B. P. Manning

 

Morsels For The Palate

 

She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be penetrated. The sweet, blissful fire that such filling ignited, or how such dulcet surge heated the very balls of your toes. Her hips rolled greedily to his in a test of will, as if retrieving the memory of something that had suffered the spoils of neglect, though, in its minute facets, was well missed. She hugged him deep inside, purring affably on his slow retreat.

His groan answered the melodic hum lifting from her throat, and the dexterity of his hands was unsteady as he caressed her breasts. Her embrace grew bolder with the fervor they built, gluttonous in the sustenance of her drive. She squeezed him tighter each time that she moved. Michael’s body replied more ravenous with each climb, each movement more lyrical than the first. Indulging the mellifluous dips, he basted her body in a sweetness that was wild. From both inside and out, she trembled with the potency of her unconstrained appetite, not knowing whether the feed or the feeding drew her hunger more.

 

“You moved.” Michael rumbled as she reentered to the room, his voice sounding deeper than she remembered from just the hours before. Stretching his long body, his smile was openly welcoming. The blanket tentatively shifted with the infer of such exert at hand, almost falling clear from its place, it cleave tauntingly to his pelvic instead.

“I’m sorry.” Julia smiled, adjusting the towel around her breasts, she modestly shifted her stance. Grateful she had at least remembered to brush her teeth——irrespective of the fact that her fingers were the implement used to achieve such task——the task nonetheless was done. Except for the previously offered robe, she had no means of clothing herself, not even a toothbrush to remove the musty stench of sleep. Since her bag was still tucked away safely in her car or so she hoped. “I thought a shower might be a refreshing treat.” Julia quipped, eyeing the crumpled robe on the sitting-room floor. “Even an artist needs a new canvas here and there.” She smiled, her eyes playful as she watched him roll from the bed, the act unfurling with a simple fluid-like stab. Michael held the blanket loosely to his front, heedless of the opposing end. It dragged like a beauteous tail at his back. With his eyes now trained to her face, his advance was not dissimilar to the picture she held in her head of a prowling lion. A beautiful glow of mixed colors shifted avidly across her skin, as if searching for a new port of attack, his smile then widened as if acquiring such goal.

“I guess I’d better get the brush elutriated then.” Michael murmured in a raspy tone, giving her a last hungering look. He stepped past her to the room recently vacated by her. “By the way, whose turn are we up to now?”

 

As if waiting in awe on his return, the air grew cautiously still, and the gentle hiss of water, as it hastened from the pipes, suddenly stopped. The bathroom door creaked before long, and Michael strode out wrapped in a vision of white, the stark color resting low on the breadth of his hips. A soft mist trailed his sumptuous physique like a cloud, haloing the crest of that room. It dimmed as he advanced further into the vastness of the other space.

Stopping only inches from her breasts, Michael gifted her, a slow, seductive smile. The effects of which were instantaneously fluxing, and a low purr welled in the back of her throat on just the radiance itself. Short, dark strands seemed almost black, worn slicked against his skull. It accentuated the stateliness of his looks, and again a purr pulsed from deep inside the gulch of her body. A gathering bead of moisture dripped from his still wet locks, swiftly riding the arc of his chest, in what reared wholly, like a taunt. And she could neither fathom nor reason her sudden bout of envy towards a simple droplet of hydrant. Wanting badly to lick the intrusion off his chest herself, she stifled the inkling with an indiscernible groan, letting her eyes smother the floor instead in her struggle.

“Hungry?” Michael quizzed through a coarse drawl, as if reading her thoughts, his breath stroked the wavy strands of her hair.

“The thought of eating did cross my mind.” She remarked tamely.

“And what is it you see when eating comes to mind?” he asked in a warm breath, his gravelly tone softening with the dual review, stroking her fingers in a most sensual display. He smiled. “There’s food, and then there’s...”

“Preferably something I can masticate.” Julia assured with a tame grin, liking the sensations wading through her from his hand.