Kiss the cook

Natalia stands at the stove, her blonde hair catching the light as she stirs. Wayne steps behind her, hands sliding under the apron. She smiles, leans back, and lets his fingers work between her thighs. The butter sizzles. Her breath catches. He finds her wet, already slick, and she turns to meet his mouth. She drops to her knees on the tile, takes him in one smooth motion, lips stretched around him, eyes up. He rests one hand on her head, guiding her slow, steady rhythm. A string of spit falls to her chest. She comes up for air, strokes him, then sinks back down until her nose brushes his stomach. He pulls her to her feet, bends her over the counter. Her legs part. He pushes in deep, pulls out, pushes again. She moans into the wooden surface. He grips her hips, thrusts harder. When he’s close, she drops back to her knees, tongue out, and he finishes across her open mouth and cheeks. She swallows what she can, licks the rest from her lips, then stands and stirs the pan again like nothing happened.