Dark, delicious, tempting…all words I could use about Chocolate cake. Three weeks into my new year’s resolution and I’m already craving my worst enemy. She’s the wicked temptress who calls to me at all hours of night and day and who makes pile on pounds just by thinking of her.

So cake, chocolate and all other things tasty and delicious are off my list of permitted foods. I’m eating vegetables and queen noah or at least that is the way the health store lady pronounces it. It looks like rice gone wrong to me and doesn’t taste much better. I really, really, really want a slice of cake. A big, thick chunk of chocolate butter cream covered goodness. But my fat arse and wobbly tum need trimming so I can’t have it.

Not that it’s any old piece of cake I’m longing for, no, it’s a particular cake baked by a particular man. Ryan. The only man who’s ever cooked for me, the only make who’s ever really loved me just as I am, jiggly bits included. Ryan who I dumped in a fit of idiocy just before Christmas. I saw him in our local pub the night of my works Christmas do and he was at the bar standing next to an incredibly attractive blond. She was tall, thin, suave and elegant.

Everything I am not. She touched his arm and then he put his hand over hers. Well that was it. In my slightly tipsy going on for drunken mind that was tantermount to shagging over the nearest table so I walked over, slapped him around the face, called her a slag and stormed off home.

Ryan had tried to get through to me but I’ve ignored all his calls and all his texts and all his everything. I’ve tried really hard to ignore him in my dreams too but he keeps cropping up with his big smile, his bright green eyes and his floppy brown hair that feels just so good between my fingers. He comes to me every night in my dreams and he’s always carrying cake, THAT cake, the cake of my dreams. I wake up craving. I wake up gnawing on my pillow through frustration. My stomach rumbles and my pussy aches with need of Ryan and his sinfully delicious cake of calorific catastrophe.

And this morning when I woke, filled with hunger pains and emotional torment I looked down at my phone. On it a text.

Karen told me you’re on a diet. I have baked a cake for you. I’ll be home from six tonight please come over and have a slice. I miss you. Ryan x

Pffft. She’s meant to be my best friend and her she is telling Ryan of all people about my diet. And he knows me so well, he knows what I want. Cake. I spend the rest of the day wrestling with my need. I would not go to his house, I would not give in. I don’t give in to the doughnuts that Julie bought in for her birthday. I eat my salad at lunch and drink nothing but water all day. I type like I’m possessed and I don’t think of him and his cake. His delicious, perfect cake.

I get three quarters of the way home after work too and then I catch a scent in the air. Chocolate cake. I can’t resist any more and in moments I find myself on his doorstep. He opens the door with a smile on his face.

“If I knew you were coming I’d have baked a cake,” He sings then with a chuckle adds, “actually I have baked for you, do you want a slice.”

“Yes, please.”

He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t make excuses, didn’t make me apologise he just took my hand and led me to cake.

“Fuck, this is good.” I lick my lips and smile at him, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Whatever possessed you to diet anyway? You’re perfect as you are.”

“Only you think so, Ryan,” I sigh. My heart aches when I think of what I threw away, my dreams were not just fuelled by my need for cake. I crave Ryan more than anything else.

“Karen, you’ve got a little buttercream…”

“Where?” I wave my hand in front of my face. He slides closer to me on the sofa and turns my face towards him with a fingertip. My skin burns where he touches me.

“Just, there.” He whispers. His lips close in on mine and he’s kissing me, his tongue snakes out and brushes my lips, I open my mouth and alow him entrance. I am in heaven. I can taste creamy chocolate and hard man.

“I’m sorry.” I gasp when our lips part for a moment, “I’m so sorry.”

“Shhh,” he replies, places a finger over my lips, “I believe you dripped a little bit of buttercream down here too.” His finger trails down over my chin and into my cleavage. He smiles wickedly then kisses trails of burning lust down to my breasts.

“Chocolate and you,” he gasps, “my favourite things.”

“Yes,” I reply, “I couldn’t live without your cake.”

He pouts so sweetly and I laugh.

“What? No one bakes for me like you.”

“No, my love, they don’t. Now let me fuck you. It is the only payment I demand for my top class chef skills.”

“Yes,” I reply as he rips open my blouse buttons, “and very reasonable a payment plan it is too.”

We laugh and strip and rub buttercream over body parts. We croon, we cry, we come together in a crescendo of passion.

“Chocolate and you,” I smile and kiss cake crumbs from his cheek, “my favourite things.”

He smiles and I finally feel sated. Fuck stupid new Year diets. All a woman needs is a good man who bakes.