Dinner Time
I settled into my armchair as D started cooking dinner. Plush and comfy and situated in the corner of my tiny studio apartment, it put me in the perfect position to admire her prowess in the kitchen—along with her handsome profile, all tousled hair and sweeping jaw.
Knife in hand and head bent over the cutting board, D was focused enough not to notice my staring. So, of course, my eyes greedily trailed her every movement—long, tapered fingers grabbing the knife handle in a relaxed grip and the steady rhythm of chopping that slowly filled a pot with diced potatoes.
Without moving from her place at the counter, her gaze slid to the side. I blushed at being caught staring, but she only cocked her head, a corner of her mouth quirking into a smile. “What?”
“Come kiss me,” I said, smile broad and cute and what I could only hope was enticing.
“Babe, I have to cook,” said D, green eyes crinkling with laughter as she shook her head in faux exasperation.
“Do you though?” I asked, squinting up at her from my armchair.
D shook her head “You’re the one who asked for such a fancy meal! It’s not my fault you were craving everything under the sun when we went shopping this morning.”
“Hm,” I said, squint deepening until I could barely see through mostly closed eyelids. “I suppose you’re right. But you could still…kiss me? Just one?”
“Just one, huh?”
I smiled, victorious, as she crossed the short distance between us. Planting one hand on the chair arm on either side of me, D framed me with her body and the smell of spice enveloped me. My smile turned wicked as she leaned forward, planting a quick, chaste kiss on my lips that somehow still sent electricity crackling through my veins.
Just as quickly, she broke away.
Unthinkingly, I grabbed the front of her t-shirt to pull her back toward me. All I knew was that I needed more. “Just one more, maybe?”
“Just one more, huh?” she murmured into my lips before pressing herself into me. I met her there, straining my neck upward for more more more. Her lips parted, tongue sweeping into my mouth and I groaned into her. My thoughts narrowed in on one track as my fingers left her chest to grab onto her forearms: How could I keep her here longer—push the envelope just enough for her to fall deeper into me without realizing how distracted she’d become?
D grabbed the hair at the back of my head and pulled. I gasped as her mouth left mine in search of the salt deposited along my neck. Together, we overwhelmed the sizzling at the stove until all I heard was her breathing and my need. D’s lips returned to mine again and again, and each time I devoured her until all I could feel was the wetness growing between my thighs.
Then she pulled away.
I cried out, grasping for her, but she took another step back until she was out of reach. Her smile was infuriating. I huffed, face flushed and body aching for more. D’s smile widened, which of course only made me angrier and more turned on. Privy to what was happening inside my head and body, she laughed softly as I forced myself to take a deep breath and then another.
As soon as she decided I was calm enough, D stepped forward to place a kiss on my cheek. “Can I get back to cooking now, please?”
I tried—and failed—to hide my grin as I snuggled into the chair and D returned to the abandoned cutting board. The sooner dinner was done, the sooner we could pick up where we left off.
“Yes. Yes, you may.”
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