Heavier though.
“That's it. Give it a flick,” he says.
And I flick it.
“Uh huh, just like that. Move your wrist. Let those juices run down the side.”
Fuck, stop talking before I...
“You're a natural,” he smiles. “Don't let Franko see.”
“Why not?”
“Cos he might get rid of me and give you a raise.”
I'll give you a damn raise,I think.
You give me plenty.
Maybe it’s the close proximity.
His body brushing against mine, standing right behind me.
Maybe it’s the warmth from the stove.
But something wild has unleashed within me.
And I know I’m in trouble.
Deep, juicy trouble.
When I turn my head to ask a question, Porter is right there.
Our faces are inches apart, neither of us stepping away.
Eyes locked on me, he reaches for the knob and gives it a twist.
“Can't let the flame burn too long,” he grins. “Things might get out of hand.”
I hold the pan until my fingers ache, too mesmerised to put it down.
His mouth hovers closer.
The silence burns between us, a most delicious heat.
I feel his lips brush against my cheek.
And again, I don't step back.
Instead I slip a hand around his waist, pulling him toward me.
But then I hear it.
A shuffle of boots on the staircase.
A dull thud on the other side of the door.
Someone heaves a box of produce onto the counter.
