What Love Tastes Like. Zuri Day

later, Nick and Tiffany were on their way back to the hotel. The air between them was charged, full of unspoken desire and restrained expectation. The spell in the restaurant had been broken, or at the very least temporarily interrupted, and reality now accompanied the cool night breeze that caressed their faces. Nick tried to forget about the drops of caramel that even now he believed clung to Tiffany’s skin. Tiffany tried to block the images of sucking and licking. They both had very good reasons, solid, practical reasons why the flirtation that began in the restaurant could go no further. Except for the barest of small talk, they traveled to the hotel in silence, a quiet that continued as they entered the elevator and rode to their floor. I’ll just say good night and go to my room, Tiffany determined. I’ll suggest coffee for a nightcap and then go straight to bed, Nick decided. These thoughts lasted until they walked into the penthouse and closed the door behind them. And then they were in each other’s arms.

      The first kiss was turbulent, mirroring their emotions, their tongues dueling, swirling, as hands explored and caressed. The heat was palpable, undeniable, pushing them both toward the inevitable conclusion. Except it can’t be, the logical side of Tiffany’s brain prodded. But something else was prodding her, something long, thick and hard—burning like a branding iron against her stomach. Tiffany moaned, deep and low, pressing herself deeper into Nick’s arms.

      “Are you all right?” Nick whispered against her ear, his breath hot and moist.

      “No,” Tiffany whispered back.

      “What’s the matter?” Nick said as he ground himself into her, sure he knew the answer and had the cure.

      But once again, Tiffany surprised him. “My feet hurt.”

      7

      Nick’s deep, throaty laughter spilled into Tiffany’s mouth. It was Tiffany’s turn to use humor to try and defuse the intoxicating mood. The effect was at least partly as she’d expected. Nick stopped kissing her. But he didn’t let her go. Instead, after a deep hug, he picked up Tiffany as if she were weightless.

      “What are you doing?”

      “Isn’t it obvious? I’m sweeping you off your feet, brown sugar…”

      “Really, Nick, I can walk—”

      “Not on aching feet.”

      Tiffany was relieved when instead of the bedroom where she thought they were headed, Nick walked over and gently laid her down on the sofa. He knelt by her feet and gingerly removed first one heel, and then the next. “I love these sandals. You have great taste.”

      “Thanks,” Tiffany said, after a hesitation in which she decided to leave out the fact that the choice he loved had been her best friend’s, not hers. She was certain Joy would forgive her this omission.

      Nick massaged each foot for a moment before standing abruptly. “Wait here. Don’t move.”

      Tiffany allowed her head to sink into one of the velvet-covered sofa pillows, the alcohol still providing its own blanket of warmth. The liquor and the heat Nick generated provided an all-encompassing fire, so much so that the idea of getting buck naked and enjoying the balcony breeze held much appeal. Tiffany quickly banished the thought. She may have been tipsy, but shreds of common sense remained.

      The soft sounds of smooth jazz seeped into the room, much like the caramel had earlier seeped down Tiffany’s cleavage. Unlike many of her peers who ate and breathed hip-hop alone, Tiffany also loved jazz. She smiled and closed her eyes, settling deeper into the sofa, letting the velvet caress her. The saxophone bubbled, like the champagne had earlier, and the guitar licks melted into her eardrum, like the veal had in her mouth. Just as she began to enjoy this auditory feast, a hot, wet towel was wrapped around each of her feet.

      “Don’t move,” Nick once again commanded.

      Tiffany simply nodded, as something else besides her towel-wrapped feet became hot and wet.

      Nick forced his mind still as he walked back to his bedroom, quickly undressed, pulled a couple of condoms from the box he always carried with him, and placed them within easy reach on the nightstand beside the bed. He pulled on a pair of black silk pajama bottoms, refusing to think about his previous declaration of “woman” and “complication” being synonymous. He was grown, and so was Tiffany. They both wanted the same thing, and for Nick, the four months since he’d broken up with Angelica and gone without sex had been entirely too long. For him, casual flings were not an option. The last one he’d had, with an independent contractor for one of his projects, had turned into a sexual harassment lawsuit when he’d said no to a more permanent arrangement. To avoid a long, drawn-out, and public court battle, he’d offered her a settlement, which she accepted. He’d learned from experience that sleeping with a female one barely knew could be costly. But you barely know Tiffany. Nick’s lower head answered his upper one. No, but I’m about to! He reached for the avocado body butter he used instead of lotion and fled the bedroom and his cautioning thoughts.

      The vision that greeted him as he turned the corner stopped Nick in his tracks. Tiffany had fallen asleep, and in doing so had turned on her side and pulled her knees to her chest. The jersey dress had ridden up, exposing an expanse of creamy skin and emphasizing the ample amount of buttocks the fabric caressed. Nick’s member twitched its appreciation and moved Nick to action. He strolled over to the sofa, much like a panther ready to pounce. He gently lifted Tiffany’s feet, sat down, and placed them in his lap. He quickly unwrapped the cooled towels and dropped them beside the sofa. Next, he picked up the jar of body butter, but before he unscrewed the top, he couldn’t help but to satisfy a curiosity. He ran light, sure fingers across Tiffany’s skin, and closed his eyes at the confirmation. Soft…like this butter. That question answered, Nick placed a small amount of the deliciously scented concoction into his palm, rubbed his palms together, and began slowly, gently massaging Tiffany’s feet.

      “Umm,” Tiffany moaned. She turned onto her back without waking up. The dress rode higher, barely covering her treasure. Something sparkly winked at him from between her legs. Nick forced his breathing to stay slow and even. After all, he reasoned, he had all night to savor this dish, which he was sure would be the tastiest of all the ones he’d eaten that day. He worked on Tiffany deliberately as she continued to doze. After massaging her toes, feet, and calves, Nick decided it was time for Tiffany to wake up and fully enjoy his ministrations. He smiled, remembering events from earlier in the evening, as he lifted her foot toward his mouth and placed a perfectly pedicured big toe between his lips. He began to suck it, his stiff tongue teasing the skin in between her toes. Tiffany squirmed and moaned again. And then her eyes flew open.

      “What…Nick?” She tried to sit up.

      “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart, just lie back, relax, and let me enjoy this second round of dessert.”

      Tiffany wanted to argue, but there was something about the way he was sucking her toes while running a firm hand up and down her legs that rendered her speechless. Of their own accord, her legs fell open, a fact Nick quickly noticed and upon which he capitalized.

      Placing a knee on the couch while keeping his other leg planted firmly on the floor, Nick placed his hands around Tiffany’s hips and slid the dress upward. The material was soft, as he’d imagined, but not as soft as Tiffany. Another mystery was solved as a gold thong—and not a pussy on fire—was the spark peeking out from Tiffany’s dress. I think it’s about time for me to fan the flame, Nick thought as he pushed Tiffany’s knees farther apart and lowered his head to her paradise. Without preamble, and without warning, he dove in.

      Tiffany’s intake of breath was sharp and prolonged. Her entire body tensed at the unexpected yet delicious assault. She was fully awake now, and fully feeling. And she’d never felt anything like this before; a tongue so stiff and so skilled that her first orgasm was immediate, even though Nick licked her through her panties. The intensity of the feeling shocked her, but before she could contemplate what was happening, Nick moved aside the satiny fabric and slithered his tongue between her moist folds. Slowly, methodically, he lapped her nectar, alternately nipping and blowing to heighten the