Champagne Tongues

Short Story (Erotic Romance)

I love how intentionally he says my name caressing each syllable with the familiarity of someone who knows the quiet corners of my spirit.

I am glad he cannot see me blush. My cheeks are sore and I admit I am plump with anticipation.

There is not much cleaning to do, thankfully. I take fresh fruit from the fridge. Rinse blueberries, cherries, and strawberries and leave them to air dry. On the marble charcuterie board, I place each bit of meat, cheese, and fruit down with intense focus. I am distracting myself from the anxious anticipation of his body next to mine. If I think too hard about tonight I will shatter into pieces of pleasure.

The cleavage would be overkill on anyone else but I think he will appreciate it. There is a reverence for the space on my chest, beneath my chin, along my collarbone. He said, “I like what I worship to be visible.” Who am I to deny the worshipper his wants? The heels would be overkill for anyone else but I love how my calf looks oiled up, in dim lights, taut like it is begging to be kissed.

I take the wine out of the fridge and stand it next to its glasses just in time to hear the knock at the door. I open it to his handsome face and a bottle of fine champagne in his hand. There is no need for words. He pulls me in with his free hand pauses and places his lips on mine. I let him. I fall into the tenderness of his lips as his dark amber scent wraps around me.

“Can that be our hello every time?”

He chuckles valley deep and smiles. “For you, anything.”

He takes his shoes off and follows me into the kitchen. We sit on the high chairs. He pours me champagne. I tell him about my day mostly about the weird guy at the gym and my annoying ass coworker who is passive-aggressive. He listens rubbing his thumb across the back of my neck. The tender trail he traces makes it hard to focus. The champagne doesn’t help either.

I take his chin into my hand.

“So, how was your day?”

“Good, about to get better.”

I raise my eyebrow, and he leans, sweeping me away with his scent again. I close the distance pressing my lips onto his. He sticks his tongue coated with champagne into my mouth. He finds his way to the base of my body. He traces the contour of my calf with his thumb, then his lips. He works his way up and spends what feels like eons on the tender flesh above my knees. It is mostly the anticipation of what comes next making time stretch like spandex around thick backside.

He has found his way to the inside of my thigh and the moan slips out before I register it had even formed. He stops, looks me in the eye, smirks, and continues his wicked work.  Of course, I find myself on the floor, champagne poured into my mouth with the same sweet intentionality he uses when saying my name. And there’s his tongue again champagne-flavored; a tidal wave of hunger. I try to focus on the cold marble against my back instead of the building pressure deep in my belly.

I let him worship me—head bent in devotion to my pleasure. I am the space collapsing before the universe existed. I am building density, marble cooling, every pore expanding, collapsing into myself—outward—a thousand explosions of matter being worshipped. I say his name the only way a tongue coated with champagne and a mouth full of pleasure can. I hope he receives it that way.

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Read some of my other pieces here:

1. Rejecting the Gift
2. The Everything Thief
3. How To Pray With Your Lover's Body
4. BlueWhaleWater
5. Ennoui's Hunger