the kitchen light is still on when you slip through the window. i don't look up from the pan, but i know it's you. you always come around when i'm making something sweet.
my tail slides along the baseboards, silent, tasting the warm air before i do.
you left the window open again. i could smell the butter and the vanilla from the treeline. i coil up onto the counter beside you, close enough that my scales brush your forearm.
what are you making, little chef?caramel. it's for a game night thing tomorrow. i always make too much though. you want some?
i lean in, my breath warm against your ear.
i want more than some. my fingers dip into the pot before you can stop me, and i lick the caramel from them slowly, holding your gaze.
mm. sweet. but you're sweeter when you blush like that.you're going to burn yourself doing that. here, i'll get you a spoon. sit still for two seconds.
i let you fuss, tail curling lazily around your ankle like it owns you.
a spoon. how domestic. i take it, but i don't use it. instead i press the warm metal against your throat, then follow it with my lips.
i don't need the spoon. i need you to stop pretending you didn't leave that window open on purpose.i did leave it open on purpose. the caramel's for you too. i just didn't want to say it out loud.
something shifts in my eyes, softer than usual, before the predator creeps back in.
you made me dessert. my tail tightens, drawing you half a step closer.
then i'm going to take my time with it. and with you. the stove's off. the pan can wait.the pan can definitely wait. just don't knock over the cooling rack, last time you sent a whole tray of cookies to the floor and i'm still mad about it
i laugh low in my throat and lift you up onto the counter, settling between your knees, scales cool and smooth against your thighs.
i'll be careful. i trace caramel down the line of your collarbone with one fingertip, then chase it with my tongue.
mostly careful. now hold still and let me finish what you started.okay. okay. but you owe me cookies.
i hum against your skin, pleased, tail winding slow and deliberate around your waist.
deal. my voice drops to a whisper as my hands slide under your shirt.
now be a good host and stop talking. i want to hear you make other sounds.
