I have always loved chocolate. It's probably my favorite food ever. I'm fairly sure that I could happily exist on nothing but chocolate, for weeks. I'd probably die young, but I'd die happy.
Steven had figured this out early on in our relationship; I'd had chocolate cheese cake at dinner one evening, and just about had an orgasm in the restaurant while slowly savouring each bite. It had been a constant source of teasing since then; he would wonder out loud whether I was a chocosexual. I, of course, would hit him every time, and he'd laugh.
Tonight it worked well for me, however; after taking our dishes from supper into the kitchen, he brought out what had to be the world's most brilliant dessert. Melted, warm chocolate in a bowl with fruit to dip in it - a fondue. If you've never had chocolate fondue, you're missing out.
There are these amazing little fondue sets you can buy, they have a little bowl heated by a candle, and several tiny little forks. The intention is that you stab the fruit, dip it into the chocolate, and then eat it quickly without dripping on yourself.
As much as I loved fondue, I was terribly lacking in talent eating it. I had once described eating chocolate fondue to Steven, explaining how I ended up with more chocolate on my clothes than in my mouth. He mocked me, asking if I had licked the chocolate off my clothes when I got home. That earned him a nasty look, let me tell you.
So tonight, instead of handing me a little fork and letting me get chocolate all over myself, Steven informed me he would be 'helping' me to eat. I raised an eyebrow.
"Helping?"
"Yep." He continued to arrange things on the coffee table, and then placed a cushion on the floor beside me on the couch.
"Helping how, Steven?" He ignored me, and knelt on the cushion.
"I have a dare for you, Sarah." I narrowed my eyes, suddenly suspicious of what he had planned.
"Oh?"
"I dare you to sit with your hands in your lap, and let me do what I have planned. I'll bet you a bar of this expensive fondue chocolate that you can't just hold still."
"Hmm. I'm pretty sure I know where this is going. But for one of those expensive bars of fondue chocolate, I'll bite, I guess."
Steven proceeded to feed me, slowly and sensually. The wine was completely forgotten. He would delicately stab each piece of fruit, and coat it in the creamy, warm chocolate. Then, spinning the fork expertly to keep the chocolate from dripping, he would raise it to my mouth. The taste was, as you would expect, heavenly. Better than heavenly, really.
Without even thinking about it, I would close my eyes to block out my visual senses, allowing me to better concentrate on the fabulous blend of chocolate and sweet fruit. The strawberries were my favourite.
On the third or fourth piece of fruit that Steven softly placed against my lips, he managed to dribble a line of chocolate down my chin.
Giggling, I started to reach my hand up to wipe it away.
"Who's the clumsy one now?" I grinned.
Steven leaned over me and grabbed my wrist, pinning it down on the couch.
"You moved," he grumbled. "Now just hold still. I told you; you aren't allowed to help. Let me get it."
With that, he leaned forward, and ever so softly planted his lips on my chin. He first kissed it, and then I felt his warm, wet tongue poke out slightly, and he slowly licked the chocolate off the tip of my chin. He followed the chocolate trail with his lips and tongue, lightly nibbling and kissing each millimetre as he cleaned it. By the time he reached the last of the chocolate, just on the border of my lower lip, I was squirming slightly in my seat, wanting to feel his lips pressed against mine. He obliged, his mouth tasting like chocolate, his tongue playfully snaking out to touch mine, his lips warm and inviting. I lost myself for a few minutes in his kiss, my purpose here at his house being pushed into the back of my mind by the tiny shocks of pleasure running down my spine from his soft caresses.
We kissed for what seemed like forever, the fruit and chocolate forgotten. But through the haze of desire, the guilt inside me rose. I was not making this easier on myself, or on Steven. I tried to pull away, but it took a minute before we could untangle ourselves and speak. I opened my mouth to say something, but Steven put his finger to my lips before I could start.
"Sarah." It wasn't a question. I nodded anyway. "It's obvious there's something you've wanted to talk about all evening. I have this feeling I'm not going to like what you have to say. If it was something good, you would have been bubbling over by now." I opened my mouth to protest, but Steven's firm finger over my lips prevented me.
"I don't want to talk about it. Not tonight. Whatever you have to say, it can wait 'til morning. I'm not taking you home tonight - I'll not have you home, alone, unable to walk. You're sleeping here. I have lots of extra room, and I promise to be a gentleman. Tonight, I just want to be with you, watch some movies, and relax. Can we do that? Please?"
I looked into his eyes, and couldn't say no. Practicality only gets me so far; what could one more evening hurt? I tried to think of it as our last night together, a last chance to spend time with him before I would have to say goodbye. I relented, and nodded again.
"Okay. Now that's settled, what do you want to watch?"
Steven had me scoot over on the couch, and he settled behind me, moving so that his leg was between me and the couch, and my back was up against his chest. I had both legs up on the couch, occasionally shifting my frozen peas around my swollen ankle. I removed the peas for an hour after each twenty minutes of ice, like a good doctor should. He wrapped one arm around me, and I rested my head on his shoulder.
