Page 98 of Yearn
Ha! I’m really getting the hang of this.
When they came back, we ate.
Oliver narrated the geometry of his chicken bone.
J announced in a tone of tragic indignity that decimals were the worst thing that ever existed.
I listened, talked when needed, and watched the hallway for the moment when the office light would finally wink out.
Halfway through dinner, it did.
Here she comes.
My heart warmed.
“Oh my God!” She came in, barefoot, curls a little messy.
I grinned.
“Dominic, this smells so good. I can’t believe you cooked.” She slid into her chair and looked at the plates like she’d just remembered she was allowed to be hungry.
“I don’t cook much so I thought it would be fun.”
“I told you I was going to order pizza.”
“No way. We like chicken.”
J munched on his drumstick. “This is delicious.”
Oliver bobbed his head.
My heart warmed and relief rushed in. “I’m glad you all like it. I just. . .threw something together.”
“This looks like a high-end meal. You did more than that.” She started piling her plate. “Thank you so much. I owe you.”
I frowned. “You don’t.”
“Well. . .I want to cook for you this week.”
My heart ached some more. “No. You can thank me in other ways.”
She widened her eyes.
I chuckled, happy that the boys didn’t catch that.
Yet in my mind, I fucked her hard.
Violently.
Desperately.
Right there.
Bent over the kitchen table.
Her body trembling beneath mine.
I would tangle my fingers in those wild curls, yanking her head back until our eyes met, forcing her to acknowledge who was splitting her pussy open.
