His steak was rare. Very. It made her nipples hard to watch him savor every bite cut so meticulously and placed into that incredible mouth. She watched his lips as he chewed; his tongue, as it slipped out so discretely to capture every remaining fragment of flavor that may have been left on his lips; those magnificent lips – those patient kissing lips. Spellbound once again. Entranced. Wanting. She crossed her legs. She squeezed. Hard. Knuckles turned white, as the napkin in her lap suffered twisting torment evidenced by her desire. She wanted that mouth, those lips, and that generous tongue. 

The meal was exquisite – the wine, appropriate, delicious. Delicious was key. Delicious was queen. She could tell he craved it, and she squeezed once again, squeezing delicious. She knew that he knew. It was part of his routine to act so disinterested and yet with every move, subtle or not, driving her into frenzy of wantonness, knowing she was confronted with images of him nestled between her thighs, dealing with her Delicious. 

Conversation was forgetful. Unnecessary. This was about sex. Selfish sex. It was about her pursuit of personal pleasure. He wanted it that way. She finally began to understand what drove him to that blissful state. What he wanted from her was different. Unexpected. Countless guys before him had sought to please themselves, validating sex was for their satisfaction and she’d better get with the program – better keep up. What a shame to get left behind. 

Behind is someplace he made sure she never wound up. She fought the feeling her selfishness was wrong. Time and time again she replayed their sex, knowing ultimately he always satisfied himself. Always. Her guilt was nearly a contradiction. What she had yet to realize was her pleasure acted as catalyst to his own. Every aspect of her orgasm was incremental permission for him to take what he wanted, when he wanted it. All of her perceived selfishness was merely preparation, setting the stage for him to take his share. Selfishness begat selfishness. It simply became a matter of who went first, and what did it matter if and when they both finished together? 

She imagined his hands on her wrists, pinning them to the bed, forcing them over her head. That mouth, that incredible mouth resolving the ache permeating her breasts, licking and sucking anxious nipples. His thighs forced hers open, his weight dictating who was on the receiving end of whatever was next – and receive she would. From neck to breasts to belly he missed nothing, kissing and licking to perfection. Everything a precursor for the consumption of Delicious. 

Her heels slid up the outside of his thighs on their way to locking across the small of his back. Fingers danced on strong shoulders, as he kissed with gentle patience. Powerful arms cradled her thighs and bottom, wrapping around her so  fingers traced hollows on either side of her mound. He held her like a book spread open before him, giving him access to her secret story. He turned every page with his tongue and read every word. He spoke into her, confessing his want, burning her with heat of his breath. A wide, flat tongue slid through wet velvet between her thighs, giving as much as he took away. 

The first orgasm swirled and crashed down upon her. He knew it was her time and embraced her with a tantalizing distance, a teasing tongue that danced lightly across urgently throbbing clitoris. He knew what he wanted, as did she. Neither disappointed the other when she grabbed his head in both hands and pulled him to her, grinding her pussy into his mouth. It felt so good to her to take. As her fingers trembled and flexed in his hair, pulling him tightly into her crotch, he marveled at how satisfying it was to make her take. The line blurred as to who was giving and who was taking, and it mattered not to either of them. 

Post orgasm sensitivities were treated with discretion and motionless tongue, sympathetic to her need to recover, indulging himself, as he remained in the midst of Delicious, knowing there was more for him to give before his taking began. He was home. Safe. Nothing else mattered when she lay in his arms, shattered into a million little pieces. With due diligence and eye for detail, he orchestrated her state of bliss several times before kissing across her belly, leaving the book of Delicious open for a different read. 

It was his time - his turn. It was time for him to take; time to take Fuck from her – righteous Fuck. And he did. Her legs out-stretched. Giving. Submitting. His hands firmly planted on the mattress on either side of her chest with only his cock making contact, he fucked her. He fucked her with only the head of his cock, slow shallow strokes, teasing, just like he teased her with his tongue. Momentum swelled in both, momentum of glorious orgasm demanded he drive deep inside of her. He denied her, thrusting faster, barely making penetration, causing her to thrust back at him, reaching, pulling with her ankles to get her fair share. She wanted his cock. It was time to go deep. Desperation. She needed him deep. She needed all of him - his length, his thickness. It was time to be fucked good and proper. Simultaneously, they both started to take. He fell into her and seamless selfishness reigned supreme. 

Climax began to blended simultaneously, engulfing both in unrelenting streams of contractions and pulses, his come mixed with hers, driving thrusts deeply, pounding against her with all of his strength. She rose up, rolling her hips to accept the cock she craved – the cock she required. Driving thrusts exemplified intensity of his lust and he took all of her, finally satisfying his own desires. As they lay tangled in the remnants of their passions, both marveled they’d survived a momentary brush with death once again.  Both knew the meaning of what it meant to give and to take. Most of all, both knew that they’d earned permission to be selfish and Delicious was satisfied once more.