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With Jakob at the cutting board with knives and peelers and me at the stove manning the pressure cooker and water baths, the music is only a functional background to the work.
And it doesn’t feel like work with this man who demonstrates a wicked sense of humor.
“Can you pass me the salt so I can start pickling the cucumber?” I ask him at one point.
Jakob retorts, “I’ll tickle my own cucumber, thanks.”
“Pickle! I said pickle!” I scold, waving my canning tongs in his direction.
“If you need a pickle, I’ve got one for you. No need to go to all this effort.”
Having this man here to help me makes the work fly by.
Last night, however, tried my patience.
Alas, Jakob was perfect. We shared my bed with no issues, other than it being slightly too short for his legs. We talked, we laughed, and we kissed until my face was sore from his beard. He once again made me come deliciously with his hand, rough from the years of working with fire and metal. He held me so tenderly.
I know I should be grateful. But dammit, I wanted more. All he wanted in return was to see my breasts. And he didn’t rip off my shirt. He asked, and then gently removed my shirt and took them into his hands. Kissed them. Softly worshiped them with his mouth.
Gods, a week ago I would have passed out at the thought of a man like this in my bed. So what is it that I want from him?
“The windows are so steamed over I can’t tell what time it is.”
This comment snaps me out of my ruminating.
Jakob’s stomach growls.
“And my body clock has answered. It’s lunchtime,” he laughs, patting his stomach.
“Sorry,” I say with a wince. “I’m a terrible hostess, making you skip lunch to help me do all this work.”
Jakob turns to me and pulls me close. “Stop it. I had fun.”
He doesn’t even let me get all my words out about how he’s a good sport before his lips cover mine in a tender, lingering kiss.
Jakob’s kisses light me up instantly. I’d better focus on feeding this man before I get the worst hostess of the year award.
“Let me treat you to dinner in the village tonight. To thank you for all your help today.”
He hums against my mouth. “Later.”
Oh, this man is dangerous. He could easily make me forgo food, water, air, rest. I don’t even want to think about the dirty pots, pans, and utensils filling the sink from all the work we did today.
His stomach rumbles louder, and we both crack up.
Jakob suggests, “Let’s eat in. I’m too ripe to go out in public.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Ripe?”
He sniffs his armpit, and I’m doubly shamed at my hostess skills.
“Oh gods. Of course! You don’t have anything to change into. I should have washed your things last night while you slept. I can see if I have anything of my father’s in the attic…should I feed you first or go up and look for clothes?”
I try to leave, but Jakob circles his arms around my waist, not letting me move. “What are you doing?” I chuckle.
“Whatever I want,” he says, kissing me deeper, more hungrily. “That is, unless you have an aversion to sweaty Jakob.”
I most certainly do not. I like him clean, I like him sweaty, I like him covered in mud, as long as this man keeps kissing me and pawing me like I’m the last woman on earth and the planet is in desperate need of repopulating.
