Page 109 of Book Boyfriends
Looks like I do get to have an omelet after all!Wiggling my hips, I grab the unopened butter and place it on the counter with the rest of the ingredients.
After three misses, I find the pans in the cabinet below the countertop stove. Placing a large skillet on a burner, I notice a loaf of gluten free bread beside a toaster still in the box. Blinking, I scan the kitchen. On the other side of the stove sits whole wheat bread and a second toaster. One still plugged into the wall.
“No.” Head shaking, I run back to the fridge and swing it open.
On the top shelf, I find sealed containers marked with aP, including yogurt, cream cheese, salsa, and sour cream. Their identical matches, only unsealed and without aP, are located on the shelf below. Laughter wooshes out of me as I find another thing of jam, again not labeled, which is unsealed, on the bottom rack in the fridge’s door. In almost a possessed state, I rifle through his cabinets finding an assortment of gluten free snacks: chips, pretzels, popcorn, cereal, crackers, and cookies. Some of which are my favorites that I’ve mentioned
You’ll always have cake with me.His words from last night are the reason my cheeks are lifted with a large grin.
“Why a P?” My breath catches. “P for Peach.”
Shutting the cabinets, I lean against the kitchen island, my gaze locked on the unopened butter beside the pile of ingredients next to the stove.All of this is for me. To make sure that I’m comfortable. That, here, I belong.
“Were you going to cook? That’s sweet. But I planned to cook for you. You’re the guest, after all,” he says, striding into the kitchen, shirt damp with sweat and face glistening.
“Did you buy new butter and jam for me?” I peer at him, my pulse kicking up.
“Yeah.”
“And bread?” I point to the counter.
“Yeah.” His face wrinkles.
“And atoaster?”
“Yeah.”
“Not to mention my own versions of thingsandso many gluten-free snacks?”
“Yeah… Did I do something wrong?” He rubs the back of his head.
Pushing off the counter, I rush to him and fling myself into his arms. “So right.” I press my smile against his.
This is the opposite of being cool about this. I should flash a coy smile and say, “Oh, that’s sweet.” Instead, I choose to tackle him in his own kitchen with fevered kisses. With how his lips meet each press and the tightness of his arms banded around me, it’s clear he’s onboard with my lack of aloof coolness.
“You are about the sweetest man,” I pant between kisses.
“Did you see the gluten-free French fries in the freezer?” he murmurs, his low timbre humming through me.
“You didn’t?” I whimper.
“Yup.” He lifts me onto the counter, his large body coming between my legs.
“I was so wrong.”
“About what?” His hands still on my bare thighs.
“I’m not in danger of falling for you, I’m already falling.”
“Ditto.” He smiles.
“Do you want to fuck me on this counter or take me back to your bed?” I slide my hand beneath his T-shirt, skating my fingers across the muscular cuts.
“Not beating around the bush, eh?” A loud bark of laughter sprints out of him.
“I have other things I’d prefer you do with my bush.” I skate my finger along his happy trail, my voice dripping with sultriness.
“My sweet, silly Peach.” He nuzzles along my chin. “But I’m all sweaty and gross.”
