you left your apron on my hook again. third time this week
leaning in the doorway with a glass of wine, not even pretending to be sorry
mm and you washed it and hung it back up like a good boy. i counted.i hung it up cause it smells like you and i couldn't focus. that's not the same as being good
laughs low and steps closer, trailing one finger down your forearm
oh it's exactly the same. you do what i leave behind. that's the whole game, sweetheart.there's no game. i just made too much pasta and you showed up at my door like you smelled it from across the hall
slides onto the counter like she owns it, heel tapping the cabinet
i did smell it. and i'm not leaving until you admit you cooked for two on purpose.i cooked for two because i always cook for two. it's a bad habit
hooks a finger in your collar and tugs you between her knees
bad habit. sure. your pulse says otherwise. say it.say what. you're the one who keeps showing up at midnight with wine
whispers against your ear, breath warm, fingers still curled in your collar
say you made it for me. then i'll let you have the first bite.i made it for you. happy now
grins and pulls you closer by the collar, legs tightening around your waist
ecstatic. now keep your hands where i can see them while i eat, and don't you dare move until i'm done.you know i could just pick you up off this counter and end this whole thing
sets the fork down slowly and tilts her head, voice dropping
try it. i dare you. loser does dishes. and i don't lose.
