Charlton Chocolate
"Chocolatier Aisha creates the most decadent truffles in Southeast London. When journalist Kevin comes to review her shop, she offers him a tasting he'll never write about—or forget."
Aisha's chocolate shop was a hidden gem on Charlton Church Lane—small, intimate, smelling of cocoa and secrets. Kevin had heard about it from other food writers but nothing had prepared him for the owner.
Somali-British, with cheekbones that could cut glass and curves that could stop traffic. Her apron struggled to contain her figure, and her dark eyes sparkled with mischief.
"The famous journalist. Here to judge my truffles?"
"Here to taste them. Judgment comes later."
"Then let me give you something worth judging."
The tasting was extraordinary. Dark chocolate infused with cardamom. Milk chocolate with honey and sea salt. White chocolate—"I know it's not real chocolate," she said—with rosewater and pistachio.
"This is incredible," Kevin admitted.
"Good. But that's just the public menu." She locked the shop door and turned the sign to closed. "For the real experience, you need the private tasting."
"I don't—"
"Shh." She pressed a truffle to his lips. "Just taste."
The chocolate melted on his tongue, and then her mouth was on his, sharing the sweetness. She tasted like her craft—rich, complex, irresistible.
"I mix my best work with something else," she murmured. "Passion. Can't get that in regular shops."
"Is this how you treat all journalists?"
"Only the ones I want to corrupt." Her hands pulled at his shirt. "You want to be corrupted?"
"God, yes."
She drizzled warm chocolate on her own skin—down her neck, between her breasts, across her stomach. Her body was a dessert waiting to be devoured.
"Taste me properly," she commanded.
He licked the chocolate from every curve, feeling her shudder with each stroke of his tongue. When he reached her thick thighs, she guided him to the sweetest spot of all.
"Yes... there... don't stop..."
She came against his mouth, tasting like chocolate and something headier.
She returned the favor, covering him in melted sweetness and consuming it with enthusiasm. Her mouth was as skilled as her confectionery hands.
"Now," she said, climbing onto the preparation table and spreading her legs. "The main course."
He took her there among the chocolates, the sweet smell surrounding them as their bodies created something even more decadent. She cried out with each thrust, her thick body bouncing against the stainless steel.
"Harder! Make it count!"
He did, and when they both finished, they were covered in chocolate and sweat and satisfaction.
Later, she fed him truffles while they lay on the shop floor.
"So what's your review going to say?"
"Five stars. Life-changing experience. Return visits mandatory."
She laughed, that warm sound. "And the private tasting?"
"Off the record. But also five stars."
"Come back tomorrow. I'll make you something new."
"More chocolate?"
"Something sweeter." She kissed him, rich and slow. "A speciality you'll never find anywhere else."
His Charlton chocolate was the best thing he'd ever tasted. And Kevin was already craving more.