#but only the thinnest vestiges of everything else

[catsnuggler]

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[cela-astral-projection]

She floats like a swan Grace on the water Lips like sugar Just when you think you've caught her She glides across the water She calls for you tonight To share this moonlight

Oh, right. Like I wasn’t gonna take off running with that lemon tree business. 18+. Minors do not interact. 

Celeste loved cooking. It was soothing to her. Muriel joked that they would never be in any real danger, in the hut by virtue of her prolific knife collection. Artisan blades, made especially for her hand. She would go into a nearly hypnotic state, laying them out on the table, running their edges along the whetstone.

For the past week, the blades had been given a workout. Bowls and bowls of lemons laid out before her. The air in the hut perfumed from the nearly aerosolized oils emitting from the peels under her touch. It smelled clean, fresh. Careful strokes, removing only the thinnest outer layer. Carefully dissecting each section of the fruit, extracting them from the thin outer membranes.

Muriel was confident he would be sick of the fruit by the time she was through. And every day she had surprised him with a new and inventive dish.

Lemon curd. Lemoncello. Preserved lemons. Lemon confit. Oleo Saccharum. Lemon Poppyseed Chiffon Cake. Candied lemon peels. Every meal: fish, and chicken and vegetables, all making use of the abundance.

While Muriel was still known to snag a whole lemon and bite into it, flesh, pith, and all (Something that always made Celeste cringe, as if she could taste the bitter pith in her own mouth) he had developed some clear favorites.

The buttery, shortbread crust warming in the oven. The sound of the whisk brushing the inside of the bowl as she beat eggs, sugar, flour, lemon peel, lemon juice. The way the mixture seemed to blossom as soon as it hit the warm crust, assaulting his senses, that only seemed to grow with each minute it baked.

Muriel wasn't picky. He would gladly take the still hot, oozing confection as soon as it was removed from the flame. But, Celeste, ever the perfectionist, would request that it cool overnight. Some nights, after she had fallen asleep, he would wake and sneak a bite. Or two. Or three. The moderately scolding look he got in the morning entirely worth it.

However, he did much prefer this. Breakfast in bed. Though, he hardly felt that lemon squares qualified as a wholesome, hearty breakfast. And far too indulgent. For many, many reasons.

Celeste, straddling his lap. Her hair free, falling over her bare breasts. Tiny, bite-sized squares between her fingers. Bringing them to his lips. She would rake the thick, sticky mixture along his lower lip, her own lips parting, beckoning him to follow suit.

When he would accept the morsel, the cloying, sweet powdered sugar melting away and yielding to creamy, decadent, and tart lemon, the crust crumbling and coating his mouth with butter, the faintest hint of salt.

She would lean forward, sweeping her tongue across his lip, licking away the sticky evidence that remained. He would lean forward to kiss her, and she would withdraw, teasing, replacing her tongue with another bite of the treat.

Muriel's hands moved up her thighs, long fingers settling around her hips, pulling her closer, more firmly against his lap. Her belly against his. Breasts against his chest.

Celeste smirked. "Oh, aren't you hungry, love?" she implored, her tone tantalizing.

There was only so much of this he could endure. The way she brushed her fingers over his chest, picking up the stray sugar on her fingertips, bringing them to her lips and sucking them. The way she settled against him. The heat from between her thighs. The way his cock twitched, coming to life beneath her.

There was no more hunger. Not anymore. Celeste kept him fulfilled in every way. Satiated.

The only thing he craved now was her. He always wanted her.

From the first day he met her, she always smelled of citrus and vanilla. He loved watching her in the early morning light, in front of the mirror, pinning her hair up. The tiny pots and vials of color. The carefully selected brushes that she swept across her eyes and cheeks. The perfumes misted on her skin, dispersing on the air. Like magic, that smell awakening him, pushing the last vestiges from sleep from his eyes.

Though he never said it aloud, it was one of his favorite sights. A private show, just for him.  And when Celeste would go in the morning, she would kiss him, leaving a film of clear, sugary sweet wax on his lips. Lemon and coconut oil. Something to tide him over until she returned. Everything about her was perfect for him. Her taste. Her essence. Selected to intice and inspire him. He never had to ask. She was made for him. And that was the beginning and end of it.

Celeste leaned in and kissed him more fully, no more teasing. Her hands on either side of his face, eyes fluttering shut. Her thumbs brushing down over the scruff of his beard. The line of bare flesh of the deep, old scar inhibited its growth. Her lips were soft but insistent.

Muriel tilted his head, deepening the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue. Celeste could taste the lemon and sugar clinging him. Gratifying. Her hands slid to his neck, crossing behind his shoulders.

She could feel his stiffening cock rising to greet her. Celeste shifted a bit to accommodate him, feeling the head prodding at her labia, then slipping between. She rocked, slickening the thick tip with her fluids. She slid a hand from behind his neck, down his chest, seeking the shaft, positioning him at her entrance.

Muriel's breath caught, and he tensed a bit, pulling away from her mouth. He leaned back, shifting down, and guided her onto his length, watching her engulf him as she slowly sank onto his cock. The way her head fell back, back arched. Listening to the hushed, breathy noises she made as he filled her.

When she could take no more, she grabbed his wrist and tensed, holding him tight within her. She rolled her hips a bit, giving quivering gasps. After a long moment, she pushed herself up, then slid back down. Shallow movements at first. Still slow. Gaining speed as her body yielded to receive him in full.

Muriel's hands wandered her body, down her thighs, back up to her belly, to her breasts. Tender, reverent touches, admiring her form. The way that she moved. Undulating, waves of pleasure rippling through her. He watched her long fingers seeking out her clit. The visual of her rubbing echoed by the clench and shuddering of her walls around him. The feeling of warmth and wet that gushed from her core, eliminating any resistance or friction.

Muriel moaned, his eyes rolling back as she bobbed and swayed, taking him deeper with each dip of her hips.  Celeste smiled to herself at the noises of pleasure, and she bit her lip, slowing a bit, changing the rhythm, which elicited a new cry. She looked down on him, his muscles tensed, lip trembling. He was so damned gorgeous. His hair splayed out on the pillow. The furrow of his brow. The moments of clarity, where his brilliant green eyes met hers, and then the lips would flutter shut as pleasure retook him.

His body began to arch and thrust up into her. He had her by the hips again, moving her the way he needed her to go. She could hear each strike as their bodies met, the wet sounds coming from her cunt as he moved within her. He hit her deepest and most sensitive spots, and with each assault on her core, the world faded away until there was only him. She whined his name, each letter a prayer. Her body begging for relief. For him to give her orgasm. She felt her muscles tense and release. Warmth pooling in her belly, spilling down her thighs.

Muriel was close, so very close. The way she cried hs name always brought him closer. The way it sounded in his ears. Such love and adoration. It was in these moments that he could not doubt how much she loved him. The way that her body called out to him, her mind forcing everything else away but him. She always cried out for him. Muriel.

He shuddered as he came, and he felt his come as it coated him, flowing out of her body and back onto himself. She clenched around him as if she was trying to hold it all inside, her walls clamping down. He could feel the way Celeste shuddered as she came, her teeth chattering as her body shook, wracked with orgasm. Spurts of his come being pulled from him, jets of hot, thick and creamy fluid spilling into her, down her thighs. A white, sticky glaze on her tawny skin.

She nearly collapsed. Thankfully, Muriel was able to find the wherewithal to catch her and carefully disengage himself from her warmth, settling her down onto his chest. They lay together, panting, slick with sweat, their hands still searching each other's bodies. Her lips, soft and reverent, kissing every inch she could reach in her exhaustion.

In the afterglow, when they were sufficiently recovered, they took turns running a cool, damp cloth over their bodies. They would go to the waterfall and bathe together properly, later, when their legs could carry them. But, for now, they weren't ready to get up. Celeste was gathered to his side. Fingers tracing the muscles of his chest, his abdomen, the trail of dark hair that lead down to his cock. It did twitch a bit, still sensitive, but he was not quite prepared for another round. His head lolled back, enjoying the featherlight touches.

"Gods, you're fucking amazing," Celeste muttered. It was nearly a lament. 

Muriel blushed, but he smiled.

He reached over to the plate and brought a bite of the lemon square to her lips. She accepted the morsel gratefully and made a noise of satisfaction as she savored it. He ran his thumb along her lower lip, fingers hooked under her chin. He drew her into a kiss. 

Tart and sweet.