Olive Juice- A Cath/Sara Drabble
Tart, tangy, bittersweet. The juice that runs down my throat is salt and vinegar, a succulent retreat, better than the finest of wines. Made all the more tantalizing, of course, by her long, manicured fingers, dipped in the liquid heaven that trails down my lips as I suck the smooth, moist skin of her thumb and forefinger. One by one, she feeds me the soft, pearlescent ebony and emerald delicacies, sometimes with her hands, other times with her mouth, her full, enticing lips surrounding the precious cargo, begging me to steal it with a flick of my eager tongue.
I lie on a soft mattress, surrounded by silken pillows and lush comforters, entranced by her deep sapphire eyes framed by long, dark lashes. I find myself unable to look away from her alluring gaze, intensely focused on my wide, chocolate eyes, and her hair, spun gold ringlets falling across her flushed face, brushing her high cheekbones. I can feel her hot breath against my shoulder, exposed by the thin straps of the violet babydoll I'm wearing. She's in nothing, save for a scarlet bra that plunges down her slightly blush- colored chest.
My breath catches as her fingers enter my mouth, smothered again in the savory ecstasy, tickling my tongue and lips. She smiles. "Nervous?" she asks teasingly.
I nod. "A little."
She laughs, the sound throaty and sexy, looking to her left before returning her gaze to me. Her expression is soft as she whispers, "Don't be."
I nod, and she reaches into the glass jar again, pulling out my weakness. "Go on," she says, holding the food like a precious gem to my lips.
I tip my head back and she drops the treat into my mouth. I almost moan.
I could get used to this.