Evening Wine

by Heather Pease

The bottle lays in front of him, the curve remind him of the curves of my hips, so soft and smooth.  He reaches out to a glass and admires the bottle, like a beautiful woman before him giving him the gift of her nectar for his pleasure.  His darling, the tannins there for his pleasure inviting him into a seductive embrace.    

The bouquet so beautiful, as he tastes the grape nectar, carefully chosen for this evening’s enjoyment and sits enjoying the air against his skin.  The solace of the night greets him; his hand lingers on the chair, fingers tracing the edge as his imagination tickles the curve of my breast.

He sips the wine, his mouth lingers on the edge of the glass finding smooth hues of my ample thighs, a smile forms at the side of his mouth as he thinks of his favorite canvass for organic graffiti, ideas of painting his name on my flesh so tenderly with his wine drenched tongue. 

A deep breath from his diaphragm and the feeling of lover’s heat fills his chest as his heart agitatedly beats and a slight change of pressure presses against his pants, his excitement grows. 

He dips his mouth again into the spirits within the glass, licking the remnants off his tongue, he closes his eyes and envisions my heaving breasts, a start of a tender foundation of an emerging script forms in his mind. 

His tongue dances slowly in calligraphy choreograph, his hand gracefully holding the stem from its surface, watching the sultry drink linger on the side of the glass as it trickles down his throat, filling his mouth with intense flavor.

The wine, a masterpiece of flavor has him entranced, a muse delivering me to linger at the edge of his mind, filling his thoughts with a richer taste of passion that he desires.  The glass, so delicate in his hand as he cups it between his fingers and traces the edge while thoughts of my nipples hardening to his touch.

All around him disappears as his mind, drunk on lust, loses itself at the thought of my skin against his lips dances within his mind.  Entranced by the vision before him, he closes his eyes, traces the outline of my body against his, our tongues meeting delicately as a soft blush of warmth fills him within like velvet, and lingers still. 

His eyes open as he breathes in deep the night’s air and bites the edge of his lips causing pain where the thoughts of our touch and taste of wine leaves him wanting more than the tease of his mind. The ghost of my touch dissipates with the last drops of grapes leaving ardor and desire.