He hooked a finger into her apron pocket and pulled her against him. “Why are you attempting to cook for me, sweetheart?”
“I thought that perhaps, you miss your home,” she said. “You looked as though you were missing home when you told me about Ehden.”
The words came haltingly, as though they were part of a much grander confession. Elias lightly touched the back of her head.
“Ta’abrinee,” he said, his voice soft and strained.
He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair next to the cabinet.
He undid his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, and he was behind her, his chest against her shoulders, his hands left and right from her on the countertop. The rough beginnings of a beard grazed her cheek when he put his face next to hers to study the disaster on the cutting board.
“You crushed it, rather than sliced it,” he said.
His body pressed into hers when he leaned forward to reach a different knife, the largest one. He put her hand on the handle and closed his warm fingers over hers.
“Look, like this.”
The sinews in his forearm flexed; his movements were rhythmic and quick. She exhaled. She felt his muscles work against her shoulders as he chopped away, so effortlessly, so innocently, while he had her pinned against the cabinet edge with his hips. The less she tried to keep up, the smoother the knife went about its task. Her hand was loose under his. She turned soft in his embrace. He splayed the fingers of his free hand over her belly and his lips brushed the shell of her ear.
“I would like to have you now,” he said, the words humming in his chest.
She nodded, her lower body already painfully heavy with surging desire.
He let go of the knife.
“I have nothing prepared,” he added.
“You could—” She turned her face to the side. “You could withdraw.”
“If that is what you want, I can do that.”
His fingers had undone the apron strings; he was opening the belt of her wrapper. The counter swam before her eyes. When he had said now, he had meant now. Would they do it on the floor? Standing up?
“You really liked that I cooked for you,” she said, sounding shaky.
A fleeting kiss to the side of her neck. “I like when you show your affection.”
He pulled the wrapper over her head and placed it over the back of the chair. She was in her undergarments, tied into her corset. Still dressed, Elias sat on the chair and spread his knees. Like that, then. He took her by the wrist and maneuvered her between his thighs. His eyes were half-closed when he looked up at her and put his hand into the slit of her pantaloons. He touched her carefully, lingered on the soft inside of her thigh, before he went higher. His throat moved when his fingers found her wet. She stared into his face, in an erotic stupor that made her slack and immobile.
He slipped a finger inside her.
“Take me out,” he said.
Somehow, she bent down and found the buttons, then the cord of his underwear.
“Yes, like that.”
He withdrew from her and pushed down his trousers enough to make a good space for her, then took himself in hand and looked her in the eye. She straddled him and hovered, a last hesitation before meeting him skin to skin. His mouth softened. His other hand rested lightly on her thigh. It hurt, feeling so much for him, and there was only one way to ease it.
When he entered her, she gripped his shoulders.
“Breathe,” he said, his tone soothing, his eyes feral.
Her throat was hot. Her thighs were trembling. He held her by the hips, supporting her when she paused.
“I imagined doing it like this,” she whispered.
His fingers dug into the soft part of her hips. “How does it feel?”
She closed her eyes. “Very full.”
“Does that please you?”
She nodded and sank forward and rested her forehead on his shoulder. She inhaled him through a layer of cotton. He urged her down a little more then, and she made a breathless sound. She felt the fabric of his trousers against her bottom. He held her until he felt her relax. When he finally moved, she understood that sitting on top did not necessarily mean being on top. For a while, they did it fairly quietly, just to the sound of their panting, then the chair began to creak, then it squeaked across the flagstones. She lifted her head and looked around. The setting sun slanted through the window; smoke hung in the air. Chaos on the cabinet.
Elias let go of her hips. He raised his hands to the knot of his cravat and untied it.
“Let me cover your eyes.”
The black silk glided through his fingers. His shirt was open now and revealed the V of his chest.
“You may,” she said, and touched his throat. He might do anything to her this moment and his small smile said he knew.
Darkness fell, silky smooth on her closed eyelids. His rich scent clung to the fabric. She shivered, and his warm mouth met hers, then she felt his tongue. Now all that existed was him. Until he lifted her and slid from her, leaving her empty and yearning.
“Shh,” he said, and turned her around by her shoulders. He walked her a step.
“What are we doing?”
She could hear the smile in his voice: “Bending you over.”
It was the cabinet. His hands covered hers, guided them forward over the smooth surface of well-worn wood until they reached the edge. He curled her fingers around it and kept his on top.
His warm, fractured breath brushed over her nape. “Will you hold on to that?”
His thighs were against the back of hers, his chest pressing hers down against the countertop. She nodded, yes, she would hold on. He rose. Behind her, he moved his hips and smoothly slid back into her with a satisfied, drawn-out groan. She arched with a cry of relief. He thrust, once, twice, and then he paused, buried inside her.
His hand was on the small of her back, just holding her there. “The way you feel,” he said hoarsely. “I could feel you like this forever.”
Forever.
She moaned, more in her chest than out loud. Behind her, his hips drummed as if to drive it home—forever. It broke something open inside her, and a bright, glorious sensation shot through the cracks. Forever. It did not scare her. She was light and air. His hands were gripping her hips, taking more. He was claiming any inch that had been ceded by older preoccupations, until there was only him, him, him. It felt so good, so sublime, that it made her think, why not submit to it, why not ride along it, why not forever, as long as it was with him. When she pulsed around him and cried out, all went black inside her, like an ending.
When she came to, the silk had slipped from her face and fiery red light met her eyes. The sunset glinted off a copper pan.
Elias was resting on top of her, damp and hot, his forearms supporting his weight. They didn’t speak, perhaps a little embarrassed at having mated so fiercely next to a pile of tomatoes. In front of them, the stove was perfectly quiet, as if stunned into silence.
He nuzzled her nape, his movements languid with satisfaction.
“What was it,” he asked, “what you had baking on the grate?”