The very mischevous Sibel Hodge has issued a challenge for SampleSunday with her post about ... well ... it has to do with chocolate and... just go to her link, okay? So this is my sultry response from Each Angel Burns
:
His eyes snapped open. She stood by the bed in her silky nightgown and a fluffy white shawl holding a tray.
“No. I thought you’d gone.” He sat up and she curled one leg under herself as she sat on the bed and placed the tray between them.
“I thought we could use some nourishment.” She had coffee and her favorite breakfast, hot buttermilk biscuits with butter and honey. “It’s horrible outside.”
“I know.”
“Poor Zeke. Next time let him out in the courtyard. At least it’s protected.”
“Good idea.” He watched as she split biscuits and spread them with butter which promptly melted into golden pools into which she drizzled the honey.
“When I was a little girl my mother made buttermilk biscuits every morning. Sometimes I think it was the only thing she ever ate. She used to make jams and preserves all the time. Pints and pints of it. After she died I wouldn’t let my Aunt Fanny eat any of her preserves. It was the only thing of her I had.” She took a bite and licked golden drops of honey from her fingertips. “They lasted for years. I remember when I got to the last jar. It was blackberry jam made from the berries she picked out along the old railroad track that ran behind our house. I saved that jar for years. One day I just decided to eat it and then grow up.” She sighed, then blushed.
“You’re so dear, Maggie.” He caressed her cheek with his forefinger.
She stood, picked up the tray, carried it to the desk, and then turned back toward him. She kicked off her slippers as she crossed the room. Stopping a few feet from the bed and looking right into his eyes she turned her back to him. In the dim gray light the play of firelight made her look like one of her statues.
She slowly stretched her arms out straight holding the cloud-like shawl between them and languidly lowered it until her hands met behind her backside. She looked back over her shoulder and winked. His body quivered.
She dropped the shawl. Turning, she stepped over it and came a few steps closer. Facing him, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and slipped the straps of her nightgown down over her shoulders. She was smiling a coy, seductive little smile he’d never seen before. She let the gown slip down until her full breasts were nearly exposed then, once again, twirled so her back was to him. Her hands were crossed in front but he could see her fingertips caressing the rose silk as it slithered down over the luminous whiteness of her back.
His blood pounded in his head. His blood pounded everywhere.
As the silk slipped lower, the cleavage of her buttocks peeked above it. Two deep dimples, one above each cheek, startled him. She gave a little wiggle then let go and the gown drizzled down over her long legs like cherry syrup over glistening vanilla ice cream.
“Oh sweet Jesus, Maggie,” he gasped.
Thanks for reading.