Oranges Aesthetic Novels & Stories

‘If that’s what orange oil does for you, please, give me more! ‘Orange oil,’ she intoned, her fingers still skilfully pumping him as she began a list of the oil’s sovereign attributes. ‘Good for skin conditioning, for relaxation, for muscular aches and pains . . .’ She paused then, delicately caressing the tip of him, and when she spoke again her voice was sombre, ‘Orange oil ... Beneficial also for depression, hopelessness and lack of joy.’ The bleakness of her words seemed to fracture his drifting euphoria. Puzzled, he looked up, then said the first thing that came into his head. ‘But I’m not depressed. I’m having a great time!’

My demeanor turns into outrage as he hauls his arm out of my range. "Allow me to take care of you," he says unobtrusively, parting the natural product with his hands. It seems to be an orange, with the manner in which he could isolate it effectively into segments. Yet again I attempt to disregard my face, which has deceived me by turning beet red. "Where did you get this stuff? "I asked while hurrying against the wall. He reflects on my activity while holding the delicious treat. I can't take his look — it's the most frightening and most charming thing I have at any point experienced.

agina is all over the place. Leander patiently peels off the orange and lifts my vest. He squeezed an orange, put it on my chest, then a bite of the orange and n.ipple. The tangerine exudes a strong aroma of fruit. The juice burst out on my chest. Orange juice is like milk. The air is interlaced with cold and heat. “God! Leander, you're amazing!” I gasped with excitement and twisted my feet. It was like the exhilarating survival of not being able to reach the bottom of the water on my toes and feeling like I was going to drown.

Sun-bright and sweet, with an edge of sharp, not a single fleck of pulp or pith, leaving this citrus-glitter on her tongue. Typical. Billionaires even had better squeezed fruit products. Orange juice of this caliber: second-best wake-up call after a bj. Aiden was watching her, hands resting in his lap, the epitome of composure but for the hint of tightness at his knuckles. Fuck. He was going to dump her. He’d brought her orange juice, and now he was dumping her. It was the orange juice of condolence. Or maybe he just thought she wouldn’t hit him if she had something in her hand.

Drew reached for a set of beautifully crafted glasses, each one uniquely designed with a narrow cut along the rim to hold a slice of fruit. The glassware exuded elegance and attention to detail, a testament to Drew's impeccable taste. He placed the glasses on the countertop, their sparkling surfaces reflecting the ambient light in the room. Once the fruits were sliced and ready, Drew carefully poured the vibrant concoction into the glasses. The rich colors of the juice danced playfully, mirroring the cheerful atmosphere that filled the air. The scent of freshly squeezed fruits permeated the kitchen, infusing it with a tantalizing aroma. I admired the presentation. The glasses were now adorne

This man had money, men with money were a headache was the realization I had come to. She returned later on with some fresh fruit that was elegantly sliced. Her and I were going to fight because I stil didn't have an appetite. I really looked at her and found that she was beautiful. She was slim with dark skin like Lupita and kind eyes. “Forgive my manners, I don’t even know your name,”I said to her as she hovered close to me.

I ask honestly. I watch his smile stretch across his face. "Do you not know how to select oranges?" I shake my head and bites his bottom lip to try and hide his smile. "Okay... so," he says, selecting two oranges. "What you want to do is squeeze them gently and find the ones that have firm, finely textured skin..." he holds both of them up towards me as if that helps. "Which one is firm?" he asks, and I try not to laugh. I take each one and squeeze a little before holding up one.

The fragile peel of the orange was bitten through and the sweet and sour juice moistened Hermosa's lips, making them look even more luscious. As if to wipe away the juices, Brent's hand rubbed twice over those lips, which were as moist and soft as one would expect, just like Hermosa herself…

The small plate. I sat down across from her. She peeled it the way she always did — the single continuous spiral, the whole rind coming away without breaking, the pressure and the angle and the patience that had been practised enough times to be entirely instinctive. The curl of it fell to the plate. She opened the orange and set it in its segments and looked at it the way she looked at things she had been doing for a long time and still found worth doing. She pushed the remaining three oranges toward me.

For a heartbeat, she wanted to cover herself, but his gaze held her still, cold and hungry like a predator who had finally cornered his prey. He tilted his head, almost as if amused by her sharp intake of breath, then reached for the small tray of cut oranges on the table. Without a word, he picked one up and pressed it against her skin. The citrus burst instantly, juice dripping down her breast, running like rivulets of liquid fire over her curves.