NSFWI stepped into the kitchen, where the aroma of sautéed garlic and brown butter clung to the warm, yellow walls. Jenny stood by the stove, her back to me.
She wore nothing but a frilly white apron, the thin cotton fabric barely shielding her curves. Her pale, rounded cheeks were a blatant invitation, and her thighs trembled slightly as she stirred the simmering pot, the steam curling around her bare waist.
"Dinner's almost ready, honey," she murmured, casting a playful, hooded glance over her shoulder.
"Forget the dinner," I rasped, the sound grating and heavy in my throat.
"Oh? Are you not hungry?" She let out a soft, teasing laugh that vibrated through the small room.
"I'm starving, but definitely not for pasta."
"You've been so stressed lately," she whispered, drifting away from the heat of the stove, her hips swaying. "I thought I'd provide a little... distraction."
"A distraction? Jenny, you're sending my pulse into a riot."
"Is that a problem, Mack?"
"It's the most delicious problem I've had all year." I reached for her, the tension finally snapping.