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When Mel mentioned she had a strained relationship with food, Frank took it as a personal challenge. Every Friday after work he'd invite her over to his apartment and prepare a feast just for her.
It made her feel bad, all that food going to waste on her. But he assured her it wasn’t, that he would turn her into a foodie in no time.
As was to be expected, after five months of regular dinners together, she still wasn't a foodie. Unexpectedly, though, she had become fascinated by his cooking abilities. Shamefully, she had also become captivated by his eating habits.
Frank had always been expressive, excessively so at times —he said it was the Italian blood on his mother's side. But when they ate together, under the dim lights above his kitchen table, with the low murmur of an old-fashioned, slow song drifting through the apartment, he seemed to forget the world.
He'd tear into the focaccia with his fingers before dipping it into the red Bolognese sauce, moaning softly as the bread hit his tongue. He'd throw his head back, exposing the long line of his neck, after licking the cream of the tiramisu from his spoon. It made Mel blush, to say the least.
To say the most, it made her pulse race and her whole body ache.
It was shameful and weird how much she wanted to eat directly from his mouth. To feel the gravelly hum that escaped him after the third bite of panna cotta vibrating through her as she bit at the tip of his tongue. To make his palm slam against the cold kitchen counter, the same way it had after he'd tasted the five-chocolate brownies, while she licked melted chocolate from his bicep.
It all blew up in her face when he tasted the peach mousse she'd brought—the only thing she knew how to prepare—and moaned. She echoed the sound.
The solo guitar playing somewhere in the apartment suddenly sounded deafening. Time froze. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unreadable, until his gaze dropped to her untouched plate and then slowly climbed back to her face.
Her blush deepened. Without breaking eye contact, he scooped a bit of cream onto his fingertip and licked it clean. Her jaw dropped and another sound escaped her throat. His smile turned into a smirk.
He repeated the motion, but this time he smeared it on his bottom lip and chin.
“Want some?” he asked, not a trace of teasing in his tone.
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Even the word made her squirm, the ugliness clinging to its two-syllables, judgement dripping off the six letters. It was too clinical.
Because their relationship was anything but cold. It was warm, tender—and Mel had never felt so loved. After decades of sitting in the shadows, putting everyone first, burning both ends of the candle, it was nice to have someone take care of her.
Frank whispered praises into her skin as he pushed inside of her. “Sweetheart, baby, my clever, perfect girl.” She wanted to tattoo the words, match the ink to the color of the bruises trailing down her thighs and across her breasts.
Mel had never understood why someone would get entangled with a married person. But, then Frank started packing larger lunches, tailoring his meals to Mel’s preferences. Reducing the amount of fish, adding extra servings of ripe watermelon, and hiding her favorite protein bars in her locker. His attention to the smallest details left her head spinning.
The first time they slept together, Frank pressed her hips into the bed, gentle fingers at odds with the harsh pressure. But, what had Mel gasping was the bite of his wedding band against her skin. It dug into the muscle, the pinch sending her floating out of her body.
In a daze, she heard a high-pitched whine escape her throat as she begged for more, begged him “harder, pleasepleaseplease.”
Frank lavished kisses into the fresh bruises, apologies falling quietly off his tongue in the afterglow.
“Don’t,” Mel murmured, tugging lightly on his hair. Frank immediately pushed himself up, tucking her in his arms. “I have no regrets about that—I loved every second.”
He hummed, a note of hesitation in his voice, “even all the marks? I didn’t mean to get so…caveman on you. I just…”
She found his hand, tracing the gold band slowly. It was still so loose on his finger, spinning easily against the digit. Mel’s voice was shy, but steady, “I loved all of it.”
Even the word made her squirm, the ugliness clinging to its two-syllables, judgement dripping off the six letters. It was too clinical.
Because their relationship was anything but cold. It was warm, tender—and Mel had never felt so loved. After decades of sitting in the shadows, putting everyone first, burning both ends of the candle, it was nice to have someone take care of her.
Frank whispered praises into her skin as he pushed inside of her. “Sweetheart, baby, my clever, perfect girl.” She wanted to tattoo the words, match the ink to the color of the bruises trailing down her thighs and across her breasts.
Mel had never understood why someone would get entangled with a married person. But, then Frank started packing larger lunches, tailoring his meals to Mel’s preferences. Reducing the amount of fish, adding extra servings of ripe watermelon, and hiding her favorite protein bars in her locker. His attention to the smallest details left her head spinning.
The first time they slept together, Frank pressed her hips into the bed, gentle fingers at odds with the harsh pressure. But, what had Mel gasping was the bite of his wedding band against her skin. It dug into the muscle, the pinch sending her floating out of her body.
In a daze, she heard a high-pitched whine escape her throat as she begged for more, begged him “harder, pleasepleaseplease.”
Frank lavished kisses into the fresh bruises, apologies falling quietly off his tongue in the afterglow.
“Don’t,” Mel murmured, tugging lightly on his hair. Frank immediately pushed himself up, tucking her in his arms. “I have no regrets about that—I loved every second.”
He hummed, a note of hesitation in his voice, “even all the marks? I didn’t mean to get so…caveman on you. I just…”
She found his hand, tracing the gold band slowly. It was still so loose on his finger, spinning easily against the digit. Mel’s voice was shy, but steady, “I loved all of it.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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