Heather loved cooking at the end of the day—heat from the stove, wine in her glass, her soft curves warm under the apron she definitely didn’t need but liked wearing anyway. The kitchen smelled like garlic and butter, and the pot on the stove was just beginning to simmer. She was stirring absentmindedly when someone knocked. Her neighbor. The cute one. The younger one. The one who always looked at her a little too long. “Hey,” he said, stepping inside when she waved him in. “I smelled dinner and… wow.” He wasn’t talking about the food. Heather felt his gaze linger on her neckline, her waist, the curve of her hips under her dress. She smirked a little as she turned back to the stove. “Hungry?” she teased. “For dinner or something else?” His voice was low. Bold. Dangerous. Heather froze for half a second—heat running right down her spine—before she turned around slowly, leaning her hip against the counter. “Oh?” she murmured. “Something else?” He stepped closer, close enough for his breath to brush her lips. “I’ve… kinda been wanting you.” The wooden spoon in her hand slipped and clattered onto the counter. “Is that right?” she whispered, chest rising with each breath. He nodded, eyes dropping to her mouth. “Yeah. Really badly.” She didn’t realize she’d grabbed his shirt until she was pulling him in, kissing him hard, his hands gripping her waist like he’d been craving this for months. The stove was completely forgotten. He lifted her onto the counter like she weighed nothing, kissing her with a hunger that made her thighs tremble. When he slid his hands under her dress, she gasped against his mouth, wrapping her legs around him. “God, Heather…” He groaned the words like he was already addicted. She tugged his shirt off, fingers dragging down his chest, his breath going ragged as she slid her hand lower. When she wrapped her fingers around him, he nearly lost his balance. “You’ve been wanting this?” she teased softly. “Yes,” he said, voice breaking. “Please—” She stroked him slow, teasing, wickedly gentle. “Use your words.” “Heather… please. I want your mouth—” She didn’t let him finish. She slid off the counter to her knees, tugging his hips forward, her lips brushing him before she took him into her mouth—warm, deep, sinful. His hand hit the cabinet behind her as he let out a desperate, choked sound. “Oh my god… Heather…” Her tongue worked him until his legs shook, until he was muttering her name like a prayer, until he was gripping the counter so hard the wood creaked. She pulled back just long enough to look up at him, lips glistening, eyes wicked. “Still hungry, baby?” He groaned—loud, helpless. “Yes. God, yes.” She took him again, deeper this time, and he came undone right there in her kitchen, shaking, moaning, spilling into her mouth as the forgotten pot on the stove boiled over softly behind them. Heather stood, licking her lips with a satisfied smile. “Dinner might be ruined,” she said sweetly. He swallowed hard, still breathless. “Worth it.”

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