It was late by the time he pulled into the garage, and he was beyond tired after the long commute.
But despite the motor whirring as the garage door closed behind him, he could hear upbeat music playing from inside the house, and as he opened the door to walk inside, he could smell the deep, rich aroma of dark chocolate wafting through the air: she was baking for him again.
Smiling, he sauntered over to the kitchen, where he knew he would find her tinkering around, totally in her element. He loved watching her cook. The furrow of concentration on her wrinkled brow. The way she bit her lip while deep in thought. The tiny little tastes and sprinkles and measurements that took place. She had such a passion for it, and it made him adore her all the more, especially since she tended to get so into it.
In fact, she barely noticed that he was even home until he was standing right behind her, smelling her still-damp hair, and wrapping his arms in a great big bear hug over the short silk robe she had on.
"Oh!," she exclaimed. "I didn't hear you come in!"
He chuckled at the little jump she did, and squeezed her tighter, kissing the top of her head before heading to the bedroom to change.
When he came out, she was still standing at the island, humming to the music, prepping strawberries for whatever dessert she happened to be making that night.
Their kitchen island was massive - a deep sink on the side nearest the stove, with plenty of counter space surrounding it for all the extensive prep work she loved to do. The crisp white granite extended a good bit beyond the sink area too so that guests could sit and chat and eat with her while she prepped appetizers or served cocktails during one of their hosted dinners. It was also used to lay out a vast Thanksgiving buffet each year, and the designated spot to box up hundreds of treats during their annual Christmas cookie exchange.
She lit up like the night sky every time she hosted. And he had zero complaints about it.
But tonight, it was just the two of them. And he knew she probably sensed the rough morning in his voice when he called to check in at lunchtime, and had probably started immediately scheming how to improve his mood, like always.
As he absentmindedly sat down at one of the island barstools to observe her, the timer dinged, snapping him back to reality. He shook the remaining thoughts out of his head and watched her twirl around, grab the oven mitts, then bend over to open the oven door.
He craned his neck to get a better view of what she was baking, then couldn't help but notice as she bent down that the hem of her robe crept high enough for him to see that she wasn't wearing any panties underneath.
His cock immediately jumped at that thought, but he didn't want to interrupt her process, so did his best to control himself.
