Coffee Lover

The spicy aroma of coffee surrounds me as the whirling hum of the grinder outdoes chatter in this cozy, quaint coffee corner

The family-owned shop is a popular place for conversationalists, bookworms and café connoisseurs. It also has an impressive selection of coffee beans for purchase, temptation for the bravest of home brewers.

I face the display of beans for purchase and I skim my hand across the glass canisters with their simple, hand-drawn labels. I can’t decide between two choices: mint julep and honey hazelnut.

I’m really not sure of their differences. I’ve never considered myself much of a coffee drinker; not like my husband. I like the idea of starting my morning with a warm, invigorating beverage, but I try to avoid addictive substances, including coffee.

When I’ve offered up this reasoning to my brewmaster mate, he has contradicted me by citing my common post-coital confession of being addicted to sex with him. I explain that the desire for sex is as natural as the desire for oxygen or water and is therefore life sustaining and worth an addiction. Plus, I remind him that he often benefits from said obsession.

As he will from this brew. I am making this purchase with the intention of seducing my husband with coffee.

I ask the barista about the difference between the two beans.

“Both are sweet blends,” she says and lifts the canister’s lid and runs her hands through the beans allowing their robust scent to waft upward. “But the honey is surprisingly bold and the taste tends to linger.”

Perfect.

She seals my selection and I head for home.

My husband is not there when I arrive home and I tuck the coffee beans to the rear of the kitchen cupboard, above the sink. I’ll not use these for coffee tonight. Tomorrow is Saturday and there’s nowhere we have to be.

When he arrives home later, I casually mention my purchase as we’re discussing our day’s activities.

“I got a new coffee for you to try,” I say.

“Oh yeah? I’ll look forward to that in the morning,” he says.

I smile and think to myself, “So will I.”

I am sure to wake before he does. I grab the newspaper from the front porch and place it on the thick, wooden table in the front room. I light the room’s wood burning stove to banish the early morning chill.

I return to the kitchen and grind the beans in the coffee grinder. The aroma fills the corners of the room, thick as though it might permeate the walls and linger for days. I grab the edge of the counter and inhale deeply its rich, bold aroma. I hope to soak in some of its boldness so that I can succeed in my conquest this morning.

I am sure to be extra noisy in the kitchen, in hopes that my light sleeper of a husband would soon awake. I am gratified five minutes later when I hear his feet hit the chilly wooden floor of our bedroom; I hear him make it to the bathroom, wash his face, brush his teeth.

I start the coffee pot and I adjust my russet silk robe. I know it is his favorite. The slippery material reveals just the right curves, making me feel sexy and confident.

I am at the sink washing dishes from the previous night’s meal when he enters the kitchen and places a quick kiss at the base of my neck.

“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice still fatigue-laden.

“The paper is in the front room,” I tell him, not looking away from my dishes. “I’ve brewed some of that new coffee. I’ll bring you a cup in a minute.”

“Smells good,” he says matter of factly and moves to the front room.

He is reading the newspaper at the table and I place the cup of brew in front of him.

“Thank you,” he says, without looking up from his reading.

I disappear into the kitchen for a moment then reappear with biscotti that I had purchased along with the coffee beans.

I stand next to him and offer it up. “Do you want some?” My statement is deliberately vague; my stare is overtly suggestive. He looks up and catches me slowly licking the sweetness from the biscotti off the tip of my finger.

He sits his newspaper on the table and he watches my tongue swirl and my lips envelop my fingertip. My eyes catch his and his stare intensifies. I place the biscotti on the table and bend toward the resting coffee cup.

I slowly bend at the waist, slightly arching my back in an attempt to raise my rear and thrust my breasts forward. The angle allows a clear view down the opening neckline of my robe that I have conveniently loosened. I palm the white coffee cup and raise it just enough to reach my lips. I take a small sip of the brew and pause to enjoy how it travels down my throat and spreads warmth throughout my chest.

I rise back up and without making eye contact I move to sit at the opposite end of the table.

I sit quietly and stare out the window. He watches me for a moment then returns to reading his paper.

I can tell my slow, calculated behavior is getting to him. He seems distracted, periodically looking up from his reading to peer at me quizzically.

Finally he breaks the silence. “Aren’t you going to have a cup?”

I gaze at him and shake my head no.

“But I would like to taste it again,” I say.

I stand and stalk my way to his side. His returns the paper to the tabletop and he lifts the steaming cup to hand it to me. I gently push his hand back down and help him place the cup next to the newspaper.

I bend until we are eye level and I reach around to tangle my fingers in the short hairs on the back of his head. I dip my mouth toward his and delicately run the tip of my tongue along his lips. Then I press my tongue into his mouth and kiss him deeply, my tongue swirling with his, a soft moan escaping my throat.

I quickly disengage my mouth and stand upright. I brush my thumb across my heated, moist lips.

“That’s good coffee,” I say.

By the way his eyes roam my body, by the way his chest rises with rapid breathing, I can see that I have him entranced. Yes.

He grabs me by my hips and pulls me to stand in front of him. He peels open my silken robe and exposes me to him. With haste, he hooks his index fingers in the sides of my panties and pulls them down to my ankles. I gasp at his eagerness.

I sidestep out of the undergarment and he slowly trails his fingertips up the insides of my thighs. I shiver. He is making me wet with anticipation.

Still grasping my hips, he leans his face in toward me and inhales deeply, much like I did earlier in the kitchen.

“Intoxicating,” he says aloud.

He guides my hips backward, encouraging me to sit on the edge of the table. I scoot backwards and he scoots in, gripping my thighs and draping my legs over his shoulders.

And then his mouth is on me, moving his tongue in one grand sweep from the all the way from my hole, upward along my clit. He is exploring my pussy with his mouth and I am loving it

I am dripping wet and he is loving it, licking, sucking and drinking me in. His flexible tongue thrusts in and out of me. His lips suck and the tip of his tongue flicks across my clit.

I moan deeply as his hot mouth slides greedily along my flesh, warmed moreover by the coffee. I am invigorated by his actions, as though the caffeine from his lips has seeped into me. I grab the back of his head and grind my hips, pressing me even closer to his busy mouth.

Soon I am panting and peaking, my body beginning to shudder with an electric current, but before my body plummets over the edge toward orgasm, he pulls his mouth away.

I feel lightheaded as moves my legs from his shoulders and he stands. Pushing away the lapel of my robe, he grabs my left breast and sweeps his tongue across my erect nipple. He doesn’t linger; rather he splays his palm across my chest and skillfully presses me toward the table. And I recline, my slippery robe and newsprint sandwiched beneath me, my legs dangling over the table’s edge.

Once I am down, he drops his pants, moves toward me and wraps my legs around his waist. Then he grabs my hips and rapidly plunges his solid dick into my slick pussy.

Oh god.

I grip the edges of the table and he shoves that sweet cock in and out of me, over and over, deeper and deeper, faster and faster.

This feels so unbelievably good and I am soon overcome by the fantastic friction. My walls tighten around him and I twitch with the pleasure of orgasm.

My tightness encourages him on and he soon follows, gripping me tighter and jerking sharply into me as he comes.

He falls atop me and our rapid breath fills the silence as we allow our bodies to calm. He helps me to sit back up and he plops back into his chair, his chest heaving and his face flushed.

Still perched on the table, I rest the soles of my feet upon his thighs. I lean my head to the side as we bask silently for a moment in the loving afterglow.

“Another cup?” I then ask, my tone softer and less suggestive than before.

“I don’t know that I can handle another cup so soon,” he says.

I smile at his implication. “Juice, then? Some toast?”

“Sure.”

I hop down from the table, close and tie my robe and pad off to the kitchen as he moves to gather the now crinkled newspaper for an attempt at reading it.

As I open the refrigerator to retrieve the juice, I am struck by a newfound realization. I guess I literally am a coffee lover.

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