Would you like to hear about the mini cream puff I stole from my husband earlier? I plucked it from amongst the others with gentle fingers, careful of its tender fragility. Its outer covering, slightly rough to the touch, quivered fearfully between my finger and thumb. The scent of innocent, uncomplicated sweetness rose from it, and it wordlessly begged me to be gentle. There was a curious lightness to it that was strangely at odds with what it modestly tried to keep hidden from me - the presence of heavy cream, whipped, sweetened, secretly begging for release.
I held it between my lips for long moments, caressing it with my tongue, making it damp, making it ready for the breaching...
Yes, it seemed to whisper. Yes!
I closed my eyes and accepted it into my mouth. It took but the merest pressure before it burst into streams of creamy sweetness that took my breath away and left my tastebuds sighing.
After some moments, I opened my eyes to see my husband clutching the bowl of remaining cream puffs protectively to himself, and watching me warily.
Ah well, one was enough. Later I will raid their stronghold (the freezer) and carry off more of them.