Sally (6 page)

He brought out the
Prosciutto S. Daniele
which he had rolled around
grissini
.

Shall I lick at it and suck at it suggestively?

Hold off a while, Sally. You don't want to be too obvious.

Ultimately, it was far too delicious to do anything to but eat and enjoy.

Richard stared at her, held her gaze for a groin-stirring moment and then dropped his eyes to her mouth.

Just look at that crumb nestling in the corner of her lips. A peony mouth, just like Hardy's Tess. Don't realize it's there, Sally, let me linger on it a while longer. I have to have that crumb, your mouth.

He leant forward, driven by the desire to lick the crumb, but Sally's tongue beat him by a split second. He'd lost the crumb but was awarded a tantalizing taste of her tongue tip. Her eyes spoke of the wry smile her lips wore but which he could not see, so close was he to her face. Unfortunately, it was not a pose he could hold comfortably indefinitely, propped as he was on his elbows and precariously close to the jug of vinaigrette. He sat back and saw how Sally's wry smile was not confined to her lips but covered her whole face. It raised her cheekbones, it caused delicate lines around her eyes, it dimpled her chin just very slightly.

I want to suck your chin.

‘Delicious.'

Giving himself a dignified minute in which to let his erection melt away, he rose to fetch the next dish. A warm salad of rocket and baby spinach with roasted red peppers and individual goat cheeses. Richard offered to dress it for Sally. She watched him whisk the vinaigrette and liked the way that such a simple task was possible only with great effort from the ligaments and tendons of his wrist – she wanted to place a finger over them lightly as they twitched and sprang. She thought how lovely Richard's wrist was, slender and tanned and sporting a most beautiful watch (Cartier). She had never paid attention to a wrist before.

Sally ate delicately, folding the leaves securely over her fork and cutting each slither of pepper into careful pieces. She could not risk splash-back tonight – for the sake of both Richard's libido and her new silk shirt.

Richard finished before Sally. He watched. She stared back, eating all the while.

The skill of it! Every forkful placed perfectly in the centre of your perfect mouth without looking! Can I kiss you yet? When?

The plate was now bare but there was still a film of vinaigrette left. It was such a beautiful dressing, why shouldn't Sally run her finger round her plate? After all,
waste not, want not
. And, after all, it stirred Richard's groin again, not that Sally was aware of it.

The main course consisted of a bed of
pappardelle
woven throughout with
porcini
and chicken, and suffused with garlic, basil, sage and the ubiquitous olive oil. That it was extra virgin and cold pressed goes without saying, we know Richard now. Sally had never had
porcini
before and was at first baffled as to whether they were meat or vegetable, so savoury was the taste, so firm the texture.

I must buy some of these.

Sally, they cost Richard twelve pounds.

The whole was a perfect partnership and created a lovely warm aromatic cloud in the mouth.

Thank God we're both having garlic
, thought Sally, anticipating post-dinner sport. The pasta, broader than
tagliatelle
, was much more fork-friendly, preventing dribbles of sauce to the chin, or stray pieces hanging regrettably from the corner of the mouth (much to the chagrin of Richard's tongue).

The olive oil gave Sally's lips a gloss, too tantalizing for Richard to sit and merely observe. The vinaigrette jug was now off the table, the bread basket was on the floor. The scene had set itself for Richard; there was space for him to lean across, there were the sides of the table to hold for stability. Assertively he swiped Sally's mouth with his tongue. Her lips tasted of dressing, her mouth of Sally. Richard's tongue tasted of passion. Sally was buzzing between her legs, her bosom was heaving cinematically. She was ready to leave the meal for a banquet of sex.

No. Wait. Not yet. Keep it going, keep him just there. Let him stay a while hovering on the brink of being crazed and senseless with desire. Pull away. Smile as sweetly as you can and take a coy sip of that lovely Bardolino.

‘Cheese?' Richard croaked.

‘Please,' Sally purred.

Just two cheeses, complementing each other and the food that had gone before and that was to follow; the oozing, subtle
Taleggio
and spicier
Pecorino
accompanied by further slithers of Rosa Gambini's
ciabatta
, flatter yet with so much more spring and taste than the dull supermarket counterfeits. Richard had cleverly judged the servings and though they were both thoroughly satisfied, an all-important space still existed in their stomachs.

Undoubtedly, the
pièce de résistance
was the pudding.
Tiramisù
, of course. Another first for Sally. Richard had bought a complete dish from Rosa, just under a foot square, and Sally was soon fantasizing about diving into the centre of it and eating her way to the surface. Remembering his first taste of
tiramisù
, that it was not merely a delicious flavour but a sensation, an unforgettable experience too, Richard decided to halt his spoon midway to his portion so he could observe Sally's reaction.

As she spooned into it, she thought how beautiful it looked. The dark matt brown of the cocoa powder, the soft ivory of the
marscapone
, the glistening sponge, speckled through with espresso coffee.

I think I'm probably going to enjoy this very much. It could be dangerous!

As the spoon neared her mouth, a wisp of scent seduced her nose. Coffee-booze-chocolate. She looked across at Richard, waiting in anticipation. She smiled, giving a fleeting twitch of eyebrow. Still holding his gaze, she slowly pushed the loaded spoon into her mouth. It was like a trigger, a chemical reaction: her eyes snapped shut and simultaneously Richard grinned broadly. The first thing to accost her was the bitterness of the cocoa, thick and dry against the roof of her mouth. In an instant, the cool fluff of
marscapone
filtered through, wetting the powder which metamorphosed into a subtle and heavenly chocolaty sludge. The texture and taste were heady and incomparable. Then the marsala and rum, sodden in the sponge, broke through and created a warmth that trickled down into her chest. Finally, a kick from the espresso forced her eyes open and her head to shake slowly in astonishment. It was the signal for Richard to have his spoonful. For Sally,
tiramisù
was more than a ‘pick me up', she was literally stoned on the stuff.

An orgasm versus a first taste of
tiramisù
. A tough choice if ever there was one! Both, please!

Later, Sally, later. There's still one more thing for you to try.

After Sally's second helping (Richard was delighted – he could not abide the Abstemious Woman), he poured her a full and very chilled glass of Beaumes de Venise. Again he watched. First Sally cleaned her teeth with her tongue, searching for any hidden cocoa. Somewhat dismayed, she found nothing. She raised the glass, now aesthetically bloomed with condensation, and took note of the golden blush colour and the sweet, floral smell. Bouquet, Sally, bouquet. She took a sip. It was liquid silk. It was cold, clean and exquisite. If ambrosia is
tiramisù
, and she suspected it very probably was, then Beaumes de Venise was nectar. The food, the drink of the gods.

Sally's eyes wore a glazed expression. She looked across to Richard who looked soft and mellow under the wine and the dimmed lights. She was having a thoroughly good time. Never had she been so overwhelmed by such different taste sensations. Never had she simply enjoyed food so much. Now she knew for sure that aphrodisiacs existed.

Clever boy, Richard, you've seduced her with food, she's now ready, waiting and willing for part two of the evening's schedule. Physical pleasure.

Up you get, walk across and stand behind her chair. Scoop her hair up into a pony tail, tilt her head back slightly. Release her hair and let your hands fall on to her neck. It's delicate, you notice how vulnerable it feels, encircled entirely by your overlapping hands. Venture down and let your finger tips rest on her collar bone. Stroke that soft dip at her throat. Take one hand away and palm back the hair from her forehead. Gaze into those eyes, keep the gaze and move your other hand from her neck down across the silk of her shirt. You are between her breasts now. Find her left breast, cup it, press it, squeeze it. Let your hand lie soft, feeling her pip-like nipple in your palm. The touch of silk, the warmth and firmness of the flesh beneath.

Pull her to her feet and grasp her close to you. Keep the one hand holding her neck, put the other into the small of her back and pull her tightly against you. Press yourself against her; feel yourself hard, straining. Move your leg across and push her legs slightly apart. Now she too had something to push against. Lower your hand and feel her buttocks tense, you remember perfectly what they look like.

A gorgeous peach of an arse.

To feel its curve under velvet is as alluring as a breast under silk. But flesh itself is better. Her flesh is what you want.

Kiss her. Don't open your mouth, just press your lips against hers. Her tongue fleets at your lips. You respond. As the kisses become longer and deeper, you both push and grind your groins against each other. You feel like eating her. Nibbling at her lips does not suffice. Push her mouth open wide, as wide as it will go and probe as deep as you can. Feel her search back. Feel her run her tongue over the inside of your teeth. Bite her. Feel her simultaneously flinch yet move even closer and more insistently against you. Bite her again and feel her bite back. You are aware that her hand is starting to travel down. Away from your earlobe, down, down.

Lower, Sally, lower. Find me hard, rub your hand against me. Trace the shape of me. No don't take your hand away. Don't pull away from my lips. I want you. Where have you gone?

The CD had long stopped but the silence was loaded. Richard and Sally stood there, panting, mouths reddened, feet apart, a foot apart. Sally reached out and pulled Richard towards her by grasping the front of his trousers. Again they ate-kissed. Again they separated. Again at her instigation. He stepped towards her and she stepped back. He stepped towards her and again she retreated. The two were tangoing. Then he was ready. He took two steps forward to her one back and had her again, close to him, squeezing her waist with one arm, the other enmeshed in her hair. She gasped as her hair snagged around his fingers. She tried to tug away but he simply tightened his grip. To hear her breath, rasping, sent him into a fast frenzy of desire. He held her at arms' length as she tried to approach. Now he pushed her away.

Once more they stared, like matador and bull. Slowly he came to her and slid his hand up her skirt. It was tight but she helped by standing on her tiptoes. He wriggled upwards, effortlessly, to bullseye position. Sally lowered her heels back down. He could feel how moist she was under her panties and, with his thumb and third finger, tweaked and pressed superlatively.

Spot on, Richard.

Still they stared relentlessly into each other's eyes while Richard's skilful fingers set to work.

Look at her face, glazed eyes as if she does not see me though she looks right at me. Let me rub you right there. Let me go a little further. Look at your eyelids flicker. Look at your head tilt slightly back exposing your neck which I must graze with my teeth. Let me undo your blouse.

Deftly, Richard unbuttoned just enough of Sally's blouse to expose an exquisite breast. He ceased movement with his other hand though Sally pushed herself against it eagerly.

Look at me, Richard. Never have you desired a woman so much as you yearn for me this very moment. Feel me, move your hand from my arm but don't leave my gaze. Feel the breast that you've released from its shield of olive silk. Feel it. Yes, just like that. Increase the pressure. Again. Oh.

Richard introduced his finger tips and twisted Sally's nipple gently. He felt her move against his other hand and he made his fingers there come suddenly alive. Probing, twisting, rubbing. He looked at Sally's face. Her head was now involuntarily thrown backwards and to one side; it enticed him to suck at her neck, to fondle her breast firmly, to increase the speed of his fingers below. He felt her rocking her pelvis faster and faster. A surge of moistness. She let out a noise midway between a yelp and a gasp and brought her head back straight, once again meeting his eye directly. They stared into each other as they both felt the pulsations ebb away and stop. After a moment's stillness, Richard probed again, stroking with dexterous mastery. The throbs returned, less defined but certainly there. Sally's face had begun to soften. Her eyelids closed more frequently and for longer. Her head dropped slightly. To both of them, her body seemed to be melting.

Richard drew Sally towards him and cradled her carefully, holding her still and steady and close for minutes. Her head was buried against his chest, her shoulders were slumped, her exposed breast was now blushed, the nipple soft and puffy. She stayed against him feeling safe with the smell of him; sweat and pheromones filling her nose, his taste still in her mouth. He kissed the top of her head. She looked up and kissed him on the lips while he kept them motionless. With a hand on her shoulder and another around her waist, he led her to his bedroom and, on the bed with the fresh, crisp linen, he made slow and languid love to her.

W
as it a chip in the paintwork or was it a spider?

Sally had been staring at the small, dark mark on the ceiling, trying to make up her mind. In that state of reverie, when eyes are young and focusing is lazy, she had been sure, alternately, that it was the one and then the other. Now that her eyes were awake and functioning she decided that it must be a mark or a dent.