Pouring her wine, slowly filling the first of the two smooth wooden goblets, their surfaces a carefully lathed work of beauty, each boasting a burr of turned walnut.
She unhooks her sandals and stretches her bare feet out across the blanket. Relaxing back into the sumptuous depth of layered cushions. Her body held in weightless comfort. The trees standing over her, admiring her every movement as she lifts her goblet to her lips and sups the elegant wine.
Her oarsman continues to arrange their feast, finding fresh fruits and a small round tray of delicious display of dark cherry chocolates decadently dusted with icing sugar. He offers her the tray, and she delicately lifts one, of the round chocolates, her eyes brightening, as she licks her lips.
The salty sweet chocolate melts on her tongue. Her jaw relaxing, the thick dark chocolate shell cracking between her teeth, her eyes closing in delight as the thick rich cherry center oozes and soothes over her throat spreading a salted dark cocoa, of sweet and sour fruits.
She tips her head, sinking back deeper into the nest of cushions, abandoning herself to the unpainted dome of porcelain blue, the unbroken eggshell of white ceramic clouds, peppering the sky with their poetic perfection, passing over her, voyeur and discrete.
Your eyes reach over her, searching to find her oarsman. His eyes igniting, embers wild, hazel lit, and burning. He’s watching her in detail. Watching her savor every intimacy of his imagination. His Siren, seduced, spread in silk and lace. He climbs over the cushions, careful not to disturb her, and coils down beside her.
His eyes prize her breast, like a hunter, predatory and possessive, his purpose heats his gaze, calling for her attention, his patience as unhurried as the seasons that turn so slowly inside the forest.
She senses his attention. She understands his need. Inevitable. She unhooks the thin silk-string strap from her shoulder, uncovering an invitation to tend to her swelling breast. His fingers drawn, carefully they come clawing, loosening the lace, his lips dry with the held breath of his wanting her.
Revealed, her darkening, hardening nipples find the forest air, the light around them seeming to brighten, as if a cloud had uncovered the sun, the warm cloak of their combined energy spreading over her. His mouth opening in a slow motion of worship, closing to devour her succulence.
She tastes gorgeous under his kiss. His tongue rubbing over her nipple and teasing her to harden and gorge inside his mouth. Her blood obliging, rushing inside to reunite with his lips.
His need growing greater, his mouth pulling on her breast and demanding her capillaries break, bruising beneath her flesh, a soft ripened fruit falling inside his mouth, breaking open and feeding his need.
On an invisible tide her slender legs draw in, then stretch out. Her bare heels dragging on the blanket, feeling the forest floor trapped underneath. Her knees rub, her feet stroking, one against the other, her thighs stretching, beginning to beckon and beg.
His oar worn hands hover close, waiting to grip her, to stroke through her as if she were the deep reservoir of water through which he now dips and pulls his skulls.
Her body obeys, worn smooth with waiting, hewn from the forest and turning slowly in his hands. Her whole, a hand carved goblet of willow, an offering from which he will drink and devour every last drop of her love and desire.