A Taste of Utopia

by L. Duarte

  “Wow, it must be cool to know what you want to be at such a young age.”

  “Yeah, I’m one of the fortunate ones. Not only did I know what I wanted, but also, I had the financial means and the full support of my family.”

  “Not to mention acceptance to Yale. Just whoa.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.” I cast my eyes on my food.

  “What? You don’t like Yale?”

  “I do. It’s a great school.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I hesitate for a moment. “I would’ve rather gone to Stanford. But it wasn’t an option.”

  “Why?” Seth places his fork down. His eyes zoom on me like laser beams.

  “My father graduated from Yale. Like many in my family did before him.” Way to sound like a pushover. “How about yourself?” I say changing the subject.

  “Not much to tell. My parents are deceased. Only child. A few years back, I lost contact with the only close relative I have. So it’s just Dona, Zach, and me.”

  “You and Zach seem close.”

  “We’re more like brothers than friends. I would do anything for that dude. Don’t tell him I said that.” He smiles. “He thinks too highly of himself as it is. We’re partners in a pretty successful business.” He pauses, his fingers sliding along the stem of the wine glass. It appears he’s selecting what information to share. “Let me see what else. I’m twenty-eight. I’m too vain for my own good. My drug of choice is coffee. I’m a health freak. I have a bachelor’s degree in business and a master’s in marketing, which comes in handy for our company.”

  “What kind of business?” I ask, gathering all my courage to eat a bite of fish. I brace myself to avoid grimacing. When the flavor of the fish hits my taste buds, I’m pleasantly surprised. “Mmm, this is good.”

  “You sound surprised.” He grins.

  “I, um, I’m not usually a fish lover.” I point my fork to the plate. “But this definitely makes me want to revisit the notion.”

  Seth throws his head back in throaty laughter.

  “What?” I ask after bringing another generous bite to my mouth.

  “You, my lovely wife, are an awful liar. I saw in your face earlier that you didn’t care for fish. I was trying to find a way to get you off the hook. But then again, I’m flattered that you’d try it for my sake.”

  “Yeah, Chloe always schools me that I have to improve my lying skills. I’ll be a lawyer for Christ’s sake. Lying is a job requirement.”

  “Nothing wrong with an honest lawyer. We need more honesty in this world.” He winks and all the muscles down south clench.

  “Let me rephrase that then. I should work on my poker face.” I continue to scarf down the food.

  “Yeah. That’s true. I can read you like a billboard.”

  “That bad?” I scrunch up my nose.

  “Yep,” he responds, bobbing his head.

  “Maybe, this naïve and gullible me is just my poker face when, in truth, I’m an evil person cleverly deceiving you.” I narrow my eyes in what I hope is an intense stare, but fail miserably to suppress a smile.

  “Nah, sorry.” He shakes his head. “Nope, not a chance. Still can see right through you.”

  “Darn it.”

  “Let me get desert,” he says, standing up.

  A moment later, he’s back with a plate of chocolate covered strawberries. Oh my, they look decadent, but more than that, they look sexy. What’s with me? Since when are strawberries hot?

  “I take from your expression that you like these.” He places the plate in the center of the table and waltzes my way. His eyes are intent and predatory. He offers his hand. I accept it. He tugs me to my feet.

  “I’ve wanted to feed you these strawberries since I saw them at the market earlier.” His other hand slides around my back. “But right now I have other intentions. Let’s save the strawberries for when we’re in bed.” He stares down at me with an unflinching gaze, desire gleaming in his eyes.

  “Dance with me?” he asks in a low and raspy voice.

  When I stand, my legs tremble. The only reason I avoid an embarrassing fall is that his strong arm firmly grabs my waist.

  Louis Armstrong sings about La Vie En Rose. The wine flows through me, turning my body into molten lava.

  Seth’s sandalwood scent, his warmth, his firm length pressed against my body, overwhelm me. My world spins. My head swims in desire and unadulterated lust. He hasn’t even kissed me yet, and I’m soaking wet.

  I want to resist the encompassing of his riveting presence. This dinner was for us to get to know each other—but not in the Biblical sense. In this short time together, we’re already well acquainted with that area.

  This is the time to get to know each other’s quirks, and likes and dislikes. Not to have mind-blowing sex.

  However, Seth’s intentions are clearly pressing against my lower belly.

  My rational self wants to ask him to stop it. To keep it at the conversation level, but screw it. A tingling sensation climbs my spine, spreading out to my limbs, and the tip of my fingers and toes. My skin burns with a desperate need. I want him inside me. Badly.

  He twirls me around the vast room, our feet gliding on the black wood floor.

  MY BODY AND mind float in a cloud of unveiling passion, of dark and mysterious want. They dive into an endless sea of carnal and raw sensuality.

  The strong desire embeds into the pores of my bones. It feeds me boldness and courage. My hands, resting on his shoulders, slide around his neck. My fingers weave through his hair and my nails graze his scalp.

  I glance up. Seth’s throat moves as he swallows. My eyes trace from his Adam’s apple up to his parted lips to find his hooded gaze.

  His bright eyes have turned darker, almost black. They resemble the sky of a stormy summer afternoon.

  I surrender to the need blazing inside me. I bring his head down. His lips to mine. There is nothing insecure or tentative about the gesture. And though this new persona—this strange side of me, scares the living freaking hell out of me, she also thrills me to no end.

  Our kiss deepens. We’re all tongues and teeth, hunger and desperation.

  Seth’s hand cups my apex over my jeans. “I want to fuck you. Here. Now.” His hands grab the hem of my white cotton tee and tear the fabric. Cold air swooshes over my skin. Pebbles spread over my torso and breasts, making my nipples pucker.

  Seth swiftly unhooks my bra and frees my breasts. His head tips back and his eyes caress my skin. He leans in, his mouth lands on my nipple and he closes his lips around it. First, he grazes his teeth on the pink and sensitive bud. Then, he bites. Hard. I yell out. Borderline pain blends with ecstasy. His tongue strokes the sensitive skin, soothing, enticing. He sucks it, deep, long, and intensely.

  My hands fist his hair, pulling his head toward my bosom. A feral moan, raw and foreign, leaves my throat.

  Seth’s mouth continues with its onslaught on my other breast.

  He grabs my leg and yanks it around his narrow hips. I arch my back. His arousal presses on a primal spot of pure nerve endings.

  I grind on his cock as if my life depends on it.

  There, in the middle of the room, with the voice of Louis Armstrong crooning from the speakers, still wearing jeans, I come. I come gloriously and ferociously. My mouth releases a slew of whimpers, moans, and groans.

  The relief is fleeting. The throbbing and the ache in between my legs intensify. “Seth, God. Please.”

  Somehow, I’m facing the dinner table. My fingers clutch to the wood edge.

  Seth reaches around my waist and unbuttons my pants. He tugs them, along with my panties, down my thighs, exposing my ass.

  My backside is flush against Seth’s front. His hand sprawls on my back, and he firmly guides me to the table, the ridges of the distressed wood press against the ultra-sensitive skin of my nipples.

  He spreads the globes of my ass. His index finger traces my back hole. I tense momentarily.

  “No, worr
ies, babe. Your gorgeous ass is safe today.” He leans toward my butt, and his hot breath is on my ass. His finger finds my swollen entrance. “This is what I want right now. This sweet pussy.” His tongue lashes over my lips and flicks my clit. Another feral scream escapes my throat. My fingers curl on the edge of the table.

  He slides two fingers inside me and the world tilts on its axis. My body begins to tremble, slowly ascending to a high of pleasure.

  He withdraws his fingers, leaving me disappointed.

  “Not yet, baby. When you come again, I want your pussy throbbing around my cock.”

  He pulls back. I hear the tearing of foil and the shuffling of clothes.

  The head of his dick presses on my sex. I brace myself. But he slowly and deliberately rubs it along my clit, circling lightly and slowly.

  “Do you want my cock?” he asks in a restrained voice.

  “Yes, please. Please,” I beg with a whimper.

  “So fucking beautiful. Mine. You’re mine. Just mine. All mine.” His voice carries a note of desperation. Of ownership. Of awe.

  He slams his cock into me. Another cry rips through me. My grip on the edge of the table tightens. I must be burning. My flesh seems to be doused in flames from the inside out.

  My body writhes with a desperate need of release. The tension simmering inside my lower tummy strains every muscle in my body.

  “Seth,” I cry.

  “Come for me, baby,” he orders, his fingers digging in my hips, surely bruising my skin. He rams over and over, faster and relentlessly.

  “Give it to me, baby. Give me your pleasure,” Seth grunts through clenched teeth, as he too, chases his release.

  I push my hips back, meeting each of his thrusts. The world fades. My eyes roll in the back of my head. My pussy convulses around him. I shatter into a million shards of pleasure.

  “Oh, fuck, baby. Yes. Fuck. Give it to me.” His dick throbs in spasms of desire.

  He collapses on me. His breath comes shallow and fast over the skin between my shoulder blades.

  His heart is thumping so hard, I feel it vibrating against my back.

  We remain inert. The entire world pauses with us. Time and space are still. My lids are heavy and my body lies limp on the table. I have no energy or desire to move. Ever again. Well, unless a bed is the destination. I’m a sex fiend. Who knew?

  Suddenly, Seth stands up. My body shivers, grumbling in complaint of the cold air against my warm skin and the absence of his heat.

  He pulls me up. He puts his arms under my knees and effortlessly sweeps me off my feet. I lean my head on his chest, inhaling his delicious masculine scent.

  He carries me to his room and places me on his bed.

  “Be right back,” he says.

  As he exits the room, I stare at his behind. His ass is magnificent.

  When he returns, he balances the wine, glasses, and the strawberries.

  Oh, boy, he’s not done with me yet. The awareness that this is going to be another long night has my body humming in expectation.

  I LAZILY STRETCH my sore limbs and flutter my lids open. The first light of dawn tints the air in soft hues of pink and pearl. A massive arm drapes over my waist, sinking me into the warm depth of a soft mattress.

  Memories from last night run through my mind in Technicolor. My cheeks flush. Oh, the naughty things Seth did to my body.

  I carefully nudge his arm away. His breath remains steady though he grumbles about the moon chasing the evil away and a yellow brick road.

  I stand by the bed and take the time to observe him inconspicuously.

  Blue sheets, bunched around his hips prevents me from seeing the part of his anatomy that has changed me into a sex fiend.

  I study the expanse of his wide back. He’s all muscle. The golden freckles sprinkled along his shoulders make my hands itch to touch him. I resist. I just want to drink in this image of him.

  His dark blond hair is tumbled over his forehead. His long and dark lashes fan over his eyes, depriving me of the beam of light that emanates from his orbs.

  The dawning light bathes his profile in a soft glow. His face, with shadows of stubbles and an unguarded expression, has a childlike vulnerability.

  He looks strikingly handsome. So unattainable, yet, so within my reach. As an archangel, he is a mixture of something vulnerable and fierce.

  It’s confusing. And I don’t like confusing.

  I’m rational. Disciplined. Practical. I’m proper. Refined. Polished.

  I am so screwed.

  I gather my toiletries bag and tip-toe to the bathroom. I do my morning routine—brush my teeth, finger comb my wild hair in a failed attempt to tame it, and use the toilet. I find a fluffy robe behind the door, put it on, and silently step across the room.

  In the kitchen, I raid the cabinets searching for coffee.

  The cabinets’ interiors are clean and neat. Every item is freakily aligned. The labels, facing out, read: Organic, Wholesome, and Healthy. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was a health freak. It’s a little creepy. Too organized and aseptic. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Almost like a statement.

  I will Cocoa Puffs to appear. No luck. I do, however, find a tin of coffee.

  While the coffee is brewing, I stroll around the apartment, examining the décor. Artwork, beautiful but daunting, adorn the walls. No personal pictures. No personal touches. Everything is sterile and perfectly orchestrated.

  I’m studying a black and white picture of an old movie called The Seventh Seal when I feel the charge in the air. I turn my head and my eyes meet Seth’s gaze.

  With shoulders propped against the doorframe and arms folded across his chest, he examines me. He only wears boxer briefs.

  Of course, my heart falters. Damn briefs.

  “Hi,” I say, flushing. Why does he have to be so gorgeous? It’s utterly unfair for someone to look so stunning first thing in the morning.

  “Hey,” he replies in a voice deepened by sleep. His eyes seem a little distant. I wonder if he’s put off by my snooping around his apartment.

  “Did you watch this movie?” I ask.

  “Of course, The Seventh Seal. 1957. One of the greatest black and white movies of all time,” he responds.

  “I would never pin you for the type to question the meaning of life,” I say, referring to the theme of the movie.

  “You watched it?” He arches his brows.

  “Of course.”

  “You like black and white movies too?”

  “I adore film noir. The best films in history were made in black and white.”

  “Well, well.” He takes a predatory step toward me. “We might be kindred spirits after all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I, dear wife, happen to be a black and white movie buff. Name it and I’ve watched it.” He gathers my hand and leads me to a bookshelf tucked at the far end of the wall. He opens a door, and I gasp in surprise. A collection of hundreds of black and white movies are lined on the shelves, all in chronological order. Of course, they would be perfectly categorized.

  I glide the tip of my fingers along the movies. Casablanca, Citizen Kane, The Defiant Ones, Manhattan, To Kill a Mockingbird, and so many other works of art. Wow, all movies I had watched repeatedly. My mom passed her obsession with the film noir era on to me. I grew up watching black and white movies with her.

  Strangely, I sense a shift in the air. As if the mere similarity of taste, makes the invisible thread surrounding us a little more visible, almost tangible. Like everything that has happened in the last couple of days of my life is less surreal, more explainable.

  “Can we watch Casablanca sometime?” I ask on a whim. I’ve watched the movie thousands of times. But the perspective of watching it again with him makes my heart do a backflip.

  “I’ll do anything you want, baby,” he says, his voice loaded with meaning.

  He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes intently fix on mine, blazing with a unique hybrid of g
reen and blue.

  His words, his gaze, his body posture are all too intense, overwhelming even. Energy, strange and pungent, travels in waves from his body to mine. It feels like tentacles softly caressing the depth of my soul.

  I blink repeatedly. Too soon, too soon, too soon. My mind tells me.

  Ignore your bleeping mind. My heart tells me.

  I close the bookshelf’s door. “Coffee should be ready.”

  “Yes, coffee would be nice,” he says lightly, probably attempting to defuse the intensity of the moment we just shared.

  Seth

  SITTING ACROSS FROM Lottie with my chin resting on my hand, I watch as she nibbles small bites of a blueberry muffin. In my mind, one thought persevere, shower sex.

  I stand up and offer my hand in invitation. “Shower with me?”

  “Oh, um, oh.” She fidgets in her seat. The tightening of her thighs and the flush of her cheeks are a telltale sign that her body wants the same thing I want.

  I grab her hand and yank her against my chest. Her eyes flicker from my bare chest to my mouth, and she runs her tongue over her lips. “I, uh, I.”

  My mouth seizes hers. The words are gone before they come out. My hand sneaks under the robe gliding along her generous thigh. I grip her beautiful ass tightly and squeeze.

  God, she’s not wearing panties. My dick, painfully hard, jolts and throbs.

  “I might need a volunteer to wash my back,” I say with my mouth pressed to hers, my teeth tugging on her upper lip.

  “Okay,” she says. Her voice is shaky and her breath harsh.

  “Okay,” I say with a grin and turn toward the bedroom.

  SEX IS MY domain. I play a woman’s body like a neurosurgeon works a scalpel, calm and deliberate. However, there’s an urgency to the way I desire Lottie. A desperation. I want to fuck her with the same eagerness a martyr is ready to die for his cause. This raw attraction hums through my body with full-blown intensity. It’s overpowering.