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No formalities or showing off here.
Just a hard-working guy home from a long day, and now he’s ready to eat.
And I couldn’t agree more.
Joining Steve in a dining area with a huge kitchen visible over a large granite bench, he’s already thrown his jacket off and rolled his sleeves up, lifting the square, silver covers off trays and plates.
The smells and warmth of the food fill my senses, making my mouth water as wet as the man himself does.
Catching himself, Steve rolls his eyes, and in two strides, he’s guiding me by the shoulders to the table, pulling out my chair for me.
“I’m used to dining alone,” he remarks, ensuring I’m settled in nicely and laying a napkin across my lap.
“At least youhavea table,” I blurt out, feeling suddenly self-conscious for a moment until he laughs with me.
Not laughing at me, laughing with me, which is something I’ve never experienced.
“I’m hardly here anyway,” Steve comments, heaping a plate high with food that I assume is for himself, gulping but drooling when he puts it in front of me.
There’s steak, potatoes and about three kinds of hot side dishes. All shouting things I tell myself I’m not supposed to eat.
“There’s other stuff. Help yourself,” he says, licking his thumb as he piles his own plate, noting my sudden quietness.
“That’s alotof food,” I murmur, and he smiles. Motioning a hand up and down his body, he remarks that he needs to eat a lot and I shouldn’t be shy on his account.
I’ve always been shy about eating in front of other people, but we’re both stuffing our faces in a few minutes, talking and laughing like old friends and way better than any fancy restaurant.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Steve
They say we eat with our eyes and with Holly finally at my place and our dinner table, I’m getting a double helping with every bite as I watch her eat too.
As I watch her body move when she talks.
Watch her hair dance when she laughs.
The food’s excellent, but the company is even better. But already I’m thinking about dessert. And not the kind that’s served on a plate.
I can feel my jaw flexing on steak, my hands holding the cutlery. But my mind is already filled with the memory of her sweet mound on my lips instead.
Her large chest in my hands as I knead her stiff peaks closer to climax.
“Whatcha thinking?” she asks, probably noticing my caveman look and the fact I’ve been chewing the same mouthful for five minutes without taking my eyes off her.
I can only make a low sound in reply, making her flush red as I swallow hard. My eyes broadcast exactly what I’m thinking.
She politely dabs the oversized napkin on her lips, commenting she’s never eaten so well or so much in ages.
I can only feel my napkin under the table, like a circus tent as my arousal and true hunger grow by the second.
I’m done eating for now. And the silence that follows between us doesn’t last long.
Without a word, and only when I see her shifting in her seat, sensing just how fucking wet she is, I know it’s time.
Her eyes widen when they zoom in on my undeniable hardness when I stand, and her body sways as she murmurs my name – making me harder.
Hearing her say it over the table, our table.
