The aroma of prime rib and sautéed vegetables permeates the apartment. I draw in a lungful of the intoxicating scent. Amy promised me a grand meal, but I can’t wait to find out what her “special surprise” is. Although we’ve been serious about one another for the last four months, I adore Amy and she never ceases to amaze me.
I finger the small, square jewelry box in the pocket of my suit jacket. Is it too soon to propose? My stomach clenches with worry. Amy means everything to me. I can’t imagine my life without her.
“Jack,” she calls from the bedroom. “Are you ready for my surprise, honey?”
“We haven’t had our supper yet,” I reply loudly. Oh, brilliant response, knucklehead. That ranks right up there with farting during sex. Amy is probably cussing me this very instant.
Laughter filters into the dining room. “This is part of supper, silly.”
I blow out a big sigh of relief. Upsetting Amy is the last thing I want to do. She’s such an amazing person. Not only is she intelligent, witty, and warm, she’s a buxom and voluptuous woman with curves that would make a serpent beg for mercy.
“Okay, babe,” I say. “I’m game.”
“Cool! You’re going to love this.” Silence. A soft rustling floats into the dining room, followed by, “Ready?”
The gentle padding of footsteps on carpet reaches me. Next, the click of what I assume are high heels fills the tiled back hall. Amy emerges, and my mouth drops open.
Oh. What. A. Beautiful. Woman.
I can’t help it. One look at Amy in pink ankle boots with clear, five-inch heels, sheer mesh boy shorts with ruffles, also in soft pink, and a pale pink Le Mystere Carina bra sends white-hot need through my body. The light speed of Captain Kirk’s Enterprise has nothing on the desire whizzing down behind the zipper of my slacks.
“Jack?” says Amy. “Are you okay, honey?”
“Jack?” This time the note of worry and disappointment in her voice forces me to blink and gulp as I gather my scattered wits.
“You—you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Amy,” I manage, my heart racing so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t shatter against my ribs.
“Oh, you’re such a sweetheart,” she coos. “I’m so lucky to have met you.” Amy sashays toward me, her ample hips swaying, heavy, ripe breasts straining against the bra, her chic boots clasping her shapely calves.
Yeah, I admit it. I’m smitten. Amy is the epitome of lusciousness—my own little Mae West right down to her pale blonde hair.
The most glorious smile graces her smooth, angelic face. “You’re too good to me, Jack.”
I act on the moment and withdraw the two-carat diamond ring from my pocket. Flipping the box open and holding it out to Amy, I ask, “Will you marry me?”
“I should wear sexy lingerie more often,” she jokes, but I still detect the awe in her voice. “The ring is amazing.” Her eyes shimmer with wetness.
“Amy?” Worry hits me square in the gut.
Giggling, she replies, “Yes, I’ll marry you.” She wraps her arms around me, hugging, kisses my lips, and then lowers one hand to my crotch. She cups the growing bulge there, and I suck in a desirous breath.
Although I want her, relief surges through my heart like a bird just given its freedom. “I love you.” “Come show me how much, lover.” Amy turns, walking back toward the bedroom, hips swaying in a silent invitation. “Supper will be another thirty minutes, so we have time for a quick romp.”
“Can I put the ring on your finger?”
She waits for me, and with shaking hands, I slip the sparkling gem on her finger.
Amy starts toward the bedroom again.
“Babe?” I say.
She glances over one round, bare shoulder and says in her best Mae West imitation, “If you come to my bedroom, big boy, I’ll let you put something inside me too.”
My cock twitches in anticipation, and, heart thundering in excitement, I follow her into the gold and pale blue bedroom. She slides the boy shorts down over her round hips. Once they fall to her ankles, she kicks them off. Kneeling on the bed, Amy crawls toward the headboard like a prowling cat. Saliva floods my mouth at the sight of her creamy, round ass, and a vision of me thrusting into her tight sleeve doggy style flashes through my mind. Amy stops, rolls onto her back, then, with her knees up, plants the heels of her sexy boots against the comforter, her thighs spread wide for my viewing.
The hard-on behind my zipper begins to hurt. Oh, how I want to fuck my fiancée. My cock throbs harder as I approach the bed and unzip my pants, but first I have to taste her.
Not only is the outfit a surprise, but I’m thrilled to discover she’s had a Brazilian done to her pussy. I settle between her legs, and nestle my face against her warm, satiny folds, her scent soft, musky.
“Oh!” she gasps and threads her fingers into my hair.
Sliding my hands along either side of her hips, I grip them and pull her tighter to my face. Amy murmurs her delight, the sound throaty and full of desire. With my tongue, I flick the little pink nub that always gives her such pleasure. It’s like a soft candy that only I get to sample, and as I lick and suckle there, Amy begins wiggling, her fingers tugging on my hair, hips thrusting, pushing her cunt upward so I have better access.
Within moments, Amy stiffens. She sucks in a breath, followed by a squeal of rapture that nearly makes me come too. I smile against her moist folds, licking her juices as she cries out more. She trembles, thighs quivering as her climax ripples through her.
I’m so lucky. Amy is my lover and the core of my heart. I have a rubenesque woman who’s smart, witty, and fun. One who met me tonight dressed in a fantastic outfit that led to before-dinner delights—so what more could a man ask for?
About the author: Azura Ice writes several subgenres of romance, which includes but is not limited to het, ménage, m/m and can be set in contemporary times or even in a far away world or another dimension. Azura’s muse leads her by the hand, and her fingers do the light-speed typing. http://ablueice.wordpress.com