Dinner for Two

“Are we still on for tomorrow night, baby?” Anna asked.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it! My place, right? What would you like for dinner?”

“I’ll cook. I have something I want to try.”

“That’s grand! I love your cooking—best of all, since I don’t have to cook.”

Anna arrived and unpacked four bags in my kitchen. She put a large glass casserole dish onto the counter and began chopping tomatoes.

I lingered in the kitchen door, nursing a glass of cabernet as we chatted.

“Don’t you have work to do?” she smiled, kissing me.

“Always.” I can take a hint. “Holler if you need anything.” I repaired to my computer.

Anna enjoys these moments of domesticity—one of us in the kitchen, the other puttering about. I enjoy them too.

Within a half hour, dinner was complete. She had assembled a Spanish casserole of tortilla, corn, beans, cheese and spinach. Very simple, very savory.

And sizable. I would feed the leftovers to the children for two days.

“The kids will like this,” I said, taking another fork full.

“I feel like I owe them a meal,” Anna shrugged.

We talked quietly as we ate. She often returned to the subject of the meal she had made for the children.

At one point, we seemed to be having a fight about it.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t give the children more advance notice about me,” she said, raising her voice. “I mean, what am I to you, just someone you fuck?”

“Wait, how did we get to this?”

“It matters to me that your children know who I am to you!”

“But, you understand . . .”

“Yes, yes, I know. You don’t want them to be concerned with ‘daddy’s girlfriend.’” She waved her fingers in the air, as quotation marks.

“It’s not a joke, really, nor an irrational concern.” My voice was very level and calm, as always when I am annoyed.

“I know, sweetie, I know.” She put her hand on mine. “Look, let’s drop this. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“I can see it matters to you.”

“It does. It’s okay. Let’s eat.”

We finished dinner.

The subject would come up again as we made love.

She sat on me, rubbing her pussy on the base of my cock. Her juices ran around my balls.

“This, we do very well,” she said.

“This is true.” I fingered a nipple, caressing her belly.

“It’s just . . . ,” she said, reaching for a condom, “I don’t know, I just want the rest of it to work as well.”

“We try. We both try.”

“Yeah.” She unwrapped the condom, and placed it in her mouth. She unrolled it onto my cock with her lips and tongue.

I flipped her. My cock was in her.

I held her close, keeping myself deep inside as I thrust. I kissed her, nibbling her ears and neck, tugging at her hair.

I moved my body to hers, in this same position, through more than an hour of orgasms.

The final orgasm was mine.

The bed was soaked through.

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