“Want the grand tour?” I ask when I get her inside and close the front door. “Or are you ready for food?”
“Food, definitely.”
I rub my hands together. “Perfect. Come on, it shouldn’t take me long to whip things up.”
She rubbernecks on the way to the kitchen, the bookshelves I’ve built into the walls over the years catching her attention.She turns her body toward them, so while we’re venturing to the kitchen, we take a detour so that her fingers can run along the spines of my books.
“Does Amber like to read?” she asks.
“About half of these are hers,” I say with pride.
She smiles up at me. “That’s wonderful. I never really got into reading as a kid.”
“Do you read much now?” I ask as we start back on a path to the kitchen.
“Does reading recipes count?”
I smile as we emerge to where the kitchen and adjacent living room are. “It absolutely does.”
“Then I read a lot.”
I give her a smile before I reach for the rag I slapped onto the countertop before I left. I place it back over my shoulder and rummage around, pulling out cooking pans and a pot to make us some cheese grits.
“If you’d like, you’re more than welcome to make yourself comfortable in the living room,” I say as I fire up the stove.
“Or,” she says as she comes and grabs the ingredients for the pancakes, “I can help.”
I smile over at her. “That, too.”
We move around one another in the kitchen, our hips bumping every once in a while. Our arms brush softly every once in a while, sending an electric jolt straight up my spine.
I ask her to taste the grits to make sure the cheese-to-pepper ratio is good. She has me taste a bit of the fruit compote she whipped up on the fly for the pancakes. At some point, she takes out her phone, pulling up some music while she sways.
At my stove.
While flipping pancakes.
I’m entranced by the movements of her body. The way her skirt swishes against her legs. The way her hair moves with thebeat of the music, as if every note is filtered through her body for my enjoyment.
I reach for her hand without thinking, and I’m surprised when she comes willingly.
“Dance with me,” I murmur as I pull her into me.
She reaches out and moves the pancakes to a burner that isn’t on.
Now, I’m not much of a dancer. But I’ve been in enough situations to know that holding and swaying is a valid form of the art. I pull her against me, feeling her body tuck against mine, and when she lays her head against my chest, I close my eyes.
How long has it been since I’ve had an Omega in my arms like this? The feeling is both wondrous and heart-wrenching.
I sway to the beat of the music as my chin rests on top of her pretty little head.
For a moment, breakfast for lunch is forgotten about. There’s nothing but her scent wrapping around me and mine answering in kind.
She hums against my chest, a soft vibration that makes me close my eyes. The sound alone slams my heart against my sternum. My nostrils flare, and I clock her pre-heat simmering beneath the surface of her skin. Itching, waiting, and ready to pop.
It makes me salivate for her.
It’s her growling stomach, however, that pulls me out of the moment.
