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“My mother’s recipe. It was passed down from my grandmother, and then her mother before that. I don’t really know from when it originated, but it’s been in the family ever since. Ages, really,” I explained.
“I came across an old recipe book once. I always wanted to try to make something from it,” she said.
“Do you still have it?”
“It’s in the museum archives at the moment. I feature it in rotating exhibits on occasion. Not many of the recipes are actually readable. It was partially burned in a fire at the New York Public Library,” she explained. Suddenly, it was as if she was in a faraway place, her expression wistful.
“If we get a chance to visit my home, I’ll show you my recipe book. I have to warn you, it’s pretty messy with notes and scribbles everywhere. It’s practically a family heirloom at this point.”
“I’d like that,” she smiled.
I got up and cleared the plates off the table after she’d finished. She protested and I shook my head. Her chin lifted in defiance as she took hers from my hands, carrying it to the sink and washing it without a word. I almost chuckled when I saw her glance back over her shoulder, almost as if she was waiting to see what I would do.
I didn’t do anything. Not yet.
Sure, I wanted to, but I didn’t want to scare her off. She’d grown up in an entirely different world than I had, one that was solely focused on work and productivity rather than the simple joy of living lives with others. I knew enough about New Englandia to know that all of this was new to her. She wasn’t used to a man like me, one that wanted to care for the woman by his side while also giving her everything she needed in the bedroom, red bottom or not.
Fuck, I’d been the first man to ever kiss her, and I was most certainly the first to make her come.
From the startled look on her face last night, that was probably her first orgasm ever in her life. I needed to be careful with her. I didn’t want to hurt her.
She deserved to be cherished.
I waited until she was finished washing the dishes before I leaned against the counter and lifted my arm, beckoning her to come to me. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.
She bit her lip nervously, drying off her hands for several moments too long before she eventually braved the journey over to me. The closer she drew to me, the more I had to resist the urge to gather her up in my arms and take her right there on the kitchen counter.
It was difficult, but I managed.
When she reached me, she took my hand and I gently pulled her in close to me, gazing into her eyes. I couldn’t get enough of her. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life. Slowly, I traced the line of her jaw, lifting her chin slightly before I captured her lips in a soulful kiss.
This time, she tasted like berries and powdered sugar. At first, her returning kiss was tentative, but her uncertainty soon dissipated as I wrapped my arms around her, running my fingers up and down her spine. Her fingers grazed hesitantly against my shoulder, eventually winding around my neck as she kissed me back with just as much feeling as I did her.
When I pulled back, I saw the same starry-eyed bliss in her gaze as I saw last night.
“Are you always this forward with the women in your life?” she asked. Immediately, she bit her lip as if she regretted asking, but I welcomed the opportunity anyway.
“No. Only you,” I replied.
She buried her face in my chest, but not before I saw the distinct curl of a smile on her lips.
She’d liked that.
I did too.
* * *
The next few days passed by in a whirlwind. Naomi spent much of her time in her office, prepping her team for her absence. I explored the capital city, trying to understand the world she came from. From what I could gather, homes were bare and utilitarian, simply a place to sleep between workdays. I’d hacked into one of her home tablets in her absence and scrolled through her work calendar. It looked like she hadn’t taken a day off in ages.
My palm twitched. If she were mine, she wouldn’t be sitting down comfortably tonight.
But she wasn’t. Not yet.
I distracted myself by cooking myself a full meal from back home. I packaged up the leftovers with the full intention of heating them up when Naomi finally left the office.
The food here wasn’t anything to write home about. Simply put, it was boring. Sure, it was nutritionally sound, each meal fortified with vitamins and minerals that had been shown in one scientific study after another to extend human life, but it lacked the rich flavor that came from cooking a family meal with one another.
I yearned to show her that there was more to life than work.
