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He continued his perusal of me, and I gave him better access to my neck as he moved to the tender skin there, starting to suck on it.
I moaned again and then inhaled, catching wind of a strong smell. One that wasn’t there seconds ago. “Lance,” I warned. “Lance, something’s burning!”
He immediately stopped and went over to the oven where he grabbed the mitts and opened it. He cursed. “The lasagna’s burnt.”
I chuckled. “It’s fine, really.” Although, I felt terrible he went to all that trouble for it to only go to waste.
“Are you sure?”
“Mmhmm.” I nodded. “The truth is, I’m really not all that hungry.”
He put the lasagna down and shut the oven off. “Oh, no?” he asked, walking over to me, his arms extended again, ready to take me in them.
I shook my head and stepped forward. “Well, I am hungry. But not for charred pasta.” I giggled. “I wonder,” I began, laughing now, “how does Mason eat?”
“As long as there’s not a beautiful woman in my midsts, I can cook,” he replied, a mischievous look in his eye. “You don’t think I can cook?”
I shook my head and brought a finger to my mouth where I bit on the nail. “I don’t like to lie.”
“All right, that does it,” he said, picking me up and hurling me over his shoulder.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Put me down,” I demanded, feeling young and reckless, carefree and desired, everything I hadn’t felt in three long years.
“No can do,” he said, swatting my backside that was currently in his face. “Nice panties, by the way.”
I admonished, “You can see them?”
“Beautiful, I can’t see nearly as much as I’d like from this angle.”
I blushed and thanked the heavens that he couldn’t see my cherry tomato red face.
When we finally made it up the stairs, I noticed we passed Mason’s bedroom, the door wide open. I put my hand out and grabbed the door frame to make him come to a halt. “Wait!” The wallpaper was red and yellow with race cars and there were toys on the floor. “Mason likes Legos?” I asked, wanting to know more about his son. He’d told me some before, but suddenly I was more curious.
Patting my behind he moved slightly and asked, “You really want to talk about my son’s hobbies right now?”
I laughed and dropped my hand since he stopped walking. “Yes, I think it’s a very good time to talk about him.”
“You have one funny way of looking at things.” Then he added, “But, yes, Mason enjoys Legos. Those and Lincoln Logs. That is, when he’s not snagging my iPad and trying to play with pirates or whatever the heck else he plays with on there.”
I nodded and took in the child’s room. It was so full of fun and color, even for a young boy. I felt my uterus skip a beat. Oh, how I wanted a child or children of my own one day. Mason was giving Lance so much, I wasn’t sure either knew how lucky they were.
“Done?” he asked when I said nothing.
I nodded and tried to push those thoughts aside and just let the little time I had with Lance have my full attention.
He took a swift turn in the other direction and moved us so I was looking at two different rooms. “Door one,” he said, angling to his room where the door was closed, “and we make this an adult sleepover.” Then he gave me the other choice, turning me back to Mason’s room. “Or door two and we make this a PG sleepover. But I’m still sneaking a peek to see what you brought to change into later.”
I placed my hands under my chin now, as if I had to give it any thought at all. I was already here, dancing the dance. There was no way I was turning back now. Just a few minutes with this man and I remembered so clearly everything I enjoyed about him. I wanted that again, even if only for a night. “Door one,” I finally whispered.
He patted my backside again and walked us inside to his bedroom where he swung open the door and placed me on the bed. Finally upright, I looked around and took it all in.
There were some photographs and a television, a painting on the wall. It was just splatters of paint and was far from perfect, but I felt like it spoke to me. It felt like that was my life. I just kept throwing paint at a canvas and hoping it made something beautiful.
“Mason made that,” Lance said, observing me staring at the painting, before turning back to look at it himself. “I had it framed and hung it because I actually liked it. Felt like it was appropriate.” Then he shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it’s what every parent does because they want to make their kid feel good.”
I shook my head and laced my fingers through his as he stood next to the bed. “No, it’s nice, Lance. It seems like a good reminder that things are messy and life’s not perfect.”
He bent over and gave me a kiss on the lips. “I’ve been trying to tell you that, beautiful.”
