Caught

[downhomeguy]

The first thing I noticed when I walked into my apartment was how full it seemed, how much stuff seemed to be piled here and there, which was more than likely just the effect of having seen what it would look like nearly empty. Opening the fridge, I rooted around and made a mental note of everything inside that I could requisition for the evening; fortunately, I didn't think I would need to go to the store. Just before closing the door I grabbed a styrofoam box from the top shelf, some leftover takeout that I had put there. I was hungry for so many things, but food would have to do for the time being.

Balancing a bottle of water on top of the container, I snatched a half-used legal pad and pen from a drawer and made my way over to the couch. Drawing a line across the middle of the top page, I started to jot down things that needed to be done on the top half: tidy up, find something to wear, dig some place mats out for the table, make sure I had clean plates and glasses for everything. I wrote "vacuum," and then put a question mark at the end. Whether or not I did that would depend on how much time I had. "Shower?" Again, it would be a question of time. Although the more I thought about it, the more I thought that I should scrub off the layer of sweat that had developed over the course of the morning. I should also probably load something into my rarely-used sound system. "Music" was the last thing I wrote down.

Turning to the bottom of the page, I started to jot down ideas for food. Only looking away long enough to stab at the food already in front of me, I wrote down a few of the ingredients that I had, as well as some shorthand abbreviations for how to cook them that would probably look like gibberish to anyone who didn't know what I was thinking. "GB - SS/G" would probably sound like some secret government agency out of context, but really it was just a reminder of one of my tried and true recipes. Knowing that I didn't have to worry about dessert was a relief; I'd never been one for baking. The last (and only) time that I had tried to make pizza dough from scratch, the kitchen had looked like a crime scene involving cocaine. It also meant that I probably wouldn't be able to lean across the table, offer her my fork and say "Here, taste this." That usually only achieved the desired result with something sweet.

With my list complete and my takeout container empty, I tossed the styrofoam into the trash and grabbed an old grocery bag. Making my way around the room, I started to grab unnecessary items...mostly junk and a few items of clothing...and toss them into the bag, which would later be tied and placed somewhere in the closet. At one point I decided to open the sliding door and let some fresh air in; in the process, I glanced across the courtyard. She was nowhere to be found, probably busy like me. The idea that she would be at my door in a matter of hours, though, somehow gave me some comfort.

 

[Sensual_Goddess]

I had no ideas about dessert still, when I drove into the parking space at the grocery store. Something easy, but a little messy. That ruled out fruit salad, which involved only cutting. I perused the fresh fruit anyway, looking for inspiration. Peaches were on sale. Big, plump, and oh samples! I took a skewer from the lady in the apron and tasted. Sweet, juicy, oh, so very good.

"We're sharing a recipe for easy peach cobbler, too. It's great with vanilla ice cream," she added.

I looked at the recipe; frozen pie crust, fresh peaches, sugar, cinnamon, corn starch.

I think I can handle that, I said mostly to myself, but it must have been out loud, because the sample lady smiled and encouraged me to give it a shot. She even pointed me in the direction of the right sized baking dish. It was a little pricey at the grocery store, but I didn't want to have to go anywhere else. I wanted to make sure I had plenty of time to get this done right. I had never turned on my oven for anything other than frozen chocolate chip cookie dough. And truth was, I'd eaten more of that raw than baked. The ice cream was the easy part, vanilla of course. My stomach rumbled lightly at the thought of peach cobbler ala mode. Eaten of Carson's abdomen. No spoon required. Now that was what I wanted for dessert.

Shane greeted me at the door, but he didn't try to flee this time. He jumped up on the bar and sniffed the grocery bag, found the bag of catnip I'd bought him, and meowed loudly. I got the bag and sprinkled a little on the kitchen floor so he would get off the cabinets and leave me alone to cook. I knew Carson was okay with him, but knew he probably didn't want cat hair in his pie. Oh, the vision that brought to mind.

I changed back into my grey cut off sweatpants and a clean t-shirt and went to work on that cobbler. The peaches were a little soft; the lady at the store said they would be the sweetest and juiciest for pie making. I was careful not to cut myself while I peeled the fruit. I didn't want another injury this soon. The juice dribbled down my arms to my elbows, leaving little sweet sticky puddles on the counter top. I was definitely going to need a shower when I got done.

Cutting the pie crust into strips wasn't too hard, but making that lattice over the top was harder than it looked. I wasted a few strips of crust before I settled on a less fancy presentation, laying the crust over the warm sweetened fruit and cutting a few strategic holes so it wouldn't boil over in the oven. It wasn't as pretty as it could have been, but it would have to do. I melted butter on the stove top and added cinnamon and more sugar. When that started to boil, I poured it over the top of the pie and called it ready to bake. The instructions called for 45 minutes in the oven. Plenty of time to shower and relax before I headed across the courtyard.

 

[downhomeguy]

Once I had finished tidying up the living room, I turned my attention to the kitchen. Wiping down everything, I unloaded the dishwasher and set aside everything that I would need; fortunately I had washed everything the day before, and didn't need to do it again. Rooting around, I found the place mats that I knew were hidden somewhere. I had bought them when I moved in, and never used them. Taking two, I stood by the square table and stared at the four chairs. Do I set the places across from each other, or side-by-side? It seemed like a simple enough question, but I was having a hard time with it. "Maybe," I said to myself, "all four?" No, that might be a little strange. I decided on side-by-side, flattening the fabric mats down onto the surface and retrieving a stack of dishware. On each mat I put a large plate, as well as a fork and knife. Setting a table had never been something I had bothered to learn, but as best I could recall it was fork on the left, knife on the right. Napkins? Shit. I had relied on paper towels for so long, I wasn't even sure if I had any. Sure enough, buried deeper than the place mats was a bundle.

Carrying them over to the sink, I turned on the faucet and hand-washed them. Wringing out all of the water I could, I tossed them into the dryer and turned it on. Back in the kitchen, I filled a pot with water and set it on to boil. Knowing that it would take awhile, I decided to multitask. Hopping into the shower, I could hear the dryer thumping against the wall as I scrubbed. My mind was still swimming with the list of things I needed to do. Then, I made the fatal error of pausing just long enough to let the thought of Brooke into my mind yet again. I wouldn't hear her over the sound of the water running. I wouldn't even know she was there until the rings holding the shower curtain clinked lightly along the rod, making me turn around in time to see her step into the shower with me. The water pounding my back would be masked by the feeling of her hips under my hands, her fingers slipping up my chest as I pulled her closer.

The sound of the dryer buzzing broke me out of my daze. I had only set it for a few minutes, knowing that the thin napkins wouldn't take that long to dry. Rinsing out my hair, I stepped out and wrapped a towel around my waist. Pulling open the dryer door to shut it off, I ducked into the bedroom and threw on a t-shirt and jeans.

Back in the kitchen, the water on the stove had started to boil. Throwing in a few pinches of salt, I grabbed a plastic bag from the refrigerator. Tearing it open, I dumped in the contents: a pound of fresh green beans that I had gotten a few days earlier from the local farmers market. Setting a timer for 5 minutes, I folded the napkins and placed them neatly across the plates on the table. Grabbing a mixing bowl, I filled it with water and ice from the freezer; when the timer went off, I spooned out the beans into the bowl to chill them. Turning off the stove, I sighed and looked around. "Not a bad start," I thought to myself. Glancing at the clock, I realized that I still had plenty of time. I still had plenty to do, but I didn't want to get ahead of myself and overcook anything. Getting my laptop from the bedroom, I sat on the couch and clicked through my music library. Every so often, I would come across something that would get placed into a playlist. Most of it was classical music, considering that I had no idea what to pick. Loading it all onto a flash drive, I swapped the list over to the stereo system hidden behind the end of the couch. Hitting "play" and setting it on repeat, I flopped back onto the couch and took a breather.

 

[Sensual_Goddess]

45 minutes was plenty of time to shower, relax before time to get dressed , and walk across the courtyard. In fact, I could dawdle in the shower, since the pie needed so much time. What did I need to dawdle for? Right! I set the timer on the oven, though, just in case. I decided a cool shower might serve my purposes better, keep me focused on something other than the thought of Carson appearing at the shower curtain, pulling it back, asking to join me.

What's that wonderful aroma coming from the kitchen? he would ask as he pulled back the curtain, standing there naked, smiling. I would try to look startled, perhaps even dismayed, by his surprise appearance. But since I had conjured him up, how could I pull off surprised? Dismayed? Where the hell had that word even come from? The only way I would feel dismayed would be if he didn't appear.

I poured bath wash into my hand and rubbed it down my body, starting at my neck. And there he was again.

Standing behind me, reaching around, his hands sliding down my torso in the slippery soap. So close his hard cock is pressed up against my back while he bites my neck. The throbbing in my calf starts, moves up my body, causes my nipples to stiffen and tingle. The cool water is having no effect on the heat building in my body. I lean forward and let my head rest against the wall, the water courses down my back, tickles the back of my thighs. Oh fuck, I want him so very badly. How am I going to be able to keep my hands off him? Well, there might be one way to diminish the heat, just a bit.

My fingers, soapy and soft, start rubbing between my legs, at first just caressing my thighs, tickling myself enough to feel the warmth start to rise in my pussy. I leaned back so the shower spray would hit me in the chest, causing the water to stream down my body, disappear between my legs, run over my hard clit. I pinched a nipple with my free hand and bit my lip. I teased myself this way, knowing the warm water would hold out because I was using so little, and the cool temperature would delay my orgasm, too.

I was wishing I had put on some music, just to set the mood, when I became aware of the scent of cinnamon wafting through the open bathroom door. Did I leave that door open? I thought to myself? Or was my fantasy causing me to hallucinate?

That's when Shane poked a paw at the shower curtain and meowed at me. So much for an uninterrupted self satisfaction session. It was unusual for him to disturb me in the shower, he hated water.

"What's up buddy?" I asked as I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.

He turned and lead me to the kitchen, alerting me to the smoke escaping from the door of the oven. "Damnit! I don't have time to bake another one!" I said as I walked to the kitchen covered in nothing but my towel. Past my open French doors.

I opened the oven door to lots of smoke coming from the heating element, but the pie was fine. I couldn't find a potholder, so I used my towel to ease the hot dessert from the oven and set it on the stove. The crust was just browned, and some of the fruit bubbled through the slits I had cut to vent it.
That was the source of the smoke.

"it looks pretty damned good, if I do say so myself," I said to Shane. "Thanks for the save, but you still don't get any pie," I said to him as I headed back to ny bedroom to get dressed. Then I noticed the open curtains.

"Subtle, Brooke, so subtle," I muttered as I pulled them shut.

 

[downhomeguy]

After a brief rest on the couch, I leapt back into the kitchen and got to work on the rest of dinner. The first thing I did was preheat the oven...I had forgotten to do so on more than one occasion. The music drifting out of the speakers had tuned out the noise of people outside, amplified by the fact that my door was still cracked. Washing and quartering some small potatoes, I tossed them into a bowl with olive oil and an assortment of seasonings off of the countertop. Spreading them out on a baking sheet, I went ahead and slid them into the oven while it was heating.

I don't know why I had bought a beef tenderloin...it was probably so that I would be able to enjoy at least a few decent meals before the rigors of school replaced the luxury of being able to cook something more than noodles or chicken salad. Whatever the reason, I was glad that I had it. After tying some twine around it (again, something that had to be dug out of the deep recess of a cabinet), I seasoned and seared it. At the last minute, I decided to drape a few spare slices of bacon across it before popping it into the oven. Satisfied that I couldn't do anything else in the kitchen for a moment, I ducked into the bedroom and opened up the closet.

Most of my shorts were piled up on a shelf; part of me wanted to wear shorts, but that was mostly the part that wanted to feel her fingers slide across my knee, under the hem and along my thigh until...no, shorts probably wouldn't be the best option. If anything, that thought would be lingering in my mind all evening. Thumbing through a row of pants hanging from a rack, I decided on a pair of grey cotton pants. Throwing them over my shoulder, I flipped through a variety of shirts and settled for a light green polo. Quickly stripping down and redressing, I pulled my belt out of my shorts and put it on. Tucked or untucked, I said to myself while pulling on my shirt. Untucked...at least there would be something for her to get her hands under, should she choose to do so.

Glancing at the clock, I realized that it was already 6:40. Taking a final look around the apartment, and satisfied that everything I needed to do was done, I went over to shut the sliding door. Just as I was latching it, I noticed a hint of movement across the courtyard. The curtains, those that I had been close enough to touch just hours earlier, were moving slightly as if they had just been moved. They were closed, though, which differed from how they had been earlier. Smiling and securing the door, I went back into the kitchen and cracked the oven. An array of smells wafted out, telling me that I had managed to get something right. Easing it shut, I grabbed a glass pitcher I had set out earlier and filled it with ice, then water from a gallon jug. When I reached for a pair of glasses, I froze. Next to the regular drinking glasses were a group of wine glasses. Shit. I knew I forgot something. Panicking, I threw open the pantry and knelt down. Opening a cardboard box on the bottom shelf, I opened it up and reached inside. Awhile back I had bought an assorted mix of wine from a local store, and it had been in the pantry ever since. Red? White? Red goes with beef. Grabbing a bottle that was either full of red wine or exceedingly dirty, I tossed it into the refrigerator. A friend of mine that worked as a waiter had once taught me that you should take white wine out of the fridge, and put the red in, 20 minutes before dinner. There was nothing to take out, but it would have to do. As a precaution, I grabbed a bottle of white and threw it in as well.

I wanted to look at the clock more than anything, but I refrained from doing so. I knew that it was close to 7:00, and that was enough; looking at the clock would only prolong my nervousness. Washing my hands and tossing a dishrag over my shoulder, I leaned against the kitchen counter and stared at the oven for any signs of a disaster.

 

[Sensual_Goddess]

It almost seemed counterproductive to get dressed. Of course, I couldn't go traipsing across the courtyard naked, pie and ice cream in hand. I could, but it might be a very short evening, and police would most certainly be involved this time.

I figured I had about 20 minutes to get ready and be on time. Should I be fashionably late? No, I wanted to be right on time. I wanted every minute I could get with Carson. It had been such a long time since I felt this kind of attraction; this nervous, giddy anticipation of what comes next? Shane danced between my feet, rubbing his face against the back of my leg, tickling that place that caused me to shiver. I glanced behind me and saw the fine scratch, a little bumpy and red but no worse than earlier.

I dried myself off and dug through my dresser, not sure where I had stashed my "good" underwear. I had one really nice bra and panties set I had never worn, if I could remember where I had unpacked it. It would have made sense to put it with the rest, but I didn't. Finally, I caught a glimpse of the shiny emerald green material. I removed the tags and slipped on the panties first. The material felt good against my skin, caught the few drops of water I had missed and left dime sized dark spots in a couple of places. Like they weren't going to get wetter before the night was done. I slipped the bra straps over my shoulders, and the seams rubbed against my nipples, hard nipples, yes, as I reached behind my back to fasten the hooks. I gave myself the once over in my dresser mirror and put on the rest of my clothes; skirt, not too short, shirt not too low cut, sandals. Perfectly respectable, but easy to remove, just in case.

The smoke had cleared from the kitchen. Thankfully, it had not been enough to set off any alarms or detectors. The pie didn't look too bad, despite the plain crust. I thought about spooning it into a bowl, but that wouldn't look much better. At least it had the look of home made. She hoped it tasted good, but didn't want to breach the crust to taste. At least she had thought to buy ice cream too, just in case it wasn't up to sharing.

I checked the clock and saw I had about 5 minutes. What to do with that time? I searched around the kitchen for some potholders to carry the pie. Why? I had never owned any before, why did I expect some to magically appear in my kitchen today? I touched the sides of the baking dish and found it was still much to hot to carry with bare hands. What could I use instead? My lack of kitchen skills left me wondering. A towel? That would do it. I walked to the bathroom and got a hand towel from the cabinet. It was plain, green, matches my underwear, I thought and giggled. Would Carson notice, given the opportunity?

"Well Shane, don't wait up for me, I said as I headed out the door, pie in hand.

I completely forgot about the ice cream. All I could think of was Carson, pie filling dripping down his chin, me reaching over to catch it, and putting my sticky finger to his lips.

 

[downhomeguy]

Convinced that I was going to burn dinner, I had turned off the oven but left everything in to stay warm. A pan was heating on the stove for the final component, but I wouldn't start that until she arrived. Any second now, I thought to myself. There could be a knock on the door at any second. Woe befall the person that knocked on the door and turned out not to be her. It wouldn't matter who they were or why they were there, they wouldn't be on my doorstep for long.

Taking the pitcher of water I had filled earlier over to the table, as well as the two water glasses and two wine glasses, I wiped down the pitcher with the dishcloth draped across my shoulder. The pitcher, full of ice, had begun to sweat. As I looked at the wet rag in my hand and tried to decide what to do with it, I glanced up at the various frames hanging around the living room, displaying a number of pictures and posters. I hadn't thought to clean them...and the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I had ever cleaned them since they had been put up right after I moved in. What the hell, I thought, folding the towel into a square with the wettest side facing out. I couldn't help but laugh when I drug it across the glass of the first frame and looked down to see a streak of dust across the cloth.

As I moved my way around the room, I continued to listen. My heart was thumping against my chest, and I was careful to make sure that I didn't mistake it for a knock at the door...or vice versa. Finally, at the last frame, I could see the courtyard out of the corner of my eye. The picture hung right next to the sliding door, and the blinds hung away from the window far enough to allow at least a thin field of vision. Just as I had finished pushing the cloth into the corners of the frame, I caught a glimpse of something moving towards my door. It's her, my head screamed as I leaned in closer to the wall for a better look. I had completely forgotten about her offer to bring dessert. She was supporting something in both hands, which would make it hard to knock on the door. Balling up the cloth I had used to wipe down everything, I ducked around the corner, launched it through the bedroom and into a wicker hamper full of dirty clothes. Almost as if I had planned it, the towel bounced off of the lid and dropped inside, the force causing the lid to slam shut...things like that always seem to happen when there isn't anyone around to witness it.

I didn't even bother to look through the peephole in the door; I knew that by now she would be close, if not already there. Flipping the deadbolt, I turned the handle and pulled open the door to either welcome her, or wait for her to appear. It had been far too long since I had seen her...granted, it had been less than 7 hours, but that was still too much time.

 

[Sensual_Goddess]

I was at Carson's door before I realized the ice cream was still in the freezer. Or had I left it on the kitchen counter? Shane would have a hell of a time cleaning it up if that was the case. I had started to head back across the courtyard when I heard the deadbolt. Damn, he already knows I'm here, I muttered under my breath. Oh well, I'd just have to admit the omission and go back and get it. After I set this pie down. The dish was warmer than I thought, and the towel wasn't providing the thermal cushion I thought it would. I could feel it getting warmer against my skin and hoped I wasn't getting a burn. He would really think I was some sort of accident prone klutz if I kept showing up with injuries. And yes, that scratch on my calf was already throbbing at the thought of being near him again.

When he opened the door and smiled I didn't know what to take in first. God, you are handsome, I had to bite my lip to keep from saying that out loud. Inside your head voice Brooke! I could hear myself screaming in the recesses of my brain. The aroma wafting from the kitchen met my nose before I had the chance to step inside, and my stomach growled in response, loud enough for the entire complex to hear. Well, at least for Carson to hear anyway. I really didn't care who else heard. The dish in my hand was getting more uncomfortable to hold. What would he think if I asked him to take it so I could go back for the ice cream? That I was trying to injure him too? Oh, here, would you take this? Did I mention it's hot? Sorry! Or would he just think that I am a complete ditz, must be coloring my true blond hair, certainly not as intelligent as I tried to portray?

I stood there, with all these things running through my mind, for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, my mouth and my brain joined forces and I was able to say something that wasn't completely stupid.

"Hi Carson, whatever you've got cooking in there smells wonderful. I hope my pie is worthy for dessert, but I need to go back for the ice cream," I said with a tight grin, still feeling the heat through the towel.

And, I realized I hadn't really avoided the stupid part. Worthy pie? Really? I was actually kind of glad I had a reason to walk back to my place and collect my thoughts. A second chance to say something less stupid when I came back. Of course, it was also an opportunity to make it worse.

 

[downhomeguy]

In the brief moment I had between opening the door and seeing her on the other side, I tried to think of something to say. "Good evening?" No, too formal. "Welcome?" Didn't sound right. "Right on time?" Maybe. When I saw her, though, my throat stuck in the back of my mouth and refused to say anything; the sight of her was enough to render me a temporary mute. There were those legs, peaking out from her skirt and tempting me into suggesting that follow-up examination. Perhaps a little more thorough this time,I thought, just to be on the safe side. I swallowed hard, trying to calm myself down. It would be awkward if we both just stood in the doorway and looked at each other. Then, I noticed that she seemed to be shifting around the plate in her hand. Based on the fact that she was holding it with a towel, I guessed that it must be hot.

Just as I was trying to find something to say that wasn't "Is that pie as hot as you are," she spoke.

"I hope my pie is worthy for dessert, but I need to go back for the ice cream."

Of course...you can't have pie without ice cream, and that is about as classic as it gets. It was a shame she hadn't brought the ice cream and forgotten the pie. I'm sure we could have found something else to put it on...something that would make it melt just as well, make it run in little sticky rivulets just begging to be licked up.

"I'm sure it'll be amazing," I said as I reached forward.

"Here, let me take that."

As my hands got closer, I could feel the heat radiating off of the pan in her hands. She must have just taken it out of the oven. Jesus, if I can feel the heat from here it must be burning her hands. Slipping my hands under the towel, I cradled the dessert so that she could let go. Despite the heat coming off of it, I could still feel her hands against the edge of mine. Surely the heat was coming off of the plate, and not just radiating from our skin.

"I'll put this in the kitchen and put the final touches on dinner while you do that."

I still had the empty frying pan heating on the stove, waiting for me to use it. The rest of dinner was still in the oven, and the meat needed to rest.

 

[Sensual_Goddess]

It was next to impossible to walk away, but now that I had made the choice to retrieve the ice cream, I had to go. It would only take minutes to get across the courtyard and back, especially with nothing but a cold carton of ice cream in my hands.

When I walked inside I breathed a sigh of relief; no ice cream on the counter, so it must still be in the freezer. Then I spied the broken table remnants, and decided to carry those out at the same time. Why? I have no idea. It just seemed like the thing to do.

I got the ice cream and grabbed the bag with the table shards, then shut the door behind me. I walked to the trash receptacle behind the building and went to toss the bag of wood pieces in. One sharp piece of a table leg bounced off the edge of the container and down my leg. I felt it scrape against my skin, in almost the same place as the other scratch. Great, now he really was going to think I was hurting myself on purpose. A quick glance behind me confirmed the new scratch to be parallel to the original, but no blood. I figured I'd better get back to his place before I really hurt myself.

I tried to keep my pace casual, in case he was watching, and was even able to keep my eyes averted from his window. The ice cream carton felt good in my hand, and I hoped I hadn't burned myself with the pie plate. I caught a faint whiff of dinner emenating from Carson's kitchen, and wondered what he had cooked. I was feeling pretty hungry and hoped it would be ready soon so I didn't have to continue to make excuses for my growling stomach.

Oh, my stomach always sounds like this when I'm ravenous, and I am completely starved for you. Mind if I nibble on you while you finish?

When I got to his door I wondered if I should knock. He had already opened the door to me once, and he was expecting me back. But what if he was having difficulty as I was, keeping thoughts of what we might get into after dinner from clouding all other thoughts? Causing him to burn dinner, like I had forgotten the ice cream? Was it my duty to walk in and save the day? Tell him to turn off the stove, put the ice cream in the freezer, and ravish me please?

 

[downhomeguy]

When she turned and walked around, I was tempted to lean out the door. But what was the point, considering that she would be coming back in just a moment? Plus, the pie in my hands was urging me to find a place for it to rest. Kicking the door almost all the way closed so that she wouldn't have to knock, I set the pie down on the kitchen counter and folded the towel over the top. It felt as though the pan hadn't been out of the oven long, so I didn't worry about it cooling too fast. Taking the two pans out of the oven and setting them to the side, I quickly washed my hands and set to work finishing dinner.

The pan on the stove had warmed up nicely; reaching my bare hands into the bowl of water on the counter, I grabbed the blanched green beans and threw them in. The water sizzled, evaporating as I looked in the refrigerator and grabbed the remaining ingredients: soy sauce and garlic. Pouring enough of the soy sauce into the pan to cover the bottom, I set it aside and got a spoon out of the drawer. Garlic was something I tended to use a lot of; that, combined with my appreciation for cutting corners, had made me a happy camper when I found a store that carried organic garlic, diced and packed in jars. Spooning some of it out onto the beans, I stirred everything and dropped a lid on the pan.

She'll be back any second now. Maybe I should go to the door and look outside? No, that might come off as a little strange. What would I say if she saw me? "Hey, just wanted to make sure you could get across the courtyard and back without hurting yourself." What if she doesn't come back? Worst case scenario, I come out ahead by a pie; but a pie would be pale consolation to not being able to share it with her.

Steam had begun to creep out of the pan from under the lid, so I gave the pan a quick shake. Grabbing a knife from a wooden block on the counter, I poked at the tenderloin. The outside looked fine, but it was time for the big reveal. Taking a deep breath, I made a long pass with the knife and severed the end; the end wouldn't bee suitable for dinner, but I would do something with it at a later time. Pushing apart the two pieces, I glanced at the inside; then, it occurred to me that I had no idea what it should look like. It looked fine to me, not undercooked and probably on the north side of "medium." Not much I can do now, I thought as I continued to slice the rest of it.

I had planned on having everything ready when she got back; quickly locating a ceramic platter that I had meant to look for earlier, I overlapped the slices of meat down the center. Grabbing the bowl of potatoes, I started to look for a spoon; since no one was looking and I knew my hands were clean, I used my fingers to rake them out around the edges of the platter. Almost there, I thought to myself. Digging a serving spoon and knife out of the drawer, I set the plate and utensils on the center of the table. Giving the frying pan a final shake, I took off the lid and dumped everything into a large bowl, set it on the table, and rested a pair of tongs across the top.

With the oven and stove turned off, I frantically looked around to make sure that I had done everything. Maybe I should go look now, I thought. The corkscrew on the end of the kitchen counter, however, reminded me about the wine. Grabbing it from the fridge, I quickly turned the metal spiral into the cork and assumed, incorrectly, that the hard part was over. With the bottle latched under my arm, I grunted and pulled as the cork worked its way out at a monumentally slow pace, finally coming free with a pop and a victorious exhale.

 

[Sensual_Goddess]

I decided to knock once, announce my presence, then walk in. It's a good thing I made up my mind, or the ice cream was going to melt, I thought as I stood there for a moment. Again, I had a vision of smearing the cold wet ice cream on Carson's chest, abdomen, thighs, then licking it off slowly, as it melted and formed little pools of sweet sticky cream in the places that dipped a little. Like between his nipples, in his belly button, lower...

"Hey Carson, coming in, okay?" I called tentatively before turning the knob.

When I didn't hear any protest I walked inside and announced my presence again, this time a little louder. I heard a "pop" from the kitchen, and being familiar only with wine that comes with a screw top lid, had no idea what the sound of a cork leaving a wine bottle makes. I stood there for a moment, not sure I should just walk into the kitchen now. But I felt silly standing in the foyer, and I did need to get to the freezer.

I was surprised by the scene that greeted me in the kitchen. He was standing there with a bottle of wine in hand, cheeks a little flushed, smiling. Pans on the stove, covered, all neat and arranged by size, largest in the back, smaller in the front. Bowls of something steaming on the table, giving off an aroma that was making my mouth water. Place settings with actual dishes that matched. This guy must do this a lot, I thought to myself. There was no way I could have pulled off this look, much less the food, without a lot of help from a caterer. I was suddenly a little embarrassed by my lack of culinary talent. What was I bringing to the table? A homely pie and some ice cream.

Hopefully, I could make up for my lack of talent in the kitchen elsewhere. Like with my sparking conversation skills. I was feeling tongue tied and completely out of my league. Where was Shane when I needed him? Lying on the sofa, not a care in the world, that's where he was. Thinking to himself, if you would just learn to cook, you could have my presence. Serves you right.

"Wow, Carson, I'm really impressed," I said. I hoped I didn't sound sarcastic. "Maybe you would give me some lessons?"

Hmm, lessons in what?
How about lessons in how to seduce your neighbor. I think I've almost got it down, but I could use some review. I got you to invite me to your place for dinner. How? Well, by appealing to your chivalrous side. This damned scratch on my leg, the original one, oh, that's right, you don't know about the new one. You'll see it when you give me that follow up exam you promised. That should definitely wait until after dinner, don't you think?

I took the liberty of walking across the kitchen and putting the ice cream in the freezer. I noticed there were zero frozen dinners. There was another reason to get invited back to dinner, I thought. Like I needed another reason.

I turned to face him, leaned back against the counter. "So, anything I can do to help?

 

[downhomeguy]

I was so occupied with opening the wine, I didn't even hear her come in. When the cork came free, I smiled and looked up to see her standing across the counter with what I assumed was the ice cream. I assumed that she had just walked in; hopefully, she hadn't been a witness to the display that had become of me opening the wine. I was still flustered, so I just smiled and held up the corkscrew with the cork skewered on the end. Great, why not just say "Hey, hey look what I did!"

"Wow, Carson, I'm really impressed. Maybe you would give me some lessons, I heard her say as she looked around the room.

I assumed that she mean lessons regarding cooking, although I could think of a few other things. Perhaps a hands-on lesson concerning the dangers of cooking bacon while naked. To actually do it would be a little tricky, but maybe walking through the motions without the actual act...but definitely lots of hands. Maybe the lesson should involve an oral exam, just to make sure that she was paying attention.

"Maybe we should wait and see how everything turned out," I said with a smile.

Grabbing the wine glasses from the table, I held the stems between my fingers and lifted the bottle to pour as she walked past me to the freezer. I took that as a sign that she felt comfortable in my apartment, which was good. I probably should have asked beforehand if she drank; but I knew that if she was anything like me, now was as good a time as ever for a glass or two. I heard the hum of the freezer as she opened it and pushed in the ice cream in and closed the door, and looked up to see her leaning against the counter.

"So, anything I can do to help?"

"Nothing, other than tell me that you like..." I hadn't even bothered to look at the label and see what kind of wine it actually was. Holding the bottle up to the light and looking at it, I looked back at her. "Cabernet sauvignon."

Turning around and setting the bottle down on the table, I walked across the kitchen and offered her one of the glasses. The way she leaned against the counter was almost like an invitation; to what, I didn't really know. I wondered if she would object to me abandoning my wine glass and slipping my free hand around her waist. Maybe I should just be frank, and tell her about the fire that had been burning inside of me all afternoon. It would be a shame to let dinner get cold, but it was a risk I would probably be willing to take. I was still nervous that the food wouldn't taste right, but I suspected that nothing I could ever cook would satisfy the hunger for her that I was feeling.

"And dinner," I said as I motioned towards the table, "is ready when you are."

 

[Sensual_Goddess]

My stomach was grumbling again; the aroma in the kitchen was having an effect, for sure. That, and the fact that I had barely nibbled on anything all day. I knew if we were going to have any kind of enjoyable evening that didn't involve further injuries I had better eat. As for the wine, I wouldn't know a Cabernet sauvignon from a Merlot. I didn't even own a corkscrew. But a glass of wine may be just what I needed to make my mind slow down, my hear stop racing, that damned scratch on the back of my leg stop throbbing, Oh, wait, remember? Now there were two. Great.

When I reached for the glass he was offering, I tried not to touch him. I didn't want to spill wine all over his kitchen floor, and I knew that if I touched him it was likely. The electricity between us was almost a physical force, at least it was for me. There was a pull so strong I don't know how I was holding back. I knew if he looked me in the eye for too long I would not be able to keep my hands to myself. I took the glass and pulled my hand back, taking a sip of the cool bland wine. Yes, I could stand it. More than stand it. I took another sip, this one a little bigger. To calm my nerves, I thought to myself. Don't drink it too fast.

Mmm Carson, this is nice," I smiled at him. It should go great with dinner."

I looked over at the set table, again thinking how I would never have been able to pull this off in a day. Or a week. Maybe even longer. Did he wear an apron, and nothing else, as I had imagined? Probably not, he looked a little too practical for that. He looked like someone who knew how to avoid home accidents. Like not using furniture for inappropriate purposes. Stuff like that.

Oh, I'm more than ready," I told him. "Thanks again, for having me, even though I invited you."

Ready for what, though, besides dinner? Ready for just about anything but more of this teasing, I thought to myself. It felt like I had been longing for him all my life, and it had barely been 24 hours. If and when I finally do get the chance to experience a kiss from those perfect lips, I may not be able to act much like a lady. I'd better put on a good show at dinner, I smiled. So he doesn't think...what was it I didn't want him thinking? I realized the ladylike act was getting me nowhere close to where I really wanted to be. That's when the half empty wine glass slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor. Wine ran in droplets down my shins to puddle up by my feet. Any chance I had of making him think my table incident was a one time accident was slipping away with every move I made.

"God I'm sorry Carson. I'll replace the glass, and let me clean up the mess..."

 

[downhomeguy]

I watched as she slowly and carefully took the glass from me, a little disappointed that our hands stayed apart. I should have held it out by the bowl instead of the stem; maybe that would have done the trick. As she slowly brought it up to her lips and took a sip, I wondered what I would be willing to give up for a chance to be that glass. Lucky bastard. Holding my own glass up and inhaling deeply, I tipped it up and took a small sip. Even if I had no idea what I was doing, I could at least pretend to.

"It should go great with dinner."

"I hope so," I said.

Considering that the extent of my efforts to pair the wine with the food had been a question of color, I probably wouldn't know if it was a good match one way or the other. Which reminded me that whether they went together or not, the food was ready. I didn't want to rush her to the table, but on several occasions I had heard what sounded like her stomach protesting the fact that we hadn't started eating yet.

"Thanks again, for having me, even though I invited you."

I had just opened my mouth to respond when I saw the glass slip from her fingers. Everything seemed to be in slow-motion as I watched it spin, slinging wine out on to her before it slammed into the floor and shattered. A large quantity of glass clattered along the tile floor, the size of the shards varying; I noticed that the stem and base had remained almost intact, while there was virtually nothing but fragments left of the bowl. Time caught up, and I noticed the puddle of wine on the floor, as well as the small droplets and streams that were traveling down her leg and contrasting sharply against her skin.

"I'll replace the glass, and let me clean up the mess."

I could sense the panicked tone in her voice. Setting my own glass down on the counter, I grabbed a pair of folded dishtowels from the counter and turned on the sink, soaking the rags with warm water.

"Don't worry about it," I said as I turned off the tap and wrung the excess water out of the towels. "Accidents happen." And apparently quite frequently around you, I thought to jokingly add.

I was sure there were several other glasses in the cabinet; like most glasses, I was sure they had come in a group of four. As little as I used them, though, I wouldn't miss one. Kneeling down on the floor, I used one of the towels to herd most of the shards and wine together. Taking the clean towel, I held it up and smiled. I started to say something, but I didn't know what: a warning, maybe. But considering that I had already examined her leg earlier in the day, I silently took the warm towel and lightly drug it down her shin to clean off the spilt wine.

 

[Sensual_Goddess]

I felt my knees go weak when he touched the warm towel to my shin. I bit my lip to keep from sighing out loud, or maybe even emitting a low moan. Or a growl. What on earth must he think of me now? I thought. Either I am the biggest klutz around, or I am incredibly bad at flirting. The combination could be deadly before it was all said and done.

I tried to pay attention to the stain beginning to form on the towel. Dark reddish purple. Not like blood, but like a bruise. Like lips that have been kissed a little roughly. I thought I even saw a mouth shaped stain in the swirls of color. I thought of my dark green panties, now just a few inches from his face, how the crotch was probably a little darker than the rest of them. It was warmer, for sure.

I put my hands behind me on the cabinet to keep from taking his head and directing him to where I really wanted his attention. Then a part of the wine soaked towel made contact with the new scratch I had received on the way over. The sudden sting made me jump. It didn't really hurt, but it certainly got my attention. Was every new scratch from now on going to cause me to remember what happened yesterday? I hoped carrying out the shards had served to exorcise that demon. I didn't need any more reminders of that. One was plenty, and I knew the vision of Carson stretched out on his sofa was not going to leave my mind any time soon, if ever. In fact, there it was now. His touch had caused the throbbing to travel up my leg, settle in my belly for just a moment, then creep through out my body and make me shiver. Fortunately, my stomach growled again at the same time, serving as a distraction that allowed me to point the conversation back to dinner. I really was starving.

"Maybe we should eat so I don't break anything else? I'm not trying to rush you, but I'm afraid of what I might break or spill or drop next," I said, as lightly as possible.

I could hear the tremor in my voice amplified and exaggerated in my head. I hoped I sounded more normal to him than I did to myself at the moment. That I didn't sound like I was trying to get him to say dinner can wait, here's what I really want, then kissing up my legs, shin to thigh. Letting his fingers rub that throbbing place on my calf while he gently nibbled right above my knee.

 

[downhomeguy]

I slipped my free hand behind her leg, holding in place while I slowly cleaned the reddish blemishes from her skin. The tips of my fingers danced in the bend behind her knee. I realized that I was wiping areas that had either avoided being splashed, or had already been cleaned; the truth, though, was that I didn't care. The rag in my hand was stained red, and I hated the fact that to toss it aside and use my lips in its place was probably out of the question. Every second that my hands touched her legs felt like a lifetime, a burning heat spreading from her skin into mine. I wanted to touch every inch of her body, and the legs would be a perfect place to start. I could inch my way over her knees, up her thighs and further along until her skirt was bunched up around her waist. And skirt or no skirt, I wanted those legs wrapped around me.

Once or twice, it felt like her body was reacting to pain under my hands. I suspected, though, that if anything it was quite the opposite. Just to be sure, and to give me an excuse to further touch her legs, I used my free hand to make sure that there weren't any fragments of glass embedded in her skin.

"Maybe we should eat so I don't break anything else? I'm not trying to rush you, but I'm afraid of what I might break or spill or drop next."

Her voice seemed to shake a little when she spoke; I didn't know if that was the result of having dropped the glass in the first place, or what had happened since. Why is she afraid of spilling or dropping something else? Is it because she probably thinks that I have decided that she's accident prone, or is it because of what I'm doing? God, please let it be the latter. I knew that we were both hungry, though, and dinner was growing colder by the minute. Reluctantly taking my hands off of her, I rocked back and stood up. Tossing the damp towel into the sink, I motioned towards the table.

"Why don't you go ahead and sit down, and I'll get you another glass."

Opening the cabinet, I fished around on the top shelf until my hand felt the stem of another wine glass. Taking it down, I reached for the bottle and filled the new glass.

"And be careful," I added, motioning towards the puddle of wine and glass on the floor with my bottle-filled hand.

 

[Sensual_Goddess]

I smiled up at him, so close I could feel his warm breath on my cheek. I watched him step back and motion to the table and weighed my options. I could let it go, walk past him, and have a seat at the table. Hope I could get there without incident. Or, I could throw my arms around his neck and pull him close, kiss his neck, nibble his earlobe. As much as my body wanted me to choose the latter come on! you can eat anytime!! Let's nibble! my brain knew the fuel reserves were getting low. It sent the grumbling message to my stomach again. That settled it, dinner was priority.

I took the left side of the table out of habit. Being left handed, I had always been mindful of where the elbows would fall around the table. Not that I would have minded bumping elbows through dinner, but with my track record I knew better than to push it. I had to almost sit on my hands to keep from picking at the bowls he had already set out. The aroma was heavenly to my nostrils. I loved a good home cooked meal. That, followed by some ice cream and, well, whatever Carson had in mind, would make this one of my better evenings in awhile. Even with all the trauma.

This time when he handed me the wine I brushed my fingers against his and let that spark ignite. Warm, shimmery, electric. It made me want to close my eyes and hum. I curled my toes to keep from sighing out loud. I didn't trust myself to make a sound, for fear he would hear the lust I was trying so hard to keep at bay. I wondered how fast I could eat and appear eager to move on to other things, instead of like a glutton out for a free dinner? Never in my life had my stomach and the rest of my body been at such odds with each other.

His back was to me as he finished getting things ready for the table. While there were certain parts of his anatomy I couldn't help but think about when presented with that view, I liked the entire package. He was surefooted and steady, which of course was noticed and appreciated by someone like me. He moved with ease from cabinet to stove top, legs and ass muscles moving in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. I could see the muscles sliding beneath the skin, shading and shadowing the contours in the dim light. The backs of his arms, muscles flexing gently as he gathered and prepared the last of the meal. Having seen it all naked before, it was easy to imagine that again. The light through the french doors left a light pattern on his skin that made it impossible for me not to see him stretched out on the sofa just feet behind me.

Yeah, it was going to be tough to get through dinner sitting so close. But I was determined to make it to dessert, at least, without another embarrassing mishap. Spilled ice cream, when spilled on a person, would be no problem to clean up. And I was pretty sure I was past the embarrassment stage. Or at least getting comfortable there.

 

[downhomeguy]

When I handed her the wine glass, our fingers briefly touched; it was a good thing she had already taken the glass, or there would be more wine to mop up...this time from the carpet, which would probably prove to be much more difficult. Rinsing off my hands and patting them dry, I turned and joined her at the table. I could still see wisps of steam rising from the food, which made me much more optomistic. The only thing worse than bad food is cold, bad food, I thought to myself. I lifted the water pitcher, using it to fill both of the empty glasses before returning it to the center of the table. Taking the napkin off of my plate and opening it up, I dropped the cloth into my lap and reached for the food.

"I hope everything tastes alright," I said as I picked up the bowl of beans and opened the tongs. "Feel free to spit it out if it doesn't," I added with a smile.

Dipping the tongs into the bowl, I reached over and dropped a handful of green beans onto her plate. Better less than more, I thought. I didn't want to overload her plate and make her think that she needed to eat everything to keep from offending me. At first, I was a little nervous about taking it upon myself to serve her out of the bowl. Better to be presumptuous than have to clean soy sauce off of the table.

"So tell me, Brooke," I said, dropping food on my own plate before trading the bowl for the platter of meat and roasted potatoes, "what brings you here?"

As soon as I said it, I realized that it was somewhat of an ambiguous question. I meant to the area, of course, but there was a chance that she would take it to mean what was she doing in my apartment. Maybe I should specify, so that she doesn't think I'm being too direct. Then again, pretty much everything that had happened so far seemed to be out of order. Wasn't dinner and casual conversation supposed to precede one watching the other masturbate? Not just seeing or catching, but watching.

Fortunately, the serving fork slipped effortlessly into the meat; that was probably a good sign. Even if it was overdone, that was still better than not being cooked all of the way through. Having looked up the minutes-per-pound formula beforehand and worked it out, though, I assumed it was close to its ideal doneness...whatever the hell that was supposed to be.

 

[Sensual_Goddess]

Between the aroma from the food and his proximity, I couldn't imagine sitting in a better place, for the moment, anyway. I did at least have enough etiquette training from my grandma to keep from digging in before everything was on plates. He filled out plates and the dead air with a little chit chat, making the obligatory self deprecating remarks in regards to his cooking talents. If dinner tasted half as good as it smelled, it would be better than anything I'd had in months.

When out plates were full there was a moment neither of us seemed to know who should be the first to dig in. Well, if he was unsure, he wouldn't know I if was wrong to take the first bite. I started with the meat, poking at it with my fork first, to see if I would need a knife. The tines pierced it easily, and I breathed a short sigh of relief. I didn't want to have to pick up anything sharp. I was savoring the taste; it was as good as anything I'd ever had cooked for me in the past, family included, and thinking of something besides the usual "delicious" comment, when he spoke.

"So tell me Brooke, what brings you here?"

I loved hearing his voice speak my name. I disliked my first name a lot, and had even considered using my middle name or changing it completely, but when he said it, I didn't mind it so much. I was still caught up in the sound when he asked what brought me there. Well his invitation to dinner, of course, I thought, why would he even ask that?

"Oh, you mean to the area, don't you?" I said before I could stop myself.

Of course that's what he meant! He knew why I was sitting in his kitchen, having the most erotic thoughts about him, dinner be damned. I was pretty sure he knew that, too.

"I'm enrolled in the English Literature master's program. We start next week. Are you taking classes?" I asked when my mouth wasn't full.

That was harder than it sounded. He was a good cook. I was having to remind myself to put my fork down between bites so I wouldn't start using it like a shovel. My stomach agreed, as the uncomfortable growling subsided to the occasional pang that said thank you for the decent meal for a change.

My right foot was folded underneath me, I never could sit at the table with both feet on the floor. When I turned slightly to watch him as he replied to my question, my knee bumped his thigh. Not hard enough to jar him, but enough to make him look down before he spoke. I reached for my knee, and let my fingers rest on his knee. It was a barely perceptible touch, but I might as well have sat on his lap for the effect it had on my body. That damned scratch, and now it's mate, were throbbing, so close to him now. I bit my bottom lip to keep from saying anything, to keep from pulling away from the contact between us. I wanted to sit right here and listen to him talk for as long as he would speak.

 

[downhomeguy]

When both of our plates were full and we started eating, I watched her closely for any signs of culinary error on my part. Everything tasted ok to me...although I had cooked for myself so long, I probably wouldn't have known if it was subpar. I poked and prodded at the food to try and maintain the same pace that she was eating with, so that hopefully neither of us would finish too far ahead of the other. Just as I suspected, my question apparently caused a moment of confusion. Fortunately, though, she understood my meaning.

"I'm enrolled in the English Literature master's program. We start next week. Are you taking classes?"

Swallowing the bite of food in my mouth, I felt her knee bump against my leg. Despite knowing full well what it was as soon as it happened, my eyes still glanced down at the table just above our legs. I was rather used to knocking knees with people under tables; my long legs had always been hard to contain, and I generally tried to keep my feet tucked under my chair. But I didn't mind bumping into her. Maybe if our legs hit together hard enough, it'll leave a bruise for me to "check." I opened my mouth to speak, and felt her fingers brush lightly against my leg. Instead of words, a single cough suddenly came out from behind my lips. I knew I should have worn shorts. Reaching for my glass, I took a drink of wine and cleared my throat.

"I am. I got my masters in Political Science last May, and I'm about to start working on my doctorate."

I've got my masters degree framed in my bedroom if you want to see it, I thought to myself. Surely I could come up with something other than that. I might as well go back to high school if I was going to try and use a line like that. Holding the wine glass a little too tight, I took another small sip.

"I thought that if I'm going to go this far, I might as well go all the way," I added with a smile.

Plus, I had learned that Political Science was a subject that required all or nothing...in the absence of a PhD, it was hard enough to find a job without the economy being in the dumps. But I wasn't going to say that.

I could still feel the slight presence of her fingers on my knees. I kept my legs perfectly still, not wanting to move and run the chance of scaring her hand away. I tried to think of a way to draw in more of her hand. She knows where her hand is, and the fact that its still there means this isn't an accident. Maybe if I stretch my leg out, my knee will rise up into her palm.

I wasn't willing to risk it, though. Instead, I indulged in the warmth that seemed to be spreading from her fingertips into my knee, up my leg and throughout my entire body. I definitely should have worn shorts...if for no other reason that the fact that it was starting to feel a little warm.

 

[Sensual_Goddess]

I thought that if I'm going to go this far, I might as well go all the way.

That sounded like the most perfect life philosophy I had ever heard. It could certainly be applied to my current situation, couldn't it? That line from a movie sometimes you just have to say, what the fuck! or something like that, played over in my head. What movie was that? I couldn't quite remember. It was taking all of my concentration to keep from running my hand up his thigh, scratching my nails along the inseam of his pants, coming to a rest where the zipper started. Maybe that's why it took me a minute or two, or god knows how many, to realize he had stopped talking. I sat there for another minute, wondering if I should pull my hand away. Was I being too forward? How could that be possible? We had already established I had been watching him the night before, and had already played with my panties together. A hand on the knee was kind of tame after all of that, really, wasn't it?

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Not much you can do with a degree in English, I'm hoping a master's will help me break into writing. It seems everyone who doesn't know what to do goes for an English degree these days, then really doesn't know what to do when they graduate. I've got lots of company, though," I finished.

I patted his leg softly as I talked. It was like there was an invisible magnet pulling me to him, and once contact was made, I was powerless to relinquish the progress. I may wait for him to make the next move, but I was holding firm. Yes, I was feeling quite bold.

I glanced back to my plate; a few green beans, that was pretty much all that was left to finish. A quick look over at his plate and I saw he had a little further to go than I did. I didn't want to be done too much before he was, making him feel obligated to hurry or offer me more. I still had half a glass of wine sitting in front of me. I took a sip and smiled, again commenting that is was quite good, then hoped it didn't sound like a request for more. One glass to spill, one glass to drink, that was my limit.

Those last few beans were calling to me, and without thinking I set my wine glass down and reached for one of the longer pods with my fingers. I had it in my mouth before I realized what I had done. Oh, well, now I am a klutz with no table manners. I used the gaffe as an opportunity to get the conversation out of its stall.

"I'm sorry my manners are so bad, but that green bean had to go," I said. "I know they weren't meant as finger food."

 

[downhomeguy]

I made every effort to keep my mouth full of food at all times without seeming like a glutton; keeping food in my mouth kept my lips sealed, which in turn stifled the groans that I knew would otherwise be coming out. Maybe I should have gotten up on something flimsy and jumped around to try and scratch my own leg. Or maybe I should scoot my chair a little closer...

"It seems everyone who doesn't know what to do goes for an English degree these days, then really doesn't know what to do when they graduate. I've got lots of company, though."

Better than Hospitality Management, I thought to myself. A subject undertaken by athletes on scholarship and women attending college for the sole purpose of obtaining an MRS degree.

I felt her hand moving gently on my leg; taking another bite I panicked, afraid that she would remove it. When it stayed, though, I continued to chew. I was almost done, so I supplemented my chewing with a sip of wine to continue the process of keeping my mouth shut. A bead of sweat ran out of my hairline and down the side of my neck. Fortunately, it was the side facing away from her. Wiping it away with a move meant to look like I was scratching, I decided to bump the thermostat down as soon as I got a chance. Then, I saw her sweep up a green bean between her fingers and pop it into her mouth.

"I'm sorry my manners are so bad, but that green bean had to go. I know they weren't meant as finger food."

"Don't worry about it," I said with a grin. "I'll take that as a sign that they're good."

Reaching down, I plucked one of the beans off of my own plate and held it up. I started to reach out and hold it up for her to bite. My arm muscles were twitching, urging me to offer it across the table. Then you can reach out and run your hand across her cheek, brush her hair aside and look deep into her eyes. That would be great...then I could apologize for getting soy sauce on her face. Flipping the bean over, I flicked it into my own mouth and smiled. Finished eating, I leaned back in my chair and picked up my napkin off of my lap to wipe my fingers.

"Well. At the risk of conceited, that wasn't half bad."

Tossing my napkin on the table and leaning forward, I slipped my hand under the edge of the table and gently brushed my thumb across the top of her hand. Considering that I had already done the same to her leg on two occasions, it somehow seemed at first like an empty gesture. My body, though, quickly expressed its disagreement; as far as it was concerned, I had completed a circuit between our skin that sent a jolt through my nerves.

"I hope you saved room for dessert," I said, looking into her eyes and smiling. "I can't wait to see what you brought."

 

[Sensual_Goddess]

"Conceited would be damn that was good. I'm going to have a hard time not showing up on your doorstep at dinner time knowing what I know now," I said.

My hand still hand still rested on his knee. I was enjoying the connection that light touch seemed to foster. When he tossed his napkin on the table I started to pull mine off my lap and do the same, and then, it happened. He brushed my hand with his thumb, across the top. It could have been accidental; the touch was so light. But I didn't think it was. There was too much heat. Was he acknowledging my touch, returning the gesture, tempting me further? Or was I reading entirely too much into an incidental contact?

Dessert, right. That was going to require someone getting up. Reluctantly, I pulled my hand back to my lap and fiddled with the seam of my skirt. I hated to give up that spot on his thigh, but I was going to get back.

"I'll warn you, this is my first attempt at baking anything besides prepared cookie dough. The lady at the store said I couldn't mess it up, but until you try it,well, just thanks for being my guinea pig," I said.

Then, I stood and reached to clear our plates. This part I could manage. I left our spoons and wine glasses on the table, then carried everything else to the sink. I rinsed the plates and flatware without incident, then realized I didn't have a clue where to find his bowls. I knew where mine were; left of the sink, second shelf up. It wasn't like I was rifling through his underwear drawer; it was his kitchen. Still. I felt like I was taking liberties I had not been granted.

I turned and leaned back on the counter, resisting the urge to hop on the counter top and hold my arms out to him.

Say, why don't we save dessert for later? Let's go sit on that sofa of yours, stretch out, maybe let dinner settle? Or, better yet, work some of it off before we break out the pie and ice cream? I have a feeling we might need to replenish some calories before the night gets much closer. I'm still really curious how peach pie is going to taste off your skin, Carson. I have serious plans to find out, too.

Instead, I rested my hands on the counter behind me and waited for him to give me some direction. He was still sitting at the table, looking at me with what looked to me like bemusement. Here was this odd, clumsy girl making herself at home in his kitchen, trying her best to impress the quiet, confident man sitting in front of her. What else in the world could he possibly be thinking?

 

[downhomeguy]

When I felt her hand leave my thigh, I immediately craved to feel it again. Despite the slight element of nervousness that had overtaken me, I realized that the absence of her touch was far worse. I could sense that she was having the same symptoms of withdrawal as me.

"The lady at the store said I couldn't mess it up, but until you try it,well, just thanks for being my guinea pig."

I was a bit surprised when she started to collect the dishes and carry them over to the sink. It was nice to not have to leave her at the table while I did all of that, and a little refreshing to know that she was willing to do it. I felt bad just sitting there and watching, but I was too mesmerized by the beauty and grace that she exhibited in a task as simple as washing dishes. When she leaned on the counter, it was almost like she was tempting me to get up and join her in the kitchen. I could pick her up and set her on the counter; she would be at the perfect height for me to explore more of that body I've been craving.

"Well good or not, you're welcome to show up anytime," I said with a smile. "Especially if you're not afraid to help with the dishes," I added, motioning towards the sink that she had just stepped away from.

Standing up, I collected the leftovers from the table and carried them over to the counter. I could box them up and put them in the refrigerator later.

"Tell you what. Before we break out the dishes, why don't we see how the pie is."

The utensils were separated by type, all kept neatly in small metal tins lined along the counter right behind where she was standing. Carefully stepping in front of her, I reached over to retrieve a spoon. My left hand, acting instinctively, fell on her right side to keep her from moving away. Subconsciously, I must have thought that when I reached behind her she would try to move out of my way. My brain must have also decided, and correctly, that I wanted to be as close to her as I could.

Selecting a spoon, I folded back the towel over the baking dish and reached in. Using the spoon to cut out a small, sticky circle from the center, I put my free hand under it and held it out to her.

"Care to run the risk of being hoisted by your own petard?"

I stepped closer, keeping my elbows bent and the spoon close to me as I offered its contents to her.