He’s draped the shirt in question over the back of one of the chairs set around the small table, and I snatch it up before he can move, twisting it into a ball and tossing it up the hallway toward the bedroom.
“Don’t you dare.”
He gives me a shy smile, then gets to work with surprising confidence. He finds a block of cheese in the fridge, grabs butter and a loaf of bread. A green apple from the bowl on the counter. Not sure how long ago I bought that, but he gives it a little toss into the air and seems satisfied with whatever measure of freshness that is.
As he sets about buttering the bread, his back to me, I crowd up behind Charlie, bracketing him against the counter with my arms.
“Is this your idea of helping?” he says, tilting his head back.
“Eyes forward,” I say, and he snaps to. “This is definitely my idea of helping.” I drag my lips along the back of his neck. “I’m going to see if making...what...grilled cheese sandwiches?”
He nods, knife scraping against the bread. “Grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“I want to see if getting you to concentrate on something else is enough to get your head out of panic mode while I turn you on.”
“That doesn’t sound particularly safe,” I say. “I’ve got knives and a hot frying pan.”
I run my hands over his hips, pulling him back until I can fit my cock against the seam of his jeans. “Well, then you’ll just have to pay attention to those, won’t you?”
Let’s be honest. Grilled cheese is a sexy food. It’s warm and gooey, seductive on a cool fall evening. Watching Charlie make it as I kiss his neck and shoulders is a different kind of seduction. At first, he’s still chatty, keeping up a nervous stream of narration as he works through the steps.
“So I have to slice the cheese now,” he says.
“Charlie, I know how to make a sandwich. Stop thinking. Do and feel. That’s all you need tonight.”
“Right. Right, sorry.”
Charlie works on his sandwich, and I work on Charlie. It’s a tough job, my hand on his bare skin, mouth on his neck and along his spine. I pinch his nipples, and he whines. I slide my palms along the waistband of his jeans and he presses back, grinding his ass against my crotch. His hands shake as I go lower, finding his stiff cock pressing against his fly.
“The apples,” he says.
“What about them?” I grip him, squeezing. He’s got a nice cock. Long and curving slightly to the tip.
“I’m going to slice my finger off if you keep doing that.”
“We don’t need apples, Charlie.”
He tips his head back, mouth searching for mine, so apparently he’s not that worried about his fingers.
“You’ll like them,” he says. “They’re juicy.” His lips curl up in a smile at the last word.
“Are you flirting with me?” I go back to stroking him through his jeans.
His cheeks are flushed and warm against my skin. “Mason. Please.”
“Keep going. Let me take care of you.”
I do back off long enough for him to cut thin, round slices of apple, but as soon as he’s placing them into his sandwiches, I undo his fly, letting his pants cling to his hips before gravity takes over.
“They’re going to take a few minutes to cook,” he says as he sets his creations in the pan.
“Perfect timing.” I maneuver him to the other side of the kitchen, away from the hot stove. He stumbles with his pants halfway down to his knees, but I keep my hands on his hips until I can turn him and let him fall into one of the chairs by the table.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I drop to my knees, stripping his pants and underwear the rest of the way off, before I spread his legs wide.
“Keep an eye on the frying pan.” I run my hands along the insides of his thighs.
