Prank Give Wrong

I couldn't contain my eagerness. I accepted the plate with both hands stretched and palm up. The dessert had a coating of milky globs of cream.

I spooned into the thickest glob and slowly brought the spoonful to my lips.

The pungent odor drove me mad. Without thinking, I swiped my tongue over it. It was instinctual.

I pretended not to notice anything strange at all. I took a bite, careful not to spill. An overload of salt delightfuly complimented the chocolate. The saltiness invaded my palette and took over all other flavors. It drove me mad!

I dug in for more. Next—a double spoonful. My tongue searched for that same overwhelming sensation.

There it was. 

I was near enough to heaven. I couldn't hide it—it was enrapturing. 

His voice broke me out of the spell.

"How's my junk taste?" He impatiently pried. 

Another spoonful went into my mouth. We locked eyes.

Chad wasn't going to be satisfied until I acknowledged what he did. He didn't save up such a load to spray over the cake he bought just for me for me for nothing. He wasn't going to let this masterful prank of his go to waste. He waited for me to detest it—to reject it—throw a fit.

Instead, I was suspended in delight while I finished the sullied slice of cake.

"Well?" He was impatient. 

I reluctant swallowed the last bite (I'd rather have left it to melt in my mouth)

"What do you mean 'junk'?" I pretended to be unaware.