"Fuck, Luna." That's another thing. When we're together like this, he sometimes calls me Freya, but most of the time it's "Luna." Neither of us has talked about it, but I like that too. The nickname is sweet and intimate and makes me feel cherished.
This is just sex for us, but that little bit of connection works for me. I know it shouldn't. The first time he said it, I should have made a new rule about no cute nicknames, but now it's too late. If he stopped doing it, I'd probably be upset and ask him why.
Shut up, brain. Focus on the fucking.
* * *
After we fucked on the couch and then he went down on me and I came three times, we stumbled to the kitchen.
"I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm kind of excited," I say as he starts going through my pantry and pulling out boxes and jars.
"I hope I haven't raised your expectations. It's always different cooking in someone else's kitchen with different appliances." Rhett moves to the fridge and I pull on the hem of his shirt that I'm wearing with nothing under it. I know it's totally a cliché for the girl to wear the guy's shirt, but it's a cliché for a reason. He smells good, and I like the way he looks at me when I'm wearing his clothes. That look usually leads to me getting off, so why wouldn't I encourage that? I'd have to be an idiot.
When he's done, there are quite a few things on my counter.
"What's happening here?" I ask.
"Soup. That's my go-to when I don't know what else to make." I look at what he got out. Some frozen tortellini, two cans of tomato soup, some fresh spinach, shredded carrots, frozen chicken that I don't remember buying and a can of white beans. It sounds like it could be good, but we'll see.
This recipe doesn't involve a whole lot of prep, so there isn't much of a cooking lesson, but that doesn't matter.
"Do you have any herbs?" I rummage around in a few drawers and find a bottle of generic Italian spices and a bottle of poultry seasoning.
"Excellent. Just what we need." He walks me through grilling the chicken, which I can pretty much handle, and then putting everything else in the pot to simmer. Then we chop the chicken, throw it in, and he puts a lid on the pot.
"Just a few more minutes and it will be done," he says, washing his hands.
"I wonder what we could do with a few minutes," I say, tapping my chin. He grabs the hem of my shirt and uses it to pull me into his chest.
"I can think of a few things," he says, leaning down and tipping my face up. Sometimes I wish I could grow a few inches at will so our faces will be closer when we kiss. And then there's something wonderful about the way we have to both reach to meet each other in the middle.
"Mmm, what might those be?" I ask and his answer is to pick me up and put me on the counter.
"Having you as an appetizer," he says, pushing my legs open and getting on his knees. I pull the shirt up, and he makes a noise when he sees that I have nothing on under it.
"You're so fucking sexy," he says, running his hands up the outside of my thighs. I'm already shaking with anticipation of having his face between my legs. I want to make him sign a contract in blood that he will never shave his beard as long as we're hanging and banging. Because it's a whole other experience.
Rhett licks up the inside of my thighs and I know he wants to take his time because he usually does, but we only have a few minutes and I fully expect him to deliver in the time we have.
He figured out what pushes my buttons real fast and holy hell is he good at pushing all of them at once. He's a master with his fingers and tongue and lips. Seriously, he must have done exercises because it seems like he can go forever. I want to give him a trophy or something. I think payback blow jobs are probably good enough, though.
I dig my fingers into his hair, and I know he doesn't mind a few scalp scratches. He goes hard, sucking on my clit, thrusting his fingers in and out of me and not letting up. I come hard just before the timer dings.
"Beautiful Luna," he whispers.
"Fucking fuck," I pant, and he smirks up at me. I love how I'm all over his face and in his beard. He kisses me once and then goes to take care of the soup. I'm still not ready to move yet. Rhett takes care of getting the soup into bowls, and we head back to the living room and eat on the couch. I tremble with little aftershocks and I keep having to shift myself around.
"You okay there?" he asks.
"Yup, fine," I say and he laughs darkly. And that makes it even worse because that laugh gets me every time.