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But I hold on till she tips over, her sounds turning into a gorgeous cry ofoh God,oh God, oh God.
Once, twice, then countless times as she comes.
I follow her there, rocking into her, my own release blurring out the world.
When at last we both come back to earth, I lean over her and kiss her shoulder. “Don’t think for a moment that I forgot the terms of our deal. I have yet to make you scream my name while my face is between your thighs.”
She laughs. “So I get another chance.”
“We both do.”
Some things women do amaze me. Like that bra trick where they take it off from under their clothes. A bit of wiggling thenvoila—free-range boobs.
I’m equally floored that Brooke can throw together a meal after such epic sex. My brain is still coming back online, and she’s whipping up a risotto dish in a frying pan, sautéing mushrooms and asparagus too.
“How did you do that?” I gesture in awe to the goodness on the stove, crackling and sizzling in her cute little kitchen. Yellow walls make the place warm and inviting, and the evening sun streams through the windows.
“Do what? Cook?”
“More like put together a recipe that quickly. You chopped the asparagus and mushrooms in no time,” I say, scratching my jaw, trying to put two and two together in my post-orgasm haze. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’m speaking in complete sentences after that. I’m still feeling a little sex drunk.”
She pats my shoulder. “You’re managing. I’m following.”
“Must do sex again,” I grunt, caveman style.
“Okay, you’re de-evolving,” she says with a laugh.
“Sex and tacos. Must have sex and tacos next time,” I continue.
“Well, that’s clear.”
I go back to normal. “Forgive my appetite. Great sex makes me extra hungry,” I say, coming in closer to drop a tender kiss on the back of her neck. She smells likeus.
She leans against me, seeming to savor the soft kiss too. “You’re forgiven,” she whispers.
But then she returns her focus to the food. As she pushes the veggies around with a spatula, she says, “Want to know my secret? To tossing the veggies in the pan so quickly?”
“I really do.”
She drops her voice to a stage whisper. “The veggies were pre-chopped.”
I whistle. “Damn, woman. And that’s a good trick but it doesn’t detract from the brainpower required to remember you had them. You are a surf angel rock star attorney goddess,” I say as she takes the frying pan off the heat, setting it on a trivet.
I steal another kiss. Her post-sex scent is like a hit of sunshine on a rainy day. Then I steal another. And now, one more on her ear.
“Drew, you have to behave. I want to season the veggies,” she says as I kiss her collarbone.
“That means I have to stop kissing you?” I ask, appalled at such blasphemy.
“Yes. For twenty seconds.”
“Fine, fine. Focus on the food instead,” I say, faux dismissively.
She turns around and gently swats my arm. “Your stomach was growling. You’re the one who was hungry.”
“You made me hungry! And I have no regrets.”
Laughing, she shakes some salt and pepper and rosemary on the risotto, then tells me to grab a beer or a LaCroix from the fridge. Don’t want to overstay my welcome, so I pick the LaCroix, snagging one for her as well, then we sit at the counter and dig in.
