Famished - or something like that

Famished - Part 3

She arrived up at the restaurant entrance dead on time. She felt ravenous. She wasn't the only one as she noticed how the eyes of the man on the door devoured her appearance as she walked in. A couple of hours earlier she'd bought a body-hugging black dress that did little to hide what it pretended to contain. Her makeup had been applied sparingly but most effectively.

"Ah, Shirelle," Paul said, "you're here, right on time."

She saw Paul to one side in the waiting area – he had obviously arrived early. She felt his eyes all over her as he, too, drunk in her appearance.

"Of course," she said, smiling.

They were led to a small two-seater table half hidden behind a partition that gave a modicum of privacy from the rest of the restaurant. Paul held her chair while she sat down before placing his ample frame on the seat across the table from her. Menus were placed in front of them and Paul, with her approval, ordered a large carafe of white wine. She absorbed herself with what was on offer. The lobster thermidor on the specials leapt out at her – it was the most expensive item listed. She smiled and licked her lips.

"Do you, um, fancy a starter?" Paul asked in a manner that suggested he hoped she wouldn't.

"Oh yes, definitely," she replied with enthusiasm, looking through that section of the menu. "Hmm, I can't make up my mind between the smoked salmon with prawns, the smoked duck and mozzarella salad, or the steamed mussels with cider and bacon."

"Oh," he said. "Not sure if I dare have a starter. Though I must admit that the duck sounds nice."

"You have that and I'll finish off anything you leave," she said, with a grin. "I'll have the salmon and prawns."

"Ah, right," Paul said, hardly able to take his eyes off the delicacy before him. "And for main?"

"Lobster thermidor," she said, her lips running over her teeth. "If you can afford it."

"Er, yes, no problem. I, um, might have the same. Not everyday I get to treat myself like this, you know. Especially not in the company of someone so, um, well, so attractive."

She grinned, unembarrassed.

Twenty minutes later the starters had been gorged, though mostly by Shirelle. Paul had only managed to get through about a third of his duck before her plate, that had once held salmon and prawns, was spotless. She'd even crunched the shells of the prawns down and eaten the slice of lime whole.

"You, erm, must have hollow legs," Paul commented. "And I've never ever seen anyone eat the shells off king prawns before."

"Strong teeth," she said, leaning forwards and opening her mouth wide. "Look, not a filling in sight."

Paul glanced inside her mouth and then looked to one side before muttering, "Wish I could claim the same."

"Mine grow back if I break them," she stated. "I always reckon there's a bit of shark in my DNA. They can do that, you know."

"Really?"

"Something like that," she said with a grin, amused to see the confusion on Paul's face. At least she hadn't told him just how quickly her teeth grew back.

"Damn, but this is delicious," she gasped after tucking into the lobster once it had arrived. It had been prepared properly, the lobster meat served in the original shell and the cracked open claws laid beside it amongst the salad. The aroma of the sauce ladled over it did exquisite things to her taste buds.

By the time Paul had managed his tenth mouthful, Shirelle had reduced her plate to just the shell and claws, and was eyeing up his own plate with eager anticipation.

"You're amazing," he said, "I have, er, never known anyone quite like you, certainly not when it comes to food, anyway. Well, I'm already feeling extremely full. Erm, do you, um, want to try finishing mine off as well?"

Almost before he had finished speaking she had upended the contents of his plate onto hers and begun shovelling what he'd left into her mouth.

As she swallowed, she felt his eyes eating her up yet again. They were as rapacious for her as she was for the food. "Enjoy me," she thought, as she smiled back at him, her teeth masticating the lobster to a pulp.

Then, with no meat left on her plate, she picked up a lobster claw, one of the big ones. She watched Paul's mouth hang open as she put the claw in her mouth and crunched down on it, shattering it into tiny pieces, her teeth grinding the pieces even further before she swallowed. It was probably just as well that, hidden behind the partition, no one else in the place could see her. Five minutes on and all the claws and the lobster shells had gone the same way.

She licked her lips provocatively, seeing the quick rise and fall of Paul's chest as he couldn't keep his voracious eyes off her.

She picked up the sweet menu and started scanning it.

"Oh," he said, "I couldn't possibly. Are you really still hungry?"

"Something like that," she said. "Hmm, that chocolate cake sounds delish."

It was nearly eleven by the time they left. She'd persuaded him to get two large slices of the chocolate cake, covered in thick cream, and had proceeded to eat them both all by herself. He had relented on the coffees, though she had swiped all the chocolates and mints that had accompanied them.

As they walked out into the cool air she was still hungry but knew that she would probably be pushing it if she tried to persuade him to visit the kebab stall down near the river.

"Um," he started.

"Yes?"

"Have you got far to go home?"

"Miles away," she said, waving vaguely in a random direction. She hadn't lived there for years mainly because it had long been demolished or bombed or something like that.

"Should I, er, call you a cab or something?"

"'Something' sounds better than a cab," she said.

"Uh, what?"

"Go for a drink, maybe?"

"I think most of the pubs will have called their last orders by now."

"How about your place? Didn't you say you live close by?"

She suppressed the grin as she saw him swallow.

"Er, yes, um, this way. It's, er, not too far."