Fuck the Cook

Fuck the Cook

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When Jeff and I bought our house, I couldn’t wait to move in. We’d both been in cramped apartments for so long, and moving into our own house was something we’d fantasized about for years.

All the additional closet space, the big living room, the backyard, the fireplace — I’d wanted them all for so long. But most of all, I was excited about the kitchen. I love to cook and bake, and having a full kitchen, with ample counter space and cabinets, was a dream come true.

Jeff liked to joke that I was more in love with that kitchen than with him, and sometimes he wasn’t far off. It was an amazing setup, and whenever I had some spare time, I was working on new recipes or just enjoying all the space I had to work in.

One Sunday afternoon, I was in my new kitchen, cleaning up after making brunch for friends we’d invited over. They’d gone home, and I was loading the dishwasher and putting things away. Jeff came in as I was finishing up. I had just dropped the last pot in the sink to soak when he wrapped his arms around my waist and began to kiss the sweet spot behind my ear. He knew exactly how to get my attention, and my hands curled around the edge of the sink as his delicate kisses made my pulse race.

He trailed kisses up and down my neck, making me moan, and then he spun me around in his arms so he could kiss me squarely on the mouth. His lips were hot and hard against mine, and when his tongue begged for entrance, I eagerly opened my mouth to let him in. Jeff kissed me passionately, his tongue tangling with mine as he pushed me back against the sink and pressed his body firmly to mine. I wasn’t sure where his sudden desire for a make-out session had come from, but I happily kissed him back, twirling my tongue with his and letting my hands wander down to his ass.

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