"I'm home," Nephrite called out as he crossed the threshhold of his apartment. He toed off his shoes quickly and took a deep breath in, his mouth already watering as the luscious scents of Lita's cooking invaded every available air molecule and swept around him. "Ready to go yet?"
"A soft curse and the muffled sounds of Frank Sinatra crooning a Christmas song came from the kitchen and Nephrite circled around to see where his fiancee was keeping herself.
To the left was a table laden with covered dishes, some under plastic wrap and others under tin foil, but all of them warm and positively to-die-for if his nose had anything to say about it. Tucked beneath the dinette was a pair of black patent high heels with red soles, one of them tipped over on its side, forgotten.
She's going to wear her Louboutin's tonight? Nephrite's thoughts quickly spiralled loose at the thought of Lita in those heels, and nothing else. Just as she had been when he'd given them to her for -his- birthday and then requested that she put them on.
The apartment was already warm from constant use of the oven and Nephrite was tempted to pull his blazer off and unbutton his silk shirt. Just the thought of his woman in those heels made him hard, his body heated with the desirous need to put his hands all over her. A few more steps forward so that he could peer into the wide open space of his kitchen left him without any thought other than Mine.
Looking harried, Lita's hair was pulled back into her customary ponytail, tendrils twisting and catching in the rose studs in her ears. She shifted back and forth between stirring something in a sauce pan on the stovetop and rocking back on her bare feet to glance at the lighted interior of the oven. She hadn't noticed his appearance- or if she had she didn't care- and so Nephrite continued to let his eyes devour her as he shrugged out of his coat and laid it across one of the chair backs at the table behind him.
Nephrite suddenly questioned his own good taste in choosing clothing for Lita because the piece she was wearing was so effective in slowing his brain to a caveman crawl that he could hardly stand the thought of her being in it for another moment. It was moderately simplistic, just a long-sleeved burgundy sweater dress that molded to the perfection of her ample curves all the way down to her knees. But the draped cowl neck of the dress was wide and fell off one shoulder, the material curling over her back and down her arm where the sleeves were pushed up to the elbow and festive holiday mitts took up space just past her wrists.
Without a moment of questioning the silliness of his thoughts, Nephrite knew how vampires felt, looking at that much bared skin, his for the taking.
"How many minutes?" He slid up behind her and wrapped an arm about her waist while the other hand went to join hers, stirring the concoction in the sauce pan.
"I am never cooking French hens ever again," she growled, body tense with her aggravation. "Do you know what French hens are? Chickens, that's what. So there shouldn't be anything difficult about this recipe." She made a disgusted sound and tried to bend over to look at the over once more. "But these damn birds just won't cook." She blew her bangs out of her eyes and turned her head so that she could look at Nephrite over her shoulder. "Looks like we're going to be late."
"I can thing of worse things," he hummed as he bent to put his lips to her shoulder in an open-mouthed kiss, moving his way to her neck with increasing hunger. The hand at her waist pulled back only slightly so that he could stroke her stomach with his fingers, palm sliding down between her legs to touch her through the dress.
"Neph-" she breathed, "I'm cooking. I can't let it burn." But she moaned and let her head fall back against his shoulder, shivering when his long, dark hair- loose from the queue- tickled her skin.
He scraped his teeth against the shell of her ear and murmured, "But I'm the one who's burning. Can't let that happen, either." Using his hand to press her back against him, he rocked into her from behind, his cock straining against his slacks as he twisted his hips between the curves of her ass. And still, he kept stirring the sauce pan with her.
Lita let out a soft, "Oh," when Nephrite's free hand slid down to the hem of her dress and drew it up, palm sliding across her bare skin as he meandered up the expanse of her toned inner thighs. Gods, he loved how this woman hated nylons.
When he got to the apex of her thighs, he let out a rough breath and bit down on her neck. "You forgot something when you were getting dressed, love," he murmured against the bruising skin as he dipped into her folds, drenched and hot, and pushed two fingers to curl inside her as he began to work at her clit with his thumb.
"Didn't... want..." she groaned and bucked against his hand, "panty lines."
"No other reason?" he twisted his fingers round and added a third, continuing to rock against her back.
"Well, I- oh!" Lita pressed her ass back against him. "I did plan on, mmmmm, wearing my heels."
"I noticed." He left her hand to the saucepan and used it to grasp her chin and pull her face to his for a kiss that was more sex than a meeting of lips and tongues. He could taste the sugared vanilla lip balm on her plump lips and advanced to deepen the carnality.
"Take the sauce off the heat. Do it now," she breathed, dragging her mouth away from his.
Nephrite rotated her away from the stove slightly with his arm, keeping his fingers inside her as he twisted the knob to turn off the heat, then took the handle of the sauce pan and moved it to sit on the unused burner to cool. With both hands free, he pressed Lita up against a free space of counter and set to working her more furiously with his fingers, free hand grasping at her breast and tweaking the tight nipple through the material of her dress.
Shaking her oven mitts loose from her hands onto the floor, Lita reached behind and grabbed at his belt and then the button of his pants. When her fingers touched his zipper, he released her just long enough to shove his pants around his hips and grab the bottom of her dress to pull up over her back.
He kicked her legs wide with his and then guided his cock into her waiting heat just as he pulled his fingers out of her.
"Fuck, yes, Nephrite- oh, please!"
She tried to find purchase on the countertop but gave up and reached to settle her hands against the cabinets, pressing back against Nephrite as he flicked viciously at her clit with one hand and clenched hard at her hip with the other. His hips snapped into hers as he fucked her, trying to keep her still against the counter so he didn't hurt her, but he couldn't keep from pounding into her from behind, loving the way she breathed out in little whines and was pushed up on her toes to get more of him.
With a few last hard circles around the explosive bundle of nerves beneath his fingertips, Lita cried her way through her orgasm, pushing back harder against him, moaning his name and cursing like a sailor. She was a sweet, hot vice and as he circled her several more times, despite her shifting hips and gasps of, "No more, no more," she came again and he pounded into her a few last times before he gave a sharp bark and seated himself in her all the way, his orgasm pulsing into her in fiery jets as her muscles contracted all around him.
His knees were nearly ready to give out and he disengaged from her and sank to the floor, pulling Lita with him to lie back on the cool tile. Next to him on the floor, she twisted up on an elbow and placed a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth, fingers combing through his long mahogany locks in a way that made his scalp tingle.
"Merry Christmas," he breathed, not even owning the strength to open his eyes and look at the woman he loved so much. She hummed and twisted to glance at the oven.
Just as the low music of the radio filtered back into existence with the Chipmunks and David Seville singing, "On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me..." Lita turned back to him and kissed his nose.
"My French hens are done."