Page 60 of Falcon

“All right, so, you take each piece of bread and you jam chocolate chips into it… Like this.” I press four or five chocolate chips into the soft bread. “As many as you want, and then I’ll dip it in the batter and fry it up.”

“This sounds so decadent.”

“It’s a staple in the Masen home.”

Time passes with ease when I’m with her. We go through the motions of making the French toast, I help her fry it in the pan, she burns it a little, which she isn’t happy about, but it’s fine because her pouty lip is all too ripe for kisses.

.

We sat at her kitchen table and enjoyed breakfast together, slowly savoring every sweet morsel. I took pride in watching her eyes roll back in her head from pure, food driven pleasure. She swirled each bite on her plate to make sure she didn’t lose any of the flavor before slipping the fork between her lips and moaning in pleasure.

Note to self: She loves syrup.

Faith

“You cooked. At least allow me to clean up,” I tell him, watching him move around my kitchen, cleaning up our breakfast mess.

“That’s not how I do things, baby. You perch your ass right there on that counter and let me stare at you while I finish these dishes.”

“That, sir, is not how I do things. I’m a modern woman and I want to split the work equally. You wash, I’ll dry.”

“Fair enough.” He gives in and steps over just a bit to give me room.

“Mind if I put on some music?” I ask, pulling out my phone.

“Not at all.”

“Any preferences?” I slide my thumb down the screen, scrolling through my playlists.

“Anything you like will be perfect.”

A smile spreads over my lips and the devil on my shoulder tells me to go for it.

I open up the music app and search for just the song I want before hitting play. There’s a moment of silence before the all too familiar beat of “The Macarena” seeps from my Bluetooth speakers.

“What. The. Hell?” he says with a laugh. “Really?”

“Come on, Mr. Big Tough Falcon.” I tug on the waistband of his pants to make him turn toward me. “Let’s dance. I know you know the moves.”

I begin to move, doing the all too popular dance to the beat, wiggling my ass a little to tempt him.

“I’m not doing the Macarena,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh yes, you are.”

I spin around, facing away from him, continuing to do the little dance, but I make sure to put a little more sexy in it…if that’s even a thing.

“You’re making a compelling argument, but I’m rather enjoying watching.”

I face him once again and grab his wrists, pulling him closer. “Dance with me.”

“You’re relentless.” He loosens up and lets me move him closer.

“Yep. I am.”

With a sigh and a laugh, he begins to dance, and it is, without a doubt, one of the dorkiest things I’ve ever seen a man do. Ever.

But I love it. It’s so out of character and silly. His smile is infectious and his laugh, even more so. We go through the motions of the dance until the song rolls to a close, and my playlist continues on, playing a Secondhand Serenade tune next.

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