Cupids Arrow 6

Anna winds her way home along the crowded sidewalk, enjoying the weather that isn't rain. At this time of year, people rejoice at un-rain. Still, the crowd on this side of the street is awfully thick compared to the other side of the street, even if general humanity is taking advantage of the warmth filtering through the grey.

And she smells it just as she reaches the epicenter of the crowd: the most heavenly chocolate-cherry smell she has every smelt. It smells gooey, and it smells sinful. And they are giving out samples. She grins in spite of herself, and waits patiently for a few moments before giving up and shoving into the crowd around the tray. She's both pleased and disappointed that the most delicious bakery in the world appears to be opening up just down the street from her apartment. Pleased because it's just down the street from her apartment, and disappointed because... well, it's within two minute's walking distance of her apartment.

The gooey chocolatey morsel, arrowhead in shape with a ruffled toothpick shaft, is still warm through the paper wrapping as she plucks it from the tray. Her eyes almost roll back in her head at the next delicious whiff.

"New bakery, Cupid's Arrow. Just opening." The sample-holder is a tiny man, almost childlike in size and feature, with a shock of bright red hair. His eyes sweep the crowd that has gathered, and he grins. "Nice name." Anna smiles down at him. "Happy Valentine's Day."

And then she bites into the chocolate thing, and her eyes do roll back in her head. A man reaches from behind to take a sample from the tray, and a jolt of heat burns straight through her when his shoulder accidentally bumps hers. She moans.

"Jesus, that's some good chocolate." She manages a little laugh when she turns and meets the eyes of the man behind her. Her face feels flushed.

The man smiles a little, polite behind his scarf, and Anna can't keep her eyes off his broad shoulders. They flex as he pops his own chocolate morsel into his mouth. Even the brush of her thighs does strange things to her insides as she turns and walks away.

She hasn't made it more than ten feet before fingers are digging hard into her arm and spinning her. She only catches a glimpse of broad shoulders before a mouth slants down hard across hers and her knees melt out from under her. She throws her arm around the man's neck -- the man with the scarf and the broad shoulders -- for support, and slides her tongue between his lips. His mouth is hot; his tongue tastes like chocolate and cherries. He hefts her against him with a hand under her ass, flicks her tongue with his, thrusts into her mouth. Anna grinds her hips against his erection, and he drags his mouth from hers with a gasp.

"Holy shit." The words come out gravelly. He sucks in a breath. "Where do you live?"

Anna drags her fingers through his hair, pulls him down for a kiss. Into his mouth she says, "Close."

He nips her bottom lip. "Me too. How close?"

"Two buildings." She rotates her hips again, again. "You?"

"Three buildings. Your place." He kisses her from her mouth across her cheek, and when she tips her head, he runs his tongue across her jaw. "I'd carry you, but that'd take too long."

Anna's eyes go blurry at the edges. "We'll run for it."

The man grabs her hand, and as she spins to face forward, she catches a glimpse of a guy in a suit jacket bare-assed facing a wall, and a pair of high heels on either side of his waist.

They dash the last yards to the front door of her building, and she yanks it open. She leads him up the stairwell and through the first door; her apartment is at the far end of the hallway and Anna is afraid that the need will literally cripple her before they make it inside.

When she pauses at her door, rummaging through her purse with fingers that don't feel, the man flicks open the top button of her jeans and plunges his hand between her panties and her skin. She moans as his fingertips cover the length of her pussy. Her own fingertips close around her key, but she nearly drops it again when his middle finger delves inside her. She fumbles with the key.

"I can just fuck you here in the hallway," he offers, and the fact that she doesn't have a problem with it makes her focus all her concentration on sliding the key into the lock. Another jolt of need flies through her as the key sinks to its hilt in the door.

"Come on, come on—" Anna stumbles into the foyer, his hand deep in her jeans. He kicks the door shut behind them, and pulls her into the half-visible kitchen by her cunt. Every step, every motion of her legs, her hips, grinds his palm against her. Her zipper works itself down.

He opens her fridge with his free hand. She has a vague memory of some anti-Valentine's party as he lays hands on whipped cream and chocolate sauce, front and center. He tosses them onto the counter. Just as the door starts to swing shut, she catches a glint in his eye and he snatches a plastic-wrapped roll of cookie dough at the end of its six-hour chill. Anna is confused for the briefest moment before his intention hits her with enough force that she nearly comes. Her body convulses around his fingertips.

He extracts his hand just enough to yank her jeans from around her hips; they slide to the floor and click against the tile. He pops the buttons on his own jeans, and Anna grabs the chocolate sauce more by memory than sight. She pulls his boxers to the floor, and leaves them crumpled around his ankles. His cock strains towards her, nearly as thick as her wrist, and she captures the tip in her mouth. He hisses out a curse. She sucks hard, licks from tip to base, and base back to tip; she uncaps the chocolate sauce and drizzles a thick line along the top of his cock. His whole body shudders when the cold meets the heat of his skin, and Anna looks up at him. Their eyes lock for the first time since they met over the sample tray. The memory joggles a little in her brain, but she ignores it, and holds his gaze as she takes his cock into her mouth once more. She fists one hand around the base, jacking him off while she lathes the head with her tongue. She smears the fingers of her other hand in the chocolate and saliva. He shouts as she squeezes his balls; shouts again as she extends her middle finger to rub against his ass. He fists his hands in her hair, holding her captive as he thrusts deep in her throat. She gags a little, but moves her fist faster. There is surprise in his voice as he grinds out, "Fuck—I'm coming already—"

The taste of chocolate and cum fills her mouth, and she's so wet she's almost dripping. Even as she swallows he pulls her up by the hair. He's still rock-hard, and his cock pokes into her stomach. The corners of his mouth tip up in a little grin. "Glad that's out of the way."

He reaches out for the can of whipped cream, and knocks it to the floor with a clatter. He shakes his head, unbuttons her jacket, and tosses it away. Anna is already on her tiptoes unwinding his scarf as he unbuttons her shirt, and reaches behind her to unclasp her bra. She shrugs them both off her arms and he drops to his knees on the tile and scoops the can of whipped cream back up. He shakes it with one hand, thumbs her clit with the other, and uncaps it with his teeth. He circles both of her nipples with a line of white fluff, and they peak immediately on contact. He is tall enough that his mouth is almost directly in line with them. He licks the cream off, flicking her nipples with his tongue, and circles them with cream again. He doesn't swallow this time, just keeps it on his tongue so that when he buries his face in her pussy the cream fluffs cool around her clit. Anna nearly screams; and when the slips two fingers deep inside her she does.

He fingers that spot deep inside her, sucks her clit, and she comes too, quick and violent. Liquid drips down his fingers and he keeps sucking. She convulses around his hand and he groans, the sound humming along his tongue and straight to the core of her.

He grins against her skin, nips her clit, draws a line up her stomach with the whipped cream and follows it with his tongue. She catches his cock in her hand and smoothes more chocolate sauce over the head. Both their breaths come harsh. He takes her mouth in a rough kiss; plunges his tongue between her lips over and over.

She moans, and he almost tosses her towards the counter. Her hand slips off his cock to catch herself, and just as suddenly he has three fingers inside her, cool against her heat.

"Bend for me, bend so I can see that pretty pink pussy—"

She bends without question straight from the waist, her palms on the countertop and her honey hair hanging loose almost to the floor. He makes a humming noise of approval, and slaps her ass with one sticky hand. He runs his palms along her sides.

Without warning, he slams himself inside of her, straight to the hilt, and she moans. His cock fills her beyond full, but she's more than wet enough to take it. He finds his rhythm, withdrawing to the tip and then plunging deep inside her again. An orgasm is building and building; all the nerve ending in her body burn.

"You're so fucking tight—" He makes a harsh noise in his throat, and grinds out, "Tell me to fuck you harder."

"God, yes, harder, fuck me harder—" Her voice bounces with her tits on every thrust, and he amps up the speed. Her orgasm builds and builds, fireworks in her veins, but just as she is on the edge of coming, he pulls out and stays out. Anna cries out in protest, and he slaps her ass again.

"What the hell's this?" He grinds out, and then slaps her ass again with something long and cold.

"Valentine's cookies," she almost manages, her voice slipping into a moan as something thick and cold and hard lances into her. "Holy fuck."

"Damn right." He angles the roll of dough down slightly, and Anna presses herself back to meet it, over and over. The cold sends shivers through her body and down her spine, and they meet the heat pooling in her belly, and a fever fills her. Her nipples scrape against the tile countertop, and the scarf man spits into his hand. His fingers slide slick down the crack of her ass, and she cries out, pushing against his fingers and against the makeshift dildo locked tight in her pussy.

"Harder, harder, please—"

"Jesus," he groans, and she hears him spit again. His fingers lift away for two seconds, three, and then the head of his cock is pressing against her ass. With a single thrust, matching the thrust of the dough, he presses his cock inside her again. She moans, long and low and ending in a scream.

With his free hand he reaches around her and twists a nipple in his fingers; he withdraws slightly and then slides balls-deep again, and again, and all Anna can see is stars. The man shouts suddenly and buries himself as deep in her ass as he can, and all the building stars burst into a scream. She claws at the countertop as she comes, and the man squeezes her breasts tight in both hands. Vaguely, she hears the cookie dough thud against the floor.

The man is breathing "fuck, fuck" in tiny exhalations against her ear, holding her tight to him. Exhaustion rolls upon her just as suddenly as the whole thing had begun, and then her knees can't quite hold her anymore. His knees either, apparently, because they begin a slow slide to the floor.

When Emma opens her eyes, the kitchen is almost fully dark. Every breath smells like sex and chocolate. In the gleam from the streetlight outside, she can see the man leaning back against a cupboard, his legs splayed out in front of him. He is watching her out of the corner of his eye.

When her brain finally strings all the jumbles and flashes of memory in order, she covers her face with her fingers and turns her head. "What happened?"

"Not sure," he murmurs, and shakes his head. He makes no move to get up. "Clearly this isn't..."

"Normal," she finishes for him, and he laughs a little.

The sound dies away into a long silence. Finally he says, "My name's Brian."

"Anna."

A truck rumbles by in the street below, and on the floor below a door slams shut. Her eyes have mostly adjusted to the darkness. Her stomach rumbles, loud enough to echo against the tile.

"Well, Anna. You sound hungry."

"A little." She pauses, breathes deep. "You?"

"A lot. All I've had since lunch was that... sample." The bemusement in his eyes makes his assumption clear.

"You think... it was the chocolate?" She shifts, and rises to her feet with the help of the countertop. Her breasts swing, naked, and she blushes so hard her whole body flushes. "It must have been."

"Yeah." He rises to his feet as well, keeping at arm's length from her. A shadow flicks across his face. "You, uh... live here alone?"

Anna nods. Nothing can happen now that hasn't already. "You?"

"Single." The shadow on his face turns into a small smile. He reaches out and takes her chin in his fingers, so lightly it tickles. When she glances up at him, he presses a soft kiss to her lips.

"Then allow me to say 'Happy Valentine's Day', Miss Anna."

She has to try twice before the words actually come out, but finally they do. "Happy Valentine's Day."

The next morning, when they walk down to the chocolate shop, the storefront is as empty as it ever was.