moaned.
“Is there anywhere in the house we haven’t fucked?” He wondered more to himself than to me and his thighs nudged me against the counter. He was in those god-awful Bermuda shorts I had laughed at when he first put them on. His cock jutted against my ass.
I leaned forward just a little, tilting my hips so that the bulge fit into the groove between my thighs.
“Not a single inch,” I replied breathlessly and placed my hands over his, not to guide but to follow. Against the exposed white skin his hands shone like bronze.
“Are you sure?”
“Kitchen, bedroom, sunroom, living room, both bathrooms, on the floor, front steps, back steps, picnic table, in the car, on the car, against the car, along the path—”
Little Town Flirts by The Mofo
“All right, all right,” he chuckled and gave my nipples such a sharp tweak I felt it in my toes. “Where then?”
“I like it right here,” I purred and turned in his arms.
His mouth was hot and ready for mine. He slipped his hands beneath the hem of my dress and hooked his thumbs in the waist of my thong. Once divested of my underwear I yanked my skirt up around my waist and rubbed against him, and moaned as the stiff fabric brushed my clit. Impatient fingers tore at my ponytail and my hair spilled like a curtain over my shoulders.
“Good choice,” he growled and bent low to nuzzle between my breasts. “Middle of the day and the kitchen still smells like French toast. I like this.”
He straightened and shoved the front of my dress further south so the entire thing was bunched around my waist. His hands moved over me, every inch rising in gooseflesh beneath the sandpaper texture.
“When was the last time I fucked you half-dressed?”
“Saturday.”
I began my own exploration, covering the expanse of his shoulders and down his arms. After a word with the landlady, he’d been working hard the past few weeks to repair the narrow boardwalk that led to the beach. It showed in the definition and muscle I felt beneath my hands. Traveling lower, I also felt the thickness around his middle. With a chuckle I gave him a pinch.
He scowled. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
I giggled when he squirmed as I gathered a fold of skin away from his ribcage. “I think we need to go back to skim milk and cut down on the pastries. Next time I put on my undies they might disappear up my crack.”
“And your cups runneth over.” He jiggled my tits. “I like how round you’re getting here, and here.” He slipped his hands over my ribs to the swell of my hips.
I reached between us and traced the outline of his cock through his shorts. “I’m pretty satisfied with the amount of growth going on down here.”
I slipped my hand inside the fly and he moaned when I tugged the hot, elastic flesh inside. His mouth came down hard upon mine and he thrust his tongue into my mouth. I marveled at how quickly he had come to overwhelm me and how easily I yielded. I had always been the more aggressive lover but lately he was raging a revolution against me. He wanted to push me and I wanted to push back and then just let him win.
His hands moved to my face and his fingers dimpled my skin as he twisted me into a submissive angle and fucked my mouth. Liquid heat pooled between my legs, slicking the inside of my thighs. The hard edge of the counter-top dug into my lower back as he pressed me against it, a biting reminder of the power play in which we were engaged.
I sucked his tongue, curling my own around it, biting, teasing, and then whimpering when he pulled back. His fingers tangled into the mess of hair he had unleashed and his gray eyes seared me under his study.
“I want you to suck me just like that,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that touched me so intimately my knees almost buckled. “On your knees, until I come in your mouth.”
I closed my hand around his dick and rolled my thumb over the tip as I squeezed down. I could feel the blood pooling in my grasp, filling, throbbing, and I wanted him in my mouth as badly as he did, more than I wanted to feel that thickness thrusting into me with such volatility I thought I would die from the pleasure-pain of it.
The insistent tips of his fingers dug into my scalp. He was waiting.
“Whatever you want, baby,” I whispered and before I slipped to the ground I reached for the jar of raspberry jelly, dragging the glass against the hard, varnished surface of the counter-top as I went down.
His gaze held mine as I settled on my knees and slowly unscrewed the top. His fingers flicked the drawstring and loosened his shorts. He wore nothing beneath. His cock arced upwards when he shoved them to mid-thigh.
I arched a brow. “No tighty-whities? Were you planning on going for a swim?”
“Something like that. Maybe I’m trying to convert you.”
“To?”
“A more spontaneous lifestyle. I’d like to have you walking around all day with nothing on underneath those little dresses you’ve been wearing.” He grasped his cock and worked the length inside his big palm. I remembered how it felt to have those rough fingers inside me, against my g-spot, and I wondered if they felt just as divine running along the pliant skin surrounding his shaft.
I dipped my finger into the red confectionery and slowly, tantalizingly licked it away. Colin’s hands dropped and he stepped towards me. I delved into the pot again and smeared a dollop around the smooth head, and watched his chest still with the first swipe of my tongue. The mixture of sugar and saline was mouth-watering and when not a fleck of ruby jelly remained I did it again, this time coating the underside and licked from the tip to his balls. With a moan I celebrated the violent shudder that erupted when I sucked the volatile space where the shaft met his scrotum.
Again and again I repeated this ritual until half the jar was gone and I was left with the taste of sugary jelly and his tangy juices in my mouth. He collected my hair at the base of my scalp and I set the jar aside and straightened on my knees. Once more I was at his mercy and I loved it, loved how he brushed the hard head along my bottom lip and with an insistent thrust of his narrow hips he filled my mouth.
I placed my hands on the hairy backs of his thighs and took advantage of the momentary release he gave me as he bunched a handful of hair in his fist to draw back. I turned my head to the perfect angle so that when he pushed me forward I was able to take the full length. The tip of my nose tickled in his sandy pubic hair and my nails pricked him.
With a grunt he pulled me back and pushed forward again, and again, and again. He had me wedged between his bare legs and the cupboard. He rocked on the balls of his feet in tune with the rhythm in which he pushed and pulled me against him. I closed my fist around the base of his shaft and slipped my other hand between my legs, working two fingers on either side of my clit. The sounds of his throaty moans were all around me but seemed miles away. Instead I felt the vibrations of every sound he made.
His grip on me tightening, he shuffled forward until his calves were flush with my thighs and I was bent backwards. God, he knew what he was doing to me. Arced back like I was, my clit strained from its sheath.
I used one finger to pull back the skin while the other crooked the underside to the most sensitive bundle of nerves in my entire body. Colin no longer guided me over his cock but worked steadily into my mouth, fucked my mouth, faster and faster until the hard flesh throbbed and he was spurting against the roof. I reached between my sticky thighs and shoved two fingers inside to mimic those final thrusts he always took with the last few spurts against my womb.
His grip on me loosened and he sagged back. I rose, rubbing a fingertip of red jelly over my swollen lips. He licked it away and showed me his tongue when I scooped up another dollop. His tongue curled around the tip of my finger and his lids drooped over his grey eyes at the tart burst on his taste buds.
“Do you have a preference?” He asked after he’d reached behind me for the two remaining bottles.
I made a show of studying the hand-written labels and lifted a shoulder. “Actually, I have something a little more gourmet than that. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”
He shuffled with me to the cupboard and tugged my dress over my hips. The old hinges creaked when I pulled open the door and produced the fancy bottle.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Blueberry and white wine sauce. I was saving the last bottle for homemade ice cream.” I stepped out of the dress pooled at my feet and unscrewed the top, turning to wave it under his nose. His nostrils flared with the first delicious whiff of white wine mingled with ripe berries and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed hard.
“It’s no wonder my flat ass is getting so fat,” he chuckled and took the bottle from me.
Biting back my bubble of laughter I reached around him and squeezed. “If you’re not interested I can always put it back.”
“The hell you will.” He set the bottle on the counter and lifted me off of my feet. I pushed my cherished cookbook out of reach and leaned back on my hands. Colin twisted his mouth, studying. “Where to start, where to start..?”
With a wicked glint in his eye he ran the tip of his finger around the lip of the bottle. I couldn’t keep my hands to myself, scraping my nails down his bare chest and leaning forward to nuzzle my cheek against the rasp of beard that was beginning to curl into a soft pelt, and then I turned my mouth to his. He kissed me softly, inviting, drawing my tongue over his teeth. I cupped the back of his head and thrust deep into his mouth as I twined my legs around his thighs and pulled him against me.
With my eyes squeezed shut I tried to commit every nanosecond to memory. We still had another month here but it wasn’t long enough. When we were back in our condo listening to the growl and beep of morning traffic and all this peace and quiet was behind us for the year I wanted to have this memory come upon me like a fever I could infect him with.
He touched the spot just beneath my ear and traced a sticky trail of sauce to my lips. A low moan started at the pit of my stomach and rattled along my throat while he licked over my cheek. As wet as I had been, the scrape of his teeth along the slope of my neck raised my temperature even higher, and to express my increasing impatience I bent and nipped his shoulder.
With a hiss he jerked back and a wolfish smile plastered across his kiss-bruised mouth. “This stuff is expensive, you know.”
“Like I said, if you want to put it back …”
He tipped the bottle between my breasts and let a thick stream run down to my naval. He bent low and used the entire width of tongue to stop the slow trickle, leaving a daub that he smeared zig-zag with his thumbs across my chest, painting my nipples the rich indigo of the sauce. I propped my feet against his hip bones, curling my polished toes while the sinful swipe of his tongue sent little thrills throughout that pricked the most sensitive parts of my body.
Another insatiable helping and I pushed down on his shoulders as his mouth moved lower, letting the trickle lazily slide along my slit before flicking his tongue against the exposed tip of my clit. I hung my head back and moaned as he circled the puffy hood. I was vaguely aware of the clink of the bottle hitting the floor before I felt his fingers and I looked down, and then I burst out laughing.
Colin raised his brows. “What?”
“Your mouth,” I said with a delirious snort. “It’s blue.”
“What about my tongue?”
I could only nod as his tongue, stained blue, tickled the underside of my clit. I tucked my feet close to my ass and pressed down on my inner thighs. Though I perched precariously at the edge of the counter I was perfectly content, spread wide and ready for the full attention of his mouth and the thick, calloused fingers that were now flexing inside my cunt.
Colin lapped up every sticky drop of sauce and then honed in on my clit, mouthing the hard bud so expertly I was gasping to catch a breath. Two thick fingers, one crossed over the other, thrust to the knuckle and the joints rubbed against my g-spot.
I reached forward, grasping one fistful of hair in one hand and gripping the edge of the countertop with the other as the liquid heat of his mouth on my cunt sent my senses spiraling.
He moaned and the vibration against my clit was phenomenal. My slippery vaginal wall contracted around his fingers and my clit throbbed. I bucked upwards, fingers still taut in his tawny hair and he threw his weight against me. Even through my panting entreaties I could hear the wet sound of his fingers still pistoning my cunt.
I sagged backwards and bit down on my elated smile as his tongue replaced his fingers and he lapped my slit. I was coming down slowly and I knew without looking that he was hard again.
Wherever he chose to take me next he would do it long and slow.
When he straightened I wrapped my arms around his neck and once again I giggled at the blue ring of his mouth before I kissed it.
“That was about three dollars worth of Chardonnay.”
“Worth every penny.” He skimmed his hands along my ribcage, his smile warm and adoring when I dissolved into ticklish giggles. “Strawberry Grand Marnier? Do you suppose it’ll be as good as the raspberry?”
“As far as my cooking skills go I make no promises, but I doubt a single ounce will be wasted.”
Originally published September 2009