One Quick Kiss (Sexy Short Stories)

Phillip Thomas Duck

 

One Quick Kiss

Short Stories

Find Phillip Thomas Duck at:

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Cotton Comes to Nina

 

--Three days before the Day-

 

Warm honey.

I don’t exactly smell it, the warm honey, but the aroma of food hits me as I enter the apartment. And knowing my husband as I do I know he’s found some use for warm honey in his dinner preparation. He’s been on a cooking-with-honey jag ever since the day he came across Nigella Bites during his lunch break. At first I was jealous but then I put aside the green eyed beast, realizing, Nigella might bite, but I lick, suck, and please this man better than any other woman could ever hope to. Every day except today that is.

I hang my jacket on the coat tree in the foyer. I can hear him humming along to the low playing radio, a salsa tune he doesn’t understand the words to. I attempt to tiptoe my way upstairs to our bedroom without him hearing me.

“Nine,” he calls out, “is that you?”

Busted.

I grit my teeth in frustration. I was hoping to avoid a confrontation. I know, just as I do about the warm honey, that he’s in there, apron on and nothing else. That’s his ritual. Cooking in the nude. I’m not in the mood for this today, three days before our second wedding anniversary. Valentine’s Day, the day of romance, the day I took that leap with this man that satisfies my every desire and craving. Satisfies me except on those three days leading up to what I refer to as the Day, and the Day itself.

“Nine?”

Nina, I want to shout out to him, Nina. Call me by my name. He wouldn’t understand, though. Wouldn’t understand how this precious nickname he’s given me can ignite every pleasure point on my body, setting me on fire, every day of the year except the three days leading up to the Day, and the Day itself.

“Yes, Anthony,” I answer.

“Come in here,” his baritone beckons, “I want you to taste something.”

I pat my business skirt and look down at my pumps. My legs look damn good. I can see my nipples pressing through the soft white material of my blouse. I have on my eyeglasses today instead of my contacts. He prefers me in eyeglasses. Loves me dressed in my professional garb. I can imagine the sight of me like this will make him want to prop me up on the counter top, spread my legs, slowly remove my satin panties, and commence to suckling and licking that private space I shaved just for him last week. But that was last week. This is a new week. Our second wedding anniversary is just three days away. The thought of him touching me in that way during this period of the year makes me feel slightly nauseous. Damn, why didn’t I make it to those stairs without him hearing me come in?