A Taste Of The Forbidden Fruit (Part II)

“Do you like wine, love?”, Paul mumbled succintly and teasingly in her ear in a deep, gentle voice that educed an aristocratic tender masculinity.

“Pardon me?” Esther replied, confused and beguiled; quite oblivious of where the conversation was going, but so conscious of her large bust brushing against his broad chest in that moment. She felt a tingling sensation down there. Esther drew a quick breath to regain her composure.

“Have you ever tasted red French wine?” He simpered again, crookedly.

“Er..I suppose, yes”, she answered huskily, obviously not wanting to disturb the strange, thrilling atmosphere between them.

A long speech on the world’s best French wines ensued.

“French wines are one of the choicest wines available on the market. Especially those made from Shiraz from France’s Rhone Valley. A red French wine, darling, is bright to look at, it is noble in character and it feels intense, concentrated, deep..It possesses elegance.”

“I see…” Esther responded, while she continued to stare in this charming stranger’s eyes, delving in the profundity of his thoughts to figure out what he was really talking about; for nothing, categorically nothing, but him, made sense to her.

“You are like French wine, my dear. Young, yet so ripe. Bold, yet so supple. Sparkling, yet so balanced. You’re so beautiful.”

At that point, Paul got goosebumps. Something inside him shuddered. His arms slipped to her waist and tightened around her. Then he drew her closer. Her fragrance was just as commanding as she was-smelling a mixture of sweet jasmine and salted vanilla. He gazed down at those slumberous eyes and parted bee-stung lips in the dim light. Esther reflexly knew this tempting inveigler was in control. Hitherto, he was.

“That if I kissed you..” She waited, but he never finished the sentence. Her eyes closed, and she softened in his arms.

He leaned in and brushed his raw lips across hers, testing the delicate skin, absorbing the heat. He amended next, playfully, pausing, puckering, nibbling on her moist lips for a single heartbeat. This roused Esther because at that instant, she desperately needed more-she needed him, wild and consuming. Now this was torture.

Just when he touched her lower lip with his tongue, Paul felt his penis stiffen as it pressed against her. Then he opened his mouth again, angled his head, captured her full lips and sealed them together in a fusion of heat and pent-up passion. She instinctively came up on her toes, and he settled his arm more firmly around her tiny waist, pulling her vehemently against his tension-filled body. His fingers tangled in her hair as he kissed her longer, harder, deeper. She thrust her tongue inside his mouth and explored every secret corner. In a matter of seconds, they were soul-kissing voraciously; completely in sync with each other. For that short lascivious period of time, there was no beginning. There was no end. Only one thing mattered in the universe. That kiss.

“Give me your tongue”, breathed Esther, suggestively when they slightly parted for air. And she started sucking on his tongue gently, in and out of her mouth as she cupped his chiseled face with both hands and he squeezed her peachy bottom.

The kiss went on-occasionally changing from light and frisky to unyielding and serious. Paul swore his damsel not only looked like French wine, but she tasted like one too; and that his thirst would never be satiated for an eternity. He kissed her neck. She tipped her head back and gave him free access, biting down her lower lip. He spread his legs, pulling her tight into the vee. His fingertips-strong, calloused and erotic tightened on her sore nipples; and shock waves ricocheted between her thighs. It was so good. So incredibly, unbelievably good.

They wanted each other. Naked. As one energy. But good things seldom last long. Realization dawned. Esther instantly pulled away. Without thinking, she ran as fast as her feet could carry her, into the unknown, but at least in her mind she was going far away from this man.

Hunger knows no moral.
Lust knows no boundary.
Basic instincts drive us into animals.
And animals know no sin. 

Esther seemed to pacify her obstinate heart, trying hard to forget the face of that stranger. Alas! He was no stranger. Paul was her soulmate. And she just lost her soulmate.

(The End)

*Image borrowed from Google

A Taste Of The Forbidden Fruit (Part I)

Evening lulled the reticient sun into sinking lower in the sky. Paul, who was already jaded after the mindless commotions of the party was too content to finally heave a sigh of relief as he hurriedly set off to take a peaceful riverside amble, barefoot on the cold, soft grass. The air was damp. He felt as free and alive as he could ever remember. Paul was really enjoying his much needed vacations on the island.

As he sauntered leisurely down the lane, mentally planning some upcoming trips, his visionary artistic flair did not miss the vague silhouette he noticed in front of him. Picked by curiosity, he approached further in its direction only to discover that it was actually the silhouette of a woman. A rather gorgeous woman. Paul, who was now just a few yards away from her could exclusively see her back. Pity! Dressed in a casual ankle-length white dress on which there lay many specks of beautiful black stars; the woman was leaning far over the wooden fence, facing the river. The dress was perfect. It hugged her hourglass figure marvellously, accentuating her narrow waistline and exquisitely round-shaped arse. A shiver of arousal ran through him as he kinkily imagined feeling the tauntness of those fine cheeks on him. Her body spelt of summer holidays, which all the more convinced his unfailing intuition she was a native.

No French mistress could compare to thy erstwhile beauty, mine Lady,
Lucky must be that she’r fabric f’r it caresses thy exotic skin incony.

Bless’d be the stars f’r they beholdeth thy sight,
I beseech thou to stayeth still, Oh Night.

Thee liketh the sweet f’rbidden fruit,
The m’re we art denied, the m’re we desire absolute.

But then, what is the ruleth f’r forbidden fruits?

He murmured, as he gazed in admiration at her attractive frame. Little did Paul realise that the whispers of his racing heart would echo into the placid stillness of the place. Slowly, she turned to face him. Their eyes met.

Paul momentarily sucked in a breath because she looked utterly…not quite beautiful, since the term implied a set of criteria which needed to be filled and her looks were much too distinctive for that. But she had a definite head-turning quality that was almost difficult to define. Stunning, perhaps? And irresistible too. Bottomless. Divine. Esther was an ideally volumptuous made-up woman with big, lustful eyes, brows that were beautifully contoured and arched and with a long pointed nose. But that mouth and those lips? Made for kissing and for oral sex. Her long, wavy, black glorious hair complemented her flawless fair skin complexion. She wore no jewellery, no make-up-as if any was even needed for this youthful Venus surely brought up on nothing stronger than milk and honey. His gaze subconsciously shifted to her generous bosom, but he quickly blinked his way back to her eyes. Esther was perfection, yet intimidation. She exuded a whimsical air of mystery that somehow made her more alluring.

Paul gallantly advanced closer to her, and she felt her full breasts tighten for a split second beneath the garments she wore. Esther was already being serenadated by this tall, magnetic debonair gentleman. He was styled in a plain navy blue long-sleeved shirt that was carefully tucked up to his elbows with a pair of dark, tailored slim-fit trousers. To complete the effortless fashion ensemble, he wore a luxurious watch which immediately made her think of those foreign brands- something like Bvlgari, Cartier or Tiffany & Co. The stoically built, lean man seemed more than twice her age with the pensive look on his handsome face, those golden soulful eyes that furtively probed every part of her body and with that soft deceptively charming smirk on his inviting lips. Paul had a few strands of silver hair, atypically evocative of wisdom, sophistication and confidence. It sent shivers down her spine just meditating on how powerful this man’s calm presence could be. She blushed a thousand shades of crimson. This was bad, but in such a good way.

(To be continued…)

*Image borrowed from Google

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