Sheridan had been suspicious from the moment she heard David's voice on the other end of the phone. "I'm coming over in fifteen minutes. Don't ask questions, don't argue. Trust me," he'd said. Worse still, he had used that damned devilish tone of his which, in the past, had caused her to make several poor decisions, none of which she regretted.
Now, she was standing in shock at her front door. He wasn't holding flowers, but instead, three full grocery bags. He brushed past her with just a quick peck on the cheek and was into the kitchen before she could find the breath to say hello.
"I'm making dinner for you," he announced. "On two conditions: one, you open that bottle of cabernet in the bag over there and pour us both glasses. Two, you do the dishes afterwards."
She tried to hide her amazement and recover some poise. "Well, I don't know... it depends on what you're making," she teased back. She pulled the cork with practiced ease and poured two glasses. Then, she announced with as imperious a tone as she could manage, "I'm going upstairs to dress. When I return, you shall serve dinner, Jeeves."
Sheridan stood in her bedroom and thought about the situation. She knew he was up to something and she needed to plan her counterattack. First, she showered quickly, concerned he might show up in the bathroom and try to circumvent dinner. He didn't. Next, she pulled out her best bra and matching panties. The bra fit her like her own skin and enhanced - just enough - her cleavage. Then, she slipped into a soft floral print dress that displayed that cleavage like grapes on a vine. Finally came the coup de grace, her own body lotion mix. Besides its intoxicating scent, it also tasted like strawberries. She smoothed some on her wrists, neck and breasts, then down her stomach and between her thighs. "That guy won't be able to focus on anything but me," she smirked to herself. "He's toast." She strolled down the stairs barefoot, revealing herself slowly to him.
"You're stunning!" David exclaimed as she descended the stairs.
"I'm hungry," she replied trying to be aloof. Still, in spite of herself, she blushed at his enthusiasm. The flush warmed her cheeks and her upper chest glowed with a subtle redness.
He moved toward her and began to circle his arm around her waist, breathing her in.
"We could skip dinner," he whispered, his voice husky and playful.
"Oh, no you don't!" She wriggled away, laughing through a smug grin. "You made a promise and I'm still hungry." She was surprised he didn't look disappointed. Instead, his look seemed mischievous, almost...evil, she thought.
"Well, we'll start with a small salad. Then, we'll move on to marinated lamb, new potatoes, and asparagus. More wine?" He filled her glass without waiting for a reply.
"Not bad...for a man," she remarked, trying to be testy. "But, what about dessert? And don't say that I'M dessert. I want ALL the courses."
"Of course there's dessert. Strawberries and cream!"
Dinner was a complete liquefaction of the senses for them both. She tasted the sight of his strong hands along with the spices in the lamb. Her voice inspired the wine for him and the dessert seduced him. And though they sparred like matched foils throughout the conversation, neither one really remembering what was said.
By the time they had shared the last strawberry, Sheridan had abandoned her first idea of making out in the living room. She wanted him in her bed. Immediately. She wanted to feel his hands maul her, his lips taste her, his weight crush her. And she wanted his cock inside her. She stood, took his hand in one fluid motion, and pulled him toward the stairs.
But, much to her surprise, he resisted. "You have work to do, young lady. The dishes, remember?" he chided.
"They'll wait. Now, I want you." There was no feigned haughtiness in her voice any longer.
"Oh, no, Miss Sheridan. Work before play. You promised, my dear." There was that grin again. David tugged her over to the sink, turned on the water, and squirted in green detergent, piling in dishes, glasses and silverware.
Sheridan's lust was draining fast. She felt rejected, frustrated, and just plain pissed off. This was not going according to her plan. She grabbed a sponge and attacked a dish, banging it loudly into the drying rack. "When this is over...", she groused to herself. She still planned on tasting his cock, but now she planned to use her teeth.
With the sound of the clanking dish, David was behind her in a flash. He pressed his chest into her shoulders, trapping her buttocks against the counter with his hips. He put his arms around her and grasped her hands.
"Gently, gently! Take your time," he commanded softly in her ear, his warm breath lifting the hair on her neck and sending a delicious shiver down her spine, much to her annoyance. He guided her hands around a wine glass. "First, follow the stem. Feel the body. Cleanse every curve, enjoy every inch, and let the warm water wash every crease." He guided her hands and kept whispering. "Then, move inside. Thrust all the way in and let yourself swirl with the foam and water until you've been attentive to every fold. Only then withdraw. Rinse her cleanly and dry her softly."
"Yeah, I get it. Very funny, Casanova. You're not helping. I want to get this done and move on to other things."
