Saving the Cake(12)

He lifted me onto the counter again, just as he’d done a year before. It was becoming a habit, after work or even right in the middle of work. I was starting to look at the kitchen equipment in a whole new way—actually, that went for pretty much all the furniture in the house.

I looked into his eyes as he moved in to kiss me. His hands traced the shape of my body: my hips, my waist and the sides of my boobs. That was another thing that had changed. I’d finally accepted that he really did love me exactly the way I was.

He started to kiss down my neck as his hands roamed over and then under my sweater. I glanced quickly across the room. “We have to stop in about ten minutes,” I said, my voice already going breathy. “Or at least pause. I have a pie in the oven.”

“We’d better get going, then,” he said, pulling my sweater up. Then, “Say it.”

I flushed and shook my head.

“Say it,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Or I’ll go really slow.”

I flushed deeper, but I was smiling.

“Say it!”

I took a deep breath, shaking my head at his foolishness. “Hurry,” I told him. “No time for shilly-shallying.”

He gave a growl and tipped me back on the counter. I giggled and shrieked, kicking my legs in the air.