A Little Food Porn

K D Grace

I had actually planned for a little caffeine porn from the fourth novel in Grace Marshall’s Executive Decision series Interviewing Wade. I thought it would go well with my post of two weeks ago, Storm in a Green Tea Cup. I thought it might be fun to show that glorious caffeine addiction at its best, but then I came across this lovely bit of food porn between Wade Crittenden and Carla Flannery, and I couldn’t resist. It’s one of my favorite, and in my opinion, one of the hottest, scenes in the novel. Enjoy!

Interviewing Wade Blurb:

Intrepid reporter, Carla Flannery, wants to interview Wade Crittenden, the secretive creative genius behind Pneuma Inc. But when, against all odds, Wade actually agrees to the interview, Carla suspects ulterior motives.

Carla has made a lot of enemies in her work and when Wade discovers she’s being stalked, he agrees to the interview to keep her close and safe. As the situation turns deadly, lives and hearts are on the line, and the interview reveals far more about both than either ever expected.

Here Comes a Choo Choo

He offered no response to that, instead he got out of the Jeep, and she startled when he came around to open the door for her and undid her safety belt. She felt as though someone had pushed her pause button and all she could do was sit there, clinging to her stupid stick. Then he took her gently by her good arm and helped her out, mantling her protectively close to his shoulder as they nodded to the guards, then entered the passage that led down to the Dungeon. 

The dining area smelled of Chinese food. Lynn had spread the feast on the coffee table in front of the ratty sofa. For a moment, Carla stood staring at the food, feeling slightly nauseated. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she said. 

‘

Come on, you need to eat. With your metabolism being what it is, you’ll have wasted completely away by morning if you don’t.’ 

He settled her onto the least lumpy part of the couch and sat down next to her. When she made no effort, he opened the waxed cardboard containers and surveyed their contents. Then he ladled up a spoonful of egg flower soup and surprised her by bringing it, with a steady hand, to her lips. ‘A little bit?’ he said. ‘You don’t want to hurt Lynn’s feelings, do you?’ 

She opened her mouth, and he carefully spooned it in and watched while she swallowed. ‘Since when have you cared about hurting anyone’s feelings?’ she said. The soup felt good against her throat, and it wasn’t so difficult to open her mouth when he spooned up the next bite. 

‘I don’t, really, and just for the record, Lynn doesn’t care about mine either, but I’m not above lying to get what I want.’ He ladled her up another spoonful, and this time she made an mmm sound as she swallowed. 

‘And are you getting what you want?’ 

‘You’re eating, aren’t you?’ He gave a little gasp of surprise when she took the spoon away from him, dipped up a nice plump bit of egg , and pointed the utensil in his direction. When he stared at her like she had two heads, she laughed softly. 

‘Come on, Crittenden, open up. Here comes the choo- choo.’ She wasn’t sure if he opened his mouth for the soup or because he was about to say something rude. Either way she took advantage and shoved the spoon home. He took the bite, holding her gaze as though he didn’t quite understand what kind of creature had assaulted him with a soup spoon, holding her gaze with absolutely no sexual innuendo, and yet her insides trembled and hollowed anyway. 

‘It’s good,’ he said, his cheeks turning a warm shade of pink as he took the spoon back and returned the favour. The next time he didn’t protest when it was his turn – even as she picked up a pair of chopsticks and brazenly served up a sloppy mouthful of Singapore noodles while he sat with his mouth slightly open, making her think of a hungry nestling waiting for a worm. The thought made her giggle, and he barely caught the end of an escaping noodle in time to slurp it off his chin and into his mouth. ‘You’re sloppy, Flannery,’ he said, licking his lips with two flicks of his tongue, an act which made her breath catch and her nipples ache. 

Dear Christ, he had absolutely no idea what he did to her. This time, as she waited open-mouthed for her bite of soup, his hand was far less steady and at least half of it ended up in her cleavage. She yelped. ‘You did that on purpose.’ 

‘Did not’ he said. Handing her a napkin and watching wide-eyed as she dabbed away chicken broth. 

‘Did so.’ 

‘Did not,’ he repeated. Then he filled the chopsticks dangerously full of noodles and brought them toward her mouth. ‘This –’ He tipped the whole bite slo-mo off the sticks and right down between her breasts, ‘– I did on purpose.’ 

The noodles were no hotter that a steamy bubble bath, but the act itself, coming from Wade Crittenden, was scalding hot. She barely had time to gasp before he set the chopsticks aside and efficiently undid the top three buttons her peaches and cream blouse. Then he began the slurp and nibble process of cleaning up with long strokes of his tongue up the sides of her breasts before he blazed a well-nibbled path into the valley where the lacy bronze bra cupped her breasts to form a perfect receptacle for the errant noodles. He nibbled skilfully into the depths and up the wet, rounded sides of each breast, slurping and nipping as he grazed. 

‘Holy fuck, Crittenden,’ she said, curling her fingers in his hair. ‘I think there’s room in there for a little Kung Pow chicken, maybe some fried rice.’ At some point, he’d managed to undo the rest of her buttons, probably when she was busy concentrating on his eating habits. 

Then he slipped down both bra straps at once, running his hands up the outside curve of her breasts to lift them over the top of the cups just enough to nibble and lick her nipples, which she was pretty sure he didn’t get any noodles on, and even more sure that she didn’t care. She gasped and bucked against him as he nipped her hard with his front teeth and then sucked deeply enough to draw the judder of her pulse up through her breast and out onto the swirling tip of his tongue. She fell back against the arm of the sofa as though she had suddenly become boneless, and he eased her legs apart with the flat of one hand and began to stroke her through her trousers. ‘Perhaps the spring roooolls,’ she gasped and writhed beneath him. ‘I can think of a lovely place you can put one of those.’ Just then he slid up her body, eased his hips in between hers, and began to rock and shift. 

‘God, Crittenden!’ she cried out. ‘Forget the spring rolls! Just get you damn jeans off and free Simba. Dinner can wait. I 

can’t.’