“I need to install a mini-kitchen in my walk-in closet,” he replied and there it was in his voice.

His eyes after we made love were never more beautiful, the same with his deep voice. It went lower, soft but rough at the same time silky. It was hard to describe. You had to hear it and with him on me and still in me, feel it.

That was the best.

“Well, until that day happens, I’m afraid we’re going to have to make the trek to the kitchen,” I returned and he grinned.

That was even better.

Then he slid out, which sucked. What didn’t suck was he rolled us both off the bed to our feet then he put a hand in my ass and gave me a slight push toward the bathroom.

He did this while muttering, “I’ll get you a tee.”

This surprised me.

It was one o’clock Sunday afternoon on a weekend when he had his kids. Mike was making sure they knew I was in his life, thus theirs. He was also slowly introducing them to PDA, beginning to give me lip touches, pulling me into him if we were watching TV on the couch, running his fingers along my waist or hip if we were both in the kitchen. But the depth of our intimacy he didn’t share in any way. No tongues. No making out. No stand up or sit down close cuddles.

So me in a tee with his kids in town and technically “at home” even though in reality they weren’t was surprising.

I headed to the bathroom, calling out my question, “So I take it the kids aren’t home for a while.”

“Rees is back at five for dinner. No is having pizza with his buds,” Mike called back in answer. “No won’t be home until at least seven,” he concluded.

Lots of time.

Excellent.

I cleaned up and wandered to my undies. I pulled them up and when I straightened, Mike was there with his tee. He had on a pair of jeans, all but the top button done up. When I yanked the tee on and he took my hand and led me to the closed doors, I realized he wasn’t just not done finishing his buttons, he didn’t intend to finish. Nor did he intend to don a tee.

Something about that was seriously hot. Then again, that was how Mike tended to be.

Out we went and once we’d cleared the door we had Layla jumping around us and whining. Then, possibly sensing our destination with doggie acuity, her excitement increased. Mike didn’t disappoint. When we hit the kitchen, he hit the cupboard and pulled out a long, thin, twisted rawhide. He tossed it into the hall and Layla scrambled after it. But once retrieved, she returned to the kitchen, settled in and started gnawing.

Double duty, Layla got a treat and Layla got busy not under our feet.

Mike went to the fridge, opened it and assumed the Universal Man Pose of standing and staring in it. Considering my experience with The Pose was that it went on for a while, I went to the counter and pulled myself up to sitting on it.

“Roast beef, chicken, turkey, swiss, munster, cheddar, mayo, horseradish, American mustard, dijon mustard, white and rye,” he called it down, finishing, “Or, peanut butter and jelly and I think we’ve got tuna.”

“Definitely the fridge of a family,” I muttered, grinning and he turned his head, his eyes coming to me.

“Pardon?”

“At home in Texas, I hit lunch, I hit crisis. Daily. You’d think I’d learn. Stock up. Especially since it happens every freaking day. I don’t. Lunchtime hits, I wander in from the shed knowing I’m on a fool’s errand. My choices are usually microwave popcorn or crackers and cheese.”

He grinned at me, “Nothin’ wrong with those.”

“Roast beef and swiss on rye with mayo and horseradish is better.”

His grin became a smile and he muttered, “Right.”

Then, as I intended, he turned back to the fridge and got out the roast beef, swiss, mayo, horseradish and rye.

He dumped it on the counter and I offered, “You want help?”

He didn’t look up when he declined with a murmured, “Yeah. Keep sittin’ there close, lookin’ pretty and smellin’ good.”

It was a simple compliment, murmured, throwaway but meant and it struck straight through to the heart of me. Straight to the heart. Piercing deep.

“Mike,” I called softly.

“Yeah,” he answered the bread he was arranging on the counter.

“Thanks for the flowers.” I was still talking softly.

I saw his small grin but he didn’t look up when he replied, “Called me and told me that when you got them, Dusty.”

“Mike,” I called again.

“Yeah,” he answered, opening up the mayo jar.

“Thanks for the flowers.”

His hands froze, his head came up and his eyes came to me. Then they moved over my face.

“They’re beautiful. Still. Perfect,” I went on quietly.

“Jesus,” he whispered and the way he did I knew he read my face and my tone. It helped that his eyes stopped roaming, locked on mine, looked deep and his were burning.

“Thank you,” I repeated on a whisper.

“You’re welcome, honey,” he whispered back.

We held each other’s eyes and I liked the look in his and I hoped like hell he liked the one he was getting from me.

Finally, since I was hungry and Mike made it clear the sex zone was in his bedroom so jumping him amidst bread and mayo in the kitchen was not an option, I decided to end it.

Unfortunately.

“I’d offer to kiss you all over but I did that half an hour ago,” I teased and his lips twitched.

“Darlin’, you didn’t kiss me. You licked me,” he reminded me, looking back down to the counter and reaching to open a drawer to get a knife.

I did and that roast beef looked great but I bet Mike tasted better.

“Oh yeah, right,” I mumbled.

“Before you sucked me off,” he paused then finished, “nearly.”

“So kissing you all over is still open?” I asked.

“Angel, you need to let me get some sustenance and give me some recuperation time and then you got until five to do whatever you want to me.”

“Deal,” I muttered and he grinned at the sandwiches.

Something to look forward to.

But now it was time to connect with Mike without physically connecting with him.

“So, since we’re in the kitchen and out of the sex zone, maybe we can –”

His head shot up, his eyes hit me, they were dancing with amusement and he interrupted. “What?”

“What what?” I asked back, confused.

“The sex zone?” he clarified.