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“Hey, Alexa,” I speak up so my AI home system will detect my voice. “Play my weekend playlist.”
“Playing weekend playlist,” Alexa responds, and Amanda raises an eyebrow at me.
“Interesting you have a weekend playlist.”
I thrust out my bottom lip and bob my head as I finish up the onions. “Guilty. You?”
“Not so much. I’m more a spend-every-waking-moment-I-can-on-the-ball-court type of gal and I listen to pretty much the same thing every day.”
“Hmm. Okay. Any other hidden talents I should know about?” I waggle my eyebrows at her.
“Well, I’ve spent years training myself to have speed, agility, and stamina,” she murmurs, and hell, yes. I love a woman willing to give as good as she gets.
“Have you now?”
“Oh, yeah,” she purrs, her pale green eyes downright feral. “I also gotta appreciate a man who has skills in the kitchen.”
Using my bamboo spatula, I stir my ingredients together. I next reach into my fridge to retrieve both the soy sauce and some chardonnay. Pouring a splash of soy, I give the meal another stir, then seize the bottle opener to pry open the wine. Once two identical stemmed glasses are halfway full—I splash some wine into the wok, too—I offer her one, take a sip of my own, and continue blending the ingredients of the stir fry.
With that done, I leer at Amanda, letting my gaze gradually dip along her shapely assets as I blatantly eye-fuck her.
“The kitchen’s not the only place I have skills, by the way.”
“No?” She takes a step forward but remains beyond the extension of my reach.
“No,” I growl out. I didn’t mean to sound like some snarling beast, but waiting to attack her until after we consume our food is going to be difficult.
I put on some minute rice, glad beyond measure that I had just enough to pull this off, then serve everything up. We down our meals with haste and, hoping she’s feeling the same need I am, I offer her my hand.
“Dance with me?”
“Of course.”
We sway to the sexy, melodious beat, her arms wrapped around my neck as I tuck her hips flush to mine. Breathing in her fresh, clean essence, I bury my nose in her blonde locks, nipping along the shell of her ear. We’re not covering much floorspace as we stay mostly in one spot, and when I rock my pelvis into hers, my erection more than evident, she tightens her hold. Bringing my thumbs to either side of her lips, I encourage her to open for me, then slip my tongue into her mouth.
She tastes of chardonnay and our dinner, but also something else, something uniquely her, and I taste her tongue until she moans.
“Can I touch you?” I ask her, desire rising in me like a balloon, and when she nods, I inwardly rejoice.
I keep my hips rotating into her as I tease her nipples over her cotton shirt, loving how she gasps and moans.
Yes.
I’m curious about why she isn’t yet touching me, so I gaze into her eyes to find her lust drunk. For shit’s sake, that’s hot. Going on instinct, I remove one of her hands and place it on my hard crotch, knowing she’ll be able to feel the outline of me with her fingers.
Not sure how comfortable she is with fondling, I wait to see what she does, and happily sigh when she rubs up and down my length over my dress pants. But this increases my urgency by about tenfold, and it’s time to take this to the next level.
“I want you,” I tell her, going for full transparency. I’m not one to beat around the bush, and physically, I can’t hide anything from her, anyway. She can see and feel the effect she has on me.
“Then, have me.” I want to cheer, but then she presses her flat palm to my shoulder. “If you have condoms.”
“Oh, I do.” Relief fills her features, and I’m rejoicing in the fact that we’re on the same page. “I’m going to undress you.”
“Oh, please do. I want to watch you undress yourself.”
“I can do that.” She stops for a moment and I pull back and look into her eyes. “Is everything okay?”
“Um, could we move this to a room where we’re not in front of a big picture window?” She turns and glances toward the front room of my house.
