Saturday, April 3, 2010

Coffee Arabica - Zohra Saeed

Coffee Arabica
By Zohra Saeed author Desert Flower, Published by Red Rose Publishing

Gahwa! The sweet rich thick coffee that the Arabs drink. Sometimes flavoured with cardamom. She liked it like that and so did Ahmed. When it was a little warmer than body heat, just hot enough to pour between her breasts, she’d cup them close together so that the coffee wouldn’t drip through the cleavage. And Ahmed would drink it, licking hungrily, his tongue racing down the centre of her breasts to catch the drops before they slid too far down the middle and before they reached the rise of her pubes. She insisted that he stop there. He thirsted to go further and discover the taste of her mingled with cardamom, honey and coffee Arabica.

It was a game they’d played since their third date and she’d made variations on it that he enjoyed as much as she did. They’d met at a party in Mayfair, London and she was taken with his dark good looks, his lean sinewy masculinity just covered by his white linen shirt and blue jeans.

“I thought Arabs always wore those dishdashas,” she said, when introduced.

“Not always,” he’d said his deep gravelly voice as rich and thick as the coffee he was about to introduce her to.

The coffee with the legend that claimed one must have three cups in order to declare that someone was a friend had fascinated her. And she, pale as light cream, with that ash blond hair that marked her Norse origins, tall as Freya with breasts that were meant for a Valkyrie’s armour, had her own mysteries, and a name that sang of battles and the wild sea, Svanhild. He longed to discover her body from that first meeting.

After several dates, flirting over the delights of coffee. She, challenging him with her eyes and lips dipping the tip of her tongue, pink as a rose, into lattes and cappuccinos, coffees laced with liqueur, with thick cream. He finally introduced her to gahwa.

She loved it; revelled in the flavour, let the rich aromas waft into her. Then she took him and the gahwa home. As they entered the door, she ripped off her clothes and in her slender underwear with her milk white breasts shining in the half-light, she made the gahwa. Sat the cup on the counter; took in him her arms and undressed him. Almost helpless with desire he wanted to carry her to the sofa, but she picked up the coffee and led him to her bedroom. There she made him pour it between her ample breasts, urging him, “Drink quickly before it burns me.”

Today, she was going to let drip to her clitoris and let him get it there. He poured, “Hurry,” she whispered.

He licked frantically as the coffee dripped down to the valley of her labia, moaned as his tongue discovered the full swollen sweetness of her. “Marry me,” he cried as he slipped a ring over her clitoris and sucked, nibbled and nipped until she screamed, “yes!”

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BookFreak said...

I like this the best!
I LOVE how he asked her to marry him.

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