In Good Taste

I wondered if she could drink all of it.

Her lips were scarlet red against winter-pale skin. She bent forward
and her tongue stroked the smooth ridge cradled between her cupped
hands. I could see her throat move as she swallowed and I knew her
tongue would be warm, inviting. 

Her pulse beat beneath my fingertips as I caressed. First her
throat, her neck, where the blood hammered a promise under her skin. 
Then, down, between her breasts as she held still - oh, so still -
between my spread legs. 

Peppermint.  Chocolate.  Mingled scents wafted from her hands, from
her marvelous lips as I followed my fingers with my own lips, down
her skin, tasting the salt and the sugar.  Sweet and bitter.  Dark. 
Over the softness of her belly, blowing tickling breaths over hair
and skin, tongue reaching, searching the moisture and heat and scent
that was her.

She couldn't.  She couldn't drink it all.  She drew one shuddering
breath and set aside the mug, dark chocolate and peppermint, as I
kissed the beating pulse in her thigh.

~