Another delicious bit of erotica by Olivia London. Eat up!
For two decades Moira had been a food maven, owning two catering outfits, a bar and a party events store. It was easy to focus on her career as she never could get the hang of dating. She hailed from a large brood, the youngest of four girls. Moira’s sisters had all married their high school sweethearts and appeared willing to stay married forever. How do people do that? she often wondered. Her least acrimonious relationship, with a scion from a family of olive oil importers, had lasted six whole months before devolving into something dryer than a Bordeaux Sauvignon Blanc.
6 a.m. Despite all those years of pulling fourteen to sixteen hour days, the raven-haired beauty never could sleep in. And now here she was with a twenty-something in her bed whose idea of a perfect day was to laze till noon, work on vague entrepreneurial concerns and maybe catch a matinee before it was time to go to the hotel where he tended bar.
They had clicked from the start. Their time together was effortless as each shared a passion for making the world a better place and learning new things. When they celebrated their first year anniversary Eric said he had something important he wanted to say.
Moira’s heart beat wildly as she held her lover’s hand over plates of bruschetta and mozzarella cheese. She thought for sure he was going to break up with her.
Instead, he looked into her warm brown eyes and said, “There’s nothing I can imagine wanting more than spending the rest of my life with you.”
Eric had some unconventional methods for making his way in the world. When people saw the couple together they wrongly pegged Moira for a sugar mama. After all, she was a woman of mature years and he was a vaguely employed young paragon of rippling maleness.
Let people think what they want, Moira mused as she woke her lover for morning fellatio. She must have done something right to have attracted such a fine catch. (Luckily, she always stopped herself short of saying such a fine young man.)
Having worked with so much food in her life, Moira naturally associated blow jobs with sustenance. Gazing hungrily at Eric’s cock, she smiled as she thought of all the levant sandwiches she had lovingly jelly-rolled with various fillings and cream cheese before wrapping them tightly with plastic wrap.
“What are you smirking about, gorgeous?” Eric always started their day with words of endearment, something Moira quickly got used to.
“I just want to eat you up,” she said while sliding down his buff but tender torso. She licked the delicate tawny hairs covering his abdomen and groin. She loved how his cock sprung to meet her lips for a kiss.
She took him into her mouth with full devotion, leaving no part of his erection unloved. She could have sucked him all day and still been wet for more. She thrilled to the way her lips plumped to the rising tide of cock down her throat. She relived their best sex when she went down on him.
Sometimes–on mornings such as this–Eric would surprise Moira by flipping her on her back and devouring what had rightfully become his. She loved the way he fastened his lips to her nipples and wouldn’t let go until she raked her fingers along his scalp and ferried his attentions elsewhere.
Eric was the first lover to go down on her for more than a perfunctory length of time. The way he got into it, she couldn’t help but feel desired and desirable. That took some coaxing.
Moira once had a boyfriend pull a hair from his mouth and say, Sorry, babe. Can’t do this. She had been so mortified she never let anyone go down on her again.
But Eric took his time and never acted like he was doing her a favor. To him, oral sex was a natural part of a loving relationship and should be reciprocal.
She learned to relax into his moves as he gently parted her legs and nibbled up and down her inner thighs. Every gesture was gallant, as he cupped her bottom and hoisted her closer to his mouth. She fondled her own breasts if only to have some kind of ballast as Eric’s tongue made its haywire course round and round her quim. He licked her folds until she thought she’d go mad. Just as she was driven to the brink of ecstasy he’d feed her clit with such a carnal passion she instantly came. Then he’d increase the pressure of his tongue until the next orgasm she experienced was even more fruitful and expansive.
This was love. With another man Moira would have felt funny kissing after receiving oral sex but Eric naturally covered her mouth with his as she wrapped her legs round him in a rush of happiness. She was so happy! She wanted this love to last forever.
But would it? The question begged to be asked, though the lovers had much in common despite their age differences.
And no, Moira was no sugar mama. Eric didn’t advertise the fact he made a small fortune as an entrepreneur while still an undergrad in college. He was just bartending till he figured out what business venture he wanted to try again. In Moira he saw everything he wanted in a woman: smart, adventurous, compassionate and kind. She laughed at his jokes and he laughed at hers. The age difference didn’t bother him one bit.
Eric wasn’t shallow but he was a sucker for glamorous women. With her bounty of glossy black hair and heart-shaped face Moira rather reminded him of Elizabeth Taylor. Only without the neurotic ticks and surplus of husbands.
As Moira pulled on her panties and jostled her breasts to conform to an underwire bra, a thought occurred to him: he wanted to marry her.
Yes, he would be her first–and hopefully last–husband. If she dumped him for other guys, he would just come back and ask her to marry him again. Eric had yet to understand he was the only man Moira had ever wanted.