Sinner and Saint

Chapter Seven

Showering this time around was quite different from six months ago.

I wasn't trying to scram. And I wasn't alone.

It could be sexier, I guess, if I didn't have my hair wrapped up in a pouffy turquoise shower cap but washing my tightly coiled hair wasn't something I could do often and without a precise, time-consuming routine. So I had to put it away.

Stellan was amused by that but made no complaints. He had the rest of my entirely naked body to get busy with, after all.

The clawfoot tub in my 1950s bathroom was updated but it still wasn't all that spacious for two showering adults. Luckily, not much room was needed to stay cozy and lather each other up, our straying hands taking their sweet time to memorize each other's body.

But another round of sex had to wait until we were dry-ish and able to make it to my bed.

When we did get there, another biological need demanded priority.

"I'm exhausted but most importantly, I'm starving," I muttered from under Stellan's arm which had me tucked in against him.

"Me, too," he said, even as his fingertips trailed down the dip behind my back and over the very rounded curve of my butt. "I think it's almost ten at night."

I opened an eye and saw him squinting at the vintage alarm clock on my nightstand. He'd lost his glasses somewhere in the hallway outside my bedroom. I found it endearing, that small flaw.

And he barely has any whereas your small flaws are things like physical aggression and drinking all day.

Groaning, I pushed myself up to my knees, which quickly resulted in Stellan's gaze going straight to my breasts bouncing in front of his face. Those he seemed to be able to see just fine.

"Come on, I'll go make something to feed us," I said with a laugh, sliding off the bed and grabbing a short, silky white robe so thin it was almost translucent.

My kitchen, pretty much like the rest of my house, was a mix of fifties-flair and modern finishes. I had the teal cupboards deepened just enough to give it a sophisticated feel, and got a whole new range of vintage-inspired appliances to go with it. It was feminine and nostalgic and quite ironic for someone like me to want because I'm definitely not 1950s wife-material. But I like what I like and that's that.

I had just started slicing pieces off a half-finished rye loaf when Stellan sauntered in, wearing nothing more than his black-rimmed glasses and dark gray boxers. His hair was that same damp mess I remembered from six months ago, except that the warm lights in my kitchen were bringing out the golden tones from its dark auburn shade.

With that long, sculpted body, that chiseled face, and that constant half-smile on one corner of his sensual mouth, Stellan looked fiercely potent. But he walked with a casualness like he didn't really think about how fucking hot he looked and that was what made my heart stutter and my legs press together from behind the kitchen island.

"I'm making turkey sandwiches because that's all I have ingredients for," I said as he walked around the kitchen island to stand next to me.

Too tired. Too hungry. Too tired. Too hungry.

"Stand at least six feet away from me or we're not going to be able to have dinner," I snapped, my voice a little shaky from a new rush of need. "For the love of God, we can't have sex again. At least not until we're both fed."

Stellan looked a little startled and then laughed, moving back to the other side of the kitchen island with his hands held up. "Alright, alright. I just wanted to see what I could do to help."