He peeled the black dress slowly away from her neck, gently easing the fabric across the smooth rounded shoulders, like peeling the tough outer leaves from an artichoke to reveal the ripe vegetable beneath. He kissed the soft skin at her throat, skin the colour of creamed salmon mousse, that tasted sweetly of honey, and raised in goosebumps like the texture of a freshly plucked strawberry. He caressed the curves of her body, feeling its firmness as carefully as he would test a melon, pushing the dress finally to the floor, and standing back to critically survey her naked perfection, searching for flaws in the presentation. She straightened her stance under his appraising gaze, as he bent to her breast, the aureoles brown and smooth as an almond shell, and touched the expectant nipples with his tongue. She shuddered as he sucked harder, revelling in the sweet, almost spicy taste of her, nutmeg and musk, pulling her towards him, kneading her back like a troublesome dough, as he guided her inexorably towards the closed door that led to his very private kitchen.