Notes: Mari and Sammy – Thank you for all the AWESOME feedback and for being such TRUE friends through thick and thin. (See what I did there?)
HUGE thank you to Esther for solving my "saucy" problem. You rock for that and many other reasons!
Readers and REAL McRollers – Thank you for the AMAZING support! Your love for the REAL World is absolutely phenomenal!
A very special THANK YOU to alharpole for suggesting the first ragù flashback!
Enjoy!
Saucy (A McRoll in the REAL World Story)
Catherine exited the kitchen as Steve was greeting Cammie in the living room.
"Ragù for dinner okay?" she asked.
He smiled and gave her a quick kiss. "Talk to Grandma Ang today?"
She returned his smile. "You know me well."
"And you knew I'd say yes," he said and nodded toward the kitchen. "Smells like it's already done."
"Just about."
"I'll pour some wine?" he asked.
"Sounds great." She headed for the stairs. "Give it a stir while you're in there. I'll be right down."
"Okay," he said, and Cammie followed him into the kitchen.
A half hour later, Steve finished his last bite and set his bowl down on the coffee table. "Mmm. That's as good as the first time you made it."
"God, that weekend," Catherine chuckled from her seat beside him on the sofa, having already finished her bowl. "I can't believe it took three attempts."
He raised an eyebrow. "Were you really surprised?
"Well, okay . . . I should've known it wasn't happening the first night."
"Yeah," he said as if it were obvious.
"That was overly ambitious," she admitted. "But after that . . ."
"I hope you're not too hungry," Catherine said, and Steve followed her through the living room of her small apartment, bag over his shoulder. "I haven't had a chance to start dinner yet, I just got here myself. I was gonna hop in the shower real quick."
His lips twitched up in an interested smile as he watched her retreating form. "Need a hand?"
"There are vegetables to cut up in the kitchen," she said innocently.
He stopped and knitted his brow, cocking his head to the side. "I uh . . . I was talking about the shower."
She paused in the doorway of the hallway bathroom and looked over her shoulder at him with a sultry smile.
"In that case . . . how 'bout two hands?"
He reached her in a few long strides and tossed his bag in the general direction of her bedroom, catching her around the waist and pressing her to the doorframe as his lips descended on hers.
"Mmm," she moaned and broke away long enough to say, her eyes darkening with desire, "Miss me?"
He smiled wolfishly and his voice was almost a growl. "What do you think?" he replied before pressing closer and recapturing her mouth in a deep kiss.
After their extended shower, Catherine was in her bedroom when Steve's voice drifted in from the hallway bathroom. "I'd say this is shaping up to be a fantastic leave, given that beginning."
"Oh yeah?" she asked from near the dresser, pulling on a fresh pair of panties.
"Yeah." He stepped into the room holding a towel around his waist.
She glanced at him and then pulled open a drawer to grab some loose-fitting cotton shorts. "Do tell."
"Well, first," he began, knotting the towel from his spot by the doorway. "You were here when I got in. So that's already an improvement over last time."
She grinned as she slipped into the shorts. "Ah yes, your very sweet but not so well-executed attempt at a surprise."
"Mmhmm," he acknowledged. "And . . let's see . . ." He glanced over his shoulder down the hallway. "Your dad's not coming into town, right?
"Not this time."
He took a step toward her. "So hopefully no unexpected guests."
"Right." She took a tank top from the drawer and pulled it over her head. "We're having lunch with Lynn McCabe and Eric Jackson tomorrow," she said, referring to friends from their Annapolis days, "but other than that . . ."
"Uh huh." He closed the remaining distance between them. "And you're not planning on breaking any more furniture."
Her eyes widened incredulously. "That was not my fault, you were the one–"
She stopped abruptly as he swept her up as if to toss her onto the bed.
"Steve!" she exclaimed. "Don't you even thi–"
Chuckling, he set her gently in the center of the bed and, flicking his towel off and to the floor, crawled over her.
"I don't know why you put this on," he chided, peeling off her tank in one fluid motion.
"I'm supposed to be making you dinner," she pointed out as her hands smoothed over his shoulders.
"Tomorrow," he said, coaxing her to lift her hips so he could slide her freshly donned shorts and panties back off. His voice dropped. "Tonight, I want to satisfy . . . other appetites."
"Satisfy?" she smirked, wrapping her legs around him as he settled against her. "Oh, I hope not."
He paused the descent of his lips to hers and quirked an eyebrow.
She smiled cheekily and ran her hands through his hair. "We have the whole weekend." She let her own lips drift close to his but didn't kiss him. "Wouldn't want you completely satisfied this early in the game, sailor."
His grin was rakish in the split second before their lips met in a passionate kiss.
The next night, Catherine and Steve stood side-by-side at her kitchen counter. She was dicing an onion, and he was ostensibly chopping up celery but was clearly distracted.
"Nice to see Lynn and Eric today," she said.
"Uh huh," he agreed absently.
"I told you he'd bring up that Comparative Politics project, even though it's been years," she continued, sweeping the bits of onion she'd cut against the flat of the knife and stretching to put them in the bowl that was in front of him. He swallowed, and his eyes followed her movements.
He didn't answer, his left hand wandering over and touching the inch of skin visible between her top and jeans as she straightened.
"That does not feel like you chopping celery," she said, her eyes staying on her task but her mouth fighting a smile.
"I should hope not," he said, his voice low. His fingers splayed against her skin and slid under her tank top.
"You said you were gonna help."
He nodded to the cutting board in front of him. "I am helping."
"You've finished a whole . . . one stalk of celery," she observed.
He gave a small shrug, and his eyes twinkled mischievously.
"It's a big stalk."
She snorted back a laugh. "Oh my God."
His eyes danced with mirth, and he set his knife down and stepped close behind her. She inhaled when his hands slid around her waist to her stomach before inching down to the low waist of her jeans.
"Steve . . ." she started.
"Can't help myself," he murmured in her ear.
She rolled her eyes, thoroughly amused. "Oh, please."
He chuckled and bent to press his mouth to her neck. "What can I say? You're irresistible," he said against her skin as he thumbed open the button of her jeans.
She laughed and pushed him back gently with her elbow. "Would you . . . just go sit?" she said, motioning to the kitchen table.
"What?" he asked. He held his arms out innocently. "What'd I do?"
"Sit."
"Come on, Cath . . ." he coaxed.
"Let me get this ragù going so we can eat later and then I'm all yours," she promised.
He sighed heavily but walked the few steps to the table and sat down.
"Thank you," she said and turned back to the counter.
His eyes stayed on her as she cut, and after a few minutes of silence she looked toward the ceiling and shook her head.
"Okay, this isn't going to work either," she said.
"What?"
"I know you're staring at me." She put her knife down and turned to face him, leaning back against the counter with her hands on the edge to either side of her.
He held his hands out defensively. "I tried to help, you told me to sit over here."
" 'Cause you were getting handsy."
He grinned knowingly. "You like when I get handsy."
She paused, holding his gaze that challenged her to disagree.
"That's . . . not the point," she said finally, and his grin widened, his tongue peeking out between his teeth.
She rolled her eyes at the almost smug look on his face and shook her head.
His expression morphed into a more serious one, and he raised his eyebrows. "D'you want me to leave the room?"
"No, I don't want you to leave the room."
"Good." He glanced at his watch. " 'Cause we only have about thirty six more hours before my flight, and I don't want to spend any of 'em in different rooms."
She tilted her head and smiled, touched at his admission.
He stood. "Tell me what to do." He held his hands up and put them behind his back in an exaggerated motion. "I will keep my hands to myself. I swear."
She smiled and glanced around. "How about you do the dishes as I finish with them?"
He eyed the sink and then looked back at her. "Kinda like a . . . you cook, I clean thing?"
"Yeah. Seems like a good ground rule." She smirked. "And you should be able to keep your hands to yourself over there."
He nodded once and smiled. "Okay."
She handed him the knife and cutting board he had been using. "Might as well start with these."
He flashed a sheepish grin and turned to the sink. While he washed, she finished cutting the remaining onion and celery. She added the cut veggies to the bowl and when she turned, he was holding up a can of tomato paste.
"You need this can open, right?" he asked.
"Yeah, eventually. Can opener's in the top drawer there. Then you can dump it in that bowl." She indicated an empty bowl on the counter.
"Okay."
She turned and began to cut up a carrot.
He opened the can and eased the lid off. As he dumped the contents into the bowl, he swiped his hand against his mouth and cheek to scratch an itch.
Finished with her knife, she turned and put it by the sink. Glancing up at him, she stopped and smiled.
"You got a little . . ." she started.
"Huh?"
She reached up and wiped a bit of tomato paste from the corner of his mouth with her thumb. She let the digit linger, her eyes following its path as she slid her thumb over his lips until he licked at it with his tongue and scraped his teeth along her skin.
Her breath caught as he opened his mouth and held her thumb lightly between his teeth for a beat, then released it. Her hand drifted slowly up his bicep, and she met his eyes.
He licked his lips and said, "Can I touch n–"
"God, yes," she interrupted and fused her mouth to his.
He groaned into the kiss and pulled her tight against him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and he slid his hands down her back and over her hips. Bending his knees slightly, he lifted her and guided her legs around his waist.
He started for the bedroom, never breaking the kiss.
Catherine woke in the morning to Steve ghosting a hand up and down the bare skin of her side. She blinked open her eyes and smiled at him.
"Morning."
"Morning," he replied, continuing the languid caress.
"Sleep well?"
"Very well." His lip quirked up in a teasing smile. "This new bed is excellent."
"New box spring," she corrected with a slight eye roll, though she knew he was aware of the difference. "The mattress isn't new."
"Ah," he said, his attention clearly split between the conversation and his hand on her skin.
"Also not the first time you've slept on it."
He smiled. "Oh right."
His stomach rumbled, and she hid a grin. He shrugged as best he could from his position on his side with his head propped up on one hand.
"We never did get back to dinner," he pointed out.
She smiled. "Well, we had dinner, just . . . not what I planned."
"You're never too old for cereal," he said with another shrug.
She chuckled and said, "I am making that ragù for you before your leave is over. My grandma knows you were going to be here this weekend so if I don't make it, she'll want to know why. And I am NOT explaining to her how we kept getting . . ."
"Naked?" he supplied with a smirk.
"Distracted."
He smiled, his hand still moving on her skin. "Today. Promise. I'll help."
"We tried that already," she said. "It didn't work out well for us."
"I disagree."
She bit her lip to control her own smirk. "Okay. Fair enough."
His hand stilled, and his thumb started making small circles on her hip.
She shifted to stretch an arm up and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she found his gaze drifting over her body, his tongue running slowly over his lower lip.
He squeezed her hip and inhaled a deep breath.
She squinted and said, "I know that look. Have we learned nothing this weekend?"
His eyes went back to hers, and a half smile appeared on his face.
"Well, it's not like you were going to make it for breakfast . . ."
Her laugh was swallowed when he lunged forward and kissed her hungrily.
His arm slid behind her, and he guided her to her back so he could roll on top. She moaned her ardent approval of his actions and ran her fingers through his hair in passionate encouragement.
That evening, Steve watched while Catherine gave the mixture a final stir and covered the pot.
"Now what?" he asked as she placed the spoon on a dish by the stovetop.
"Now it's gotta simmer for an hour and a half or so."
He raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
There was a pause as they exchanged a look.
A smile spread slowly on Catherine's face.
"Race ya," she said and took off for the bedroom with Steve right behind.
"You ate more that weekend," Catherine said, nodding toward his empty bowl on the coffee table.
He shrugged with a sly smile. "I needed the fuel." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "As I recall, we both did."
She matched his smile. "By that point, yeah."
"Only took one attempt tonight," he observed.
"Why do you think I always make it before you get home?"
He chuckled and watched as she rose only to swing a leg over his and settle on his lap. His hands automatically slid up the back of her shirt as she cradled his neck and leaned down to kiss him.
He pulled back before their lips met and asked, "What about the ground rule?"
"I think we can break it this once." Her grin was saucy, and she winked. "For old times' sake."
He barely had time to return her smile before she caught his lips in a steamy kiss, breaking away only long enough for him to pull her shirt over her head before returning her hands to his face and her mouth to his ravenously.
With a breathless gasp, he pulled back to speak even as he tightened his arms around her.
"You should really make ragù more often."
Note: I wanted to do something different from the box spring stories where circumstances kept interrupting Steve and Catherine. I think I managed. Hope you liked the result ;-)
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