Tom and Sandy Ch. 02

"Don't think you're getting out of eating my cooking."

She giggled, with that bubbly affectation that had always made him feel warm inside, and buried her head into his chest. He enveloped her with a warm embrace.

"I'm glad you're here, Sandy."

A refill of the wine glass later, Tom placed a platter of pasta and chicken before her. He sat across his modest kitchen table from her with his own serving. He'd made the portions small; he wanted her to be satisfied with more than just dinner tonight, and stuffing themselves would hardly lend itself to that goal.

They'd finished the salads while chatting about mundane things. He'd asked her if anything important and happened that afternoon. Predictably, it hadn't. Very little got done on Friday afternoons.

She complimented him on the bruschetta. It was actually a less impressive dish than it looked; toast some bread, drizzle with olive oil, put on some cheese, basil, and tomatoes, and you have a quintessential appetizer that screams, "Italian!" But it did make a good impression, and that was the key.

She carefully wound her fork around the pasta, then speared a piece of the chicken. He had been thinking about something, and felt that now was the time to broach the subject.

"Sandy, we've talked about a lot of things in the last few days, but there are a few things I still don't know."

She looked up at him, mid-bite. She put her fork back down, brow furrowed.

"Like what?"

"Well… like what is your favorite color?"

"Green."

"What is your favorite song?"

"Love Song."

"Tesla, or The Cure?"

"The Cure."

"Whew, I was about to have to kick you out of the house."

She smiled at his jest.

"What shall we do about… responsibility… tonight?"

She frowned for a second, then understanding dawned on her.

"Well, if you mean birth control, that's taken care of. Even though I haven't needed it for eight months, I've kept taking the pill."

Relief flooded him. He hated condoms. Wearing one would have put a serious cramp in his style, especially tonight. It would seriously disrupt the fantasy he had planned for their evening. Although he had bought some just in case, he was praying that he wouldn't need them.

"Excellent."

"And how are you planning to protect me? After all, I hear that you often catch a ride home with… ladies… you meet at bars?"

"Ah… well I'm sure the penicillin I got from the doctor this afternoon will clear that right up."

She smiled at him over another fork full of pasta. She'd been friends with him for years. They both knew he was only extending the joke he'd started in her office that afternoon.

With respect to the meal, everything had come out to Tom's satisfaction. He was no master chef, but he could make a nice dish when he wanted to. The main course was tasty, and when it was finished, Tom admonished her to stay where she was, because there was one more course to be served.

After clearing the dishes and dumping them into the sink, he went to the refrigerator and grabbed the ramekin with the crème brûlée. It was not quite finished; he sprinkled some sugar on the top of it and snagged the kitchen torch he'd obtained just for these kinds of occasions.

Sitting the dessert on the table, he paused for effect. She glanced at it, and then at him.

With flourish, he produced the torch. Clicking it to life, he swiftly brushed the blue cone of flame across the freshly sprinkled sugar. After a few seconds, it began to brown and glass over.

When it was finished, he extinguished the flame and took a bow.

Looking up, he saw her looking at him with a bemused smile on her face.

"I'm impressed. There's nothing better than a man that can handle a miniature cutting torch without setting his kitchen on fire."

"You should be impressed. That was… well, really, it was exactly as hard as it looked. But check this out!"

He produced the two spoons that had been hidden in his other hand.

She chose one. Returning to his chair, he gestured for her to make the first move. The table was small enough that they could both reach the dessert.

"Now, you know how to do this, right?"

Her eyes met his, and she smiled at him. Her eyes sparkled for an instant before she swiftly brought her spoon down on the glassy surface of the caramelized sugar.

It cracked into several pieces. Just as it was supposed to.

Without a word, she scooped up a bit of the custard. Instead of eating it, though, she extended her hand gracefully to his lips.

Staring straight into his eyes, she spoke.

"If it pleases you, sir, may I serve you tonight?"

"Oh God."

Tom's dick twitched. He suddenly cared nothing for the dessert. At this moment, he wanting nothing more than to fuck this woman until she begged him to stop. Although he'd wanted to do that very thing for years, tonight was the first time he would actually fulfill that fantasy. He intended to enjoy every one of these little moments.

He opened his mouth and she gently slid the spoon into his mouth. He took the bite of the crème brûlée and slowly ran his tongue through the rich custard. It was spectacular. The perfect ending to a wonderful meal with the woman he'd been looking for since he was old enough to be looking.

Taking a spoonful with his own utensil, he fed her a portion. Her gaze never left his. She took the spoonful, then closed her eyes. She enjoyed the mouthful to its fullest.

After a few seconds, she sighed contentedly, then slowly opened her eyes again. He was gazing at her intently.

Their eyes met.

They smiled at each other.

The spoons clattered on the table as they both rose from their chairs.

Sandy accepted Tom's outstretched hand and let him lead her to his bedroom.