I woke up several hours later, just as the sky was just beginning to lighten at the horizon. The bed I was in was unfamiliar to me, and spent a few brief moments working out where I was. Then I remembered, blushing when everything clicked into place.
The bed felt oddly cold around me; I realized that I hadn't felt his body around me when I'd woken up. I rolled over to face the entrance to the bedroom, noticing through the open door that light was coming from the kitchen. Faint noises came from there as well, so I figured I had to investigate. Slipping out of bed, I noticed that the top of Lance's dresser had a clean gray T-shirt laid out on top of it. I took it and held it out in front of me. On my frame it would be long enough to be a dress. I pulled it over my head, pleased with how comfortable it felt before padding to the kitchen.
Lance was there in the kitchen, ladling batter from a bowl into a pan on the stove. A coffee cup had been set out on the kitchen table, with cream, sugar and a spoon set next to it. Lance glanced up at me as I came into the kitchen.
"Morning," he said, looking back down to watch the progress of the pancake he was making. "The coffee on the table is yours, corrupt it to your taste," he teased, easing a spatula under the edge of the pancake before expertly flipping it over. I smiled, adding cream and two and a half spoonfuls of sugar. Stirring my coffee, I walked over to watch Lance a little closer. Even through his loose athletic shorts I could see the firm lines of his butt. I watched while he continued making breakfast, trying and failing to catch his eye. He let the pancake sizzle for a few moments longer before taking the pan off the heat and sliding the pancake onto a plate.
"This is yours, and there's blueberry compote in the pot over there if you want any," said Lance, ladling more batter into the pan. I took the plate eagerly and walked around him to examine the other item on the stove. Inside the pot was a bubbling purply mixture; the blueberry compote I assumed. I spooned some over my pancake before going to sit back down at the kitchen table, my breakfast in hand. I set my plate down, waiting patiently for Lance to finish making his own breakfast and sipping my coffee. His pancake was easily a third bigger than mine, and he poured considerably more compote than I had over his own pancake.
Lance then joined me at the table and we started eating. My first taste of the pancake made me moan. It was light, fluffy and just the right amount of sweet. The compote had a brightness to it and I shivered involuntarily. I wasn't surprised by how delicious it was, because I figured with his standards, it would have to be. If the morning was starting off this well, I was eager to see how the rest of the day was going to go.
We'd just finished eating when Lance looked up at me, and the light in his eyes immediately set the wheels of my imagination turning.
"Enjoy it?" asked Lance, his voice low and playful. He seemed to be leaning forward to leer at me.
"Well of course," I said, and met his gaze steadily. We stared at each other a few long moments before I grinned widely.
"You always make good food. I was just thinking of how I might show my gratitude," I replied, and Lance raised a brow at that.
"And how were you thinking of showing me that?" he asked, standing and gathering the plates from the table. My finger traced the rim of my coffee cup, and I widened my eyes, pretending to be deep in thought.
"I had been thinking that you work so hard that it might be nice if you were to lay back and receive today," I said, my voice pitching slightly higher on the end, making it more of a question. Lance had already gotten the dishes to the sink, but I saw the slightest hitch in his movement.
"I'm listening," was all Lance replied, and his back was turned to me as he put away the remains of breakfast. I suppressed a wriggle of triumph; I'd gotten his attention.
"I was thinking of showing you my progress I'd made on my toys. You did ask me to practice getting them as deep as possible. If you sit down on the couch, I can show you."
Leaving my answer deliberately vague was a bit of a risk. Usually, Lance wasn't one for surprises, but I was hoping this was one of the few times that he'd be willing to humor me. I watched him closely, and I saw him working out his response.
Apparently, he was in just such a mood, because he turned toward me and replied "I expect this will be interesting, slut." And he walked into the living room and settled himself onto the couch. Barely containing myself, I followed after him.
Lance looked up at me from the couch, and his expression might have seemed neutral except that his eyes betrayed him. His eyes were lit up, and I knew he was expecting greatness from me. I considered him for a long moment. Did I want to do this with my clothes on, or off? Knowing Lance, he'd want me to take them off. I could feel my heart start to pound in my chest as I reached to grab the hem of the oversized shirt before pulling it over my head and dropping it onto the floor in a pool of grey fabric.
I was completely bare before him, and my nipples were already hardened to little rosy points on my breasts. Lance's gaze wandered over my body, taking in the sight of me for a moment, his eyes lingering over my curves. The attention had me flushed and excited; something he'd taken advantage of in the past. I ran my hands up the curves up my body, lingering on my breasts slightly to pinch and squeeze them, relishing his undivided attention on me before I sank to my knees in front of him.
