Kitchen Fire
Published in Naughty Stories from A to Z, Vol. 4
I sat on the kitchen counter, my bare feet dangling beneath my calf-length skirt. You were cleaning the dishes while our significant others stayed on the balcony to finish their drinks and enjoy the evening breeze. This was our typical after-dinner pattern; they stayed out, we went in and I kept you company while you washed up. I sipped my wine and enjoyed the sight of you, tall and broad-shouldered, efficiently restoring order to the kitchen.
As you walked toward me to put away the silverware, I mischievously spread my legs, forcing you to stand between them to reach the drawer. Looking into your blue eyes, I smiled a silent dare up at you. You met my flirtatious gaze for a few moments, then glanced behind me toward the balcony. Smiling, you said with mock exasperation, “They’re at it again.”
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