Holy fuck, baby.
ME
Hurry home
LANE
You’re wicked, my girl. Sending those when you know I can’t leave for a few hours yet.
ME
Just wanted you to know what you have to look forward to.
LANE
I always look forward to time with you.
And, as pretty as that underwear is, I can’t wait to rip it off later.
I didn’t respond, just threw on some sweats—Lane’s, of course—and made my way into the kitchen to get to work on cooking dinner. I’d made a secret trip to Boise a few days before, picking up all the fixings for a surf and turf meal. I’d never prepared lobster before, and I had no idea how long it would take.
For the next few hours, while an audiobook played from my phone, I bustled around the kitchen, dropping the lobster in a pot to boil and vacuum sealing the thick filets in a marinade so they’d be ready to grill just before Lane got home. In another pot, I boiled potatoes, and when they were fully cooked, I mashed them with butter and garlic, as well as pan roasted a mix of green beans and asparagus stalks cut into thirds.
The one thing I wasn’t making was dessert.
Iwas dessert.
About ten minutes before I expected Lane home, I rushed upstairs to change into my favorite jeans that made my asslook phenomenal and a burnt orange sweater that hung off my shoulder, returning to the kitchen as Lane walked in from the garage.
My man wasted no time dropping his bag and coat on the floor in the foyer, kicking off his boots, and stalking toward me. A thrill raced through me at the desire in his eyes. He was a little disheveled. His pants were half tucked into his socks, and his long-sleeved uniform shirt was unbuttoned. It hung open, revealing a plain white tee that clung to the sculpted muscles of his pecs and abdomen. He reminded me of an animal closing in on its prey, and I was more than happy to let him consume me.
Afterdinner.
I put up my hands to halt his progress, but they collided with his chest before being crushed between us as he gripped me by the backs of my thighs and hoisted me onto the counter. Then he attacked, mouth descending on mine, instantly licking past my lips. I met him stroke for stroke, my fingers curling into the open lapels of his shirt.
I was moments away from saying fuck it to dinner and letting Lane take me to bed now, but the oven timer went off, and I pulled away from him with a gasp.
“I need to get that,” I said weakly.
“Leave it,” he responded, his mouth pressed against the pulse point at the base of my neck. He suckled the skin, tongue laving and teeth nipping, in a way that made goosebumps break out across my body.
Gaining some strength, I managed to push him back and hop off the counter.
“I worked hard on this,” I told him over my shoulder. “You’ll eat it, and you’ll like it.”
“I’d rather eat you,” he mumbled.
Winking at him, I said, “Later.”
With a sigh, he stepped up behind me and pressed one more kiss to the side of my neck. “I guess I’ll go change.”
While he did that, I set the table. When Lane returned, he took in the spread and whistled low, then settled onto the chair across from me.
Before taking my own seat, I opened a bottle of champagne and poured each of us a glass.
Lane lifted his, and I mirrored him. “To us.”
“To us,” I agreed.
