Breafast?

The shirt slipped off her shoulder again. She tugged it up with a half laugh and a mild oath and dumped a cup of flour into the bowl. She felt him move to stand behind her. She kept her head down, concentrating on the batter. His breath fanned across her neck and tickled her ear bringing a rash of goose bumps out on her skin. She continued to whisk the contents of the bowl.

His hand brushed her shoulder. More goose bumps appeared. He slipped two fingers under her bra strap. Her breath caught. Blood rushed to inappropriate parts of her treacherous body. Get a grip! she chastised herself. She tightened her grip on the whisk.

"It's purple." His voice sounded like it had been roughened with sand paper.

"What's purple?"

"Your bra..." His fingers slid back and forth in a tiny caress between the satin of the bra and her skin. He shifted so that there was nothing but sparks separating them. "I wouldn't have pegged you for purple."

'Ah... um," Peyton swallowed hard and put the bowl and whisk on the counter in front of her. This man was turning her into a blithering fool, she thought. "I, uh, like all colors. I even have a fuzzy leopard one."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that he would let the comment pass.

"Fuzzy leopard, huh? You are just full of surprises."

The minuscule distance between them closed and her back was pressed against his chest. His hips and thighs pressed against hers. She shuddered as his lips grazed her neck. He brushed a feather light trail down her neck and back up again. He nibbled along the shell of her ear until he captured her earlobe between his teeth. He sucked gently before releasing it.

Then he stepped back. The delightful pressure of his body, the warmth of his breath was gone. She shivered once before whirling around to face him, fully intending to rip into him for playing games with her. The biting comment stuck in her throat when she looked at his face.

He had backed up to lean on the opposite counter. His hand was unsteady as he scooped dark hair off his brow. It was his eyes, however, that made her pause. Emotion, hot and bright, filled them and darkened the silver of his iris to something closer to melted metal. As his eyes held hers, her breath quickened and her blood resumed its rushing.

"Why are you over there?" she asked in a voice that sounded all husky and low.

"I promised to be on my best behavior. I didn't want to push my luck." His eyes never left hers. The heat in them made her mouth water.

"What if I -," her voice faltered. She swallowed and summoned her courage. "What if I want you to push it?"

"I would say that you have to be sure that you can push back." The flame in his eyes kicked up a notch.

They studied each other, neither of them moving or speaking. Peyton reached around to release the apron strings at her back. She slipped the strap over her head and tossed the cloth onto the counter. He clutched the counter at his side with white knuckles, but didn't move.

With her chin raised, she crossed to him. She slid her hands up his chest, reveling in the solid heat beneath her palms. She linked her fingers behind his neck and moved forward until her stomach was pressed against his. She matched her thighs to his. He still gripped the counter.

Sending up a silent prayer that she wouldn't make a fool of herself, she nuzzled his neck. His scent, spicy and masculine, swamped her. She kissed her way up and down his throat in the same way he had done to hers. His breath caught, but he still didn't touch her. She nipped at the underside of his jaw. A low rumble started deep in his chest. She pulled back to meet his sterling eyes.

"Consider this my push," she closed her eyes and met his lips with hers. He let her control the kiss, opened to allow her questing tongue full access to him. She slid her fingers into the cool, silky mass of his hair and wiggled her hips against him.

He groaned. And then his hands were on her- one fisted in the shirt at the small of her back, the other at the base of her neck. Now she was the one to relinquish control. She went limp against him as he plundered.

His mind and body were saturated by the feel of her. She was soft and warm, pliant and responsive. The sheer joy of holding her, possessing her, rippled through him. His hands slid low on her hips to fist in the soft knit fabric of her skirt. A tiny whimper tumbled from her. He started to pull back, release his hold on her. She shook her head and continued to kiss him. Shifting, she aligned herself so that she was straddling his thigh. She plunged -- her fingers deeper into his hair, her tongue against his, her center to his.

This time the whimper was pulled from him. He tugged on her skirt until he was able to slide his fingers along the skin underneath. Her skin felt so soft, so smooth. Slowly enough to give her a chance to stop, he slipped his fingertips under the lace that stretched over her hips.

Peyton murmured something low and unintelligible against his lips. She moved against him again, arching against the hard bulge in his jeans.

He pulled away again, ignoring his body's shrieks of protest. Dropping his forehead to hers, he sucked in a deep breath. A tiny protest whispered from her lips. The sound ricocheted through his system, causing his already vibrating body to tremble with need. He drew in another deep breath. They weren't ready for this, he thought. It was too soon for her, too important to him.

With a gentle finger he tipped her chin up until her eyes met his. Her eyes were warm and liquid with desire, the mossy green lit with a soft glow. She smiled. Every thought in his head, including his rational explanation as to why they couldn't go any further, fizzled out. His heart felt like it had swollen and lodged in his throat. This moment, this woman was all that existed to him.

Everything in him seemed to throb with the sweetest ache he had ever experienced. Giving in to the need, the desire, the absolute necessity of having her, he met her with another kiss. She released a sound that sounded remarkably like triumph. Keeping her flush against him and distracted with his tongue, he backed out of the kitchen. He had a vague impression that her bedroom was at the end of the hall and moved in what he thought was the right direction. He had to stop frequently when her mouth became too intoxicating or when she slid her fingers under his shirt. He bumped into a wall and she took the opportunity to press herself even closer. She had rucked up his shirt so he could feel the warmth and shape of her breasts that much more. And her hands -- they were everywhere. She slipped a finger into the waste band of his jeans. Electric shivers of sensation scrambled over his skin, sending even more mind-numbing sensation through his already frantic system. They weren't going to make it to the bedroom. He slid down the wall, taking her with him to the floor. He eased her to the floor, careful to brace his weight over her.

He had never in his life seen anything as beautiful or arousing as this green eyed woman, breathless and flushed, with her hair spread out on the carpet beneath him. He loved her. At that instant he knew, he loved her. But how could he ever tell her? That was a question for another day.

"What about the waffles?" she joked as if sensing the turn of his mood.

As an answer he sat back on his heels and shucked his shirt, then popped the button of his jeans. Wide-eyed she watched as he stripped her of her tank top and skirt. He paused to kiss her thoroughly before ridding her of her purple bra and panties. He slipped a hand under her hips and lifted her to meet his erection. She arched into him.

Her breath was trapped in her chest and her entire body felt as if it would explode if he kept touching her. Then again, she just might explode if he stopped. He stood to shimmy out of his jeans and she wanted to study him, to examine what she was sure was an exceptional physique - it had certainly felt exceptional. But she couldn't tear her eyes from the heat in his gaze. She had never had a man look at her that way. His eyes were dark now -- with passion and heat and hunger. And need. No, no man had ever looked at her that way. Not even Dylan.

Dropping back to his knees, he spread a hand across her stomach. She quivered. The man was making her quiver and they hadn't even gotten to the good stuff. His lips followed the heated path of his hand, skimming over her ribs to the valley between her breasts. Using both hands now, he cupped her breasts, running his thumbs over the tips. She moaned and arched her back, pushing herself against his hands in a desperate plea. Then, mercifully, he took one nipple into his mouth. She began to quiver in earnest now, not certain how much longer she could take this. He moved one hand, sending it on an exquisite exploration. She let out a murmur of satisfaction when he moved his fingers between her thighs. She spread her legs in shameless invitation. He skimmed his fingertips over her skin in burning circles, coming close to her core but never quite touching her. She tried to swivel her hips and force contact, but he evaded with a wicked chuckle.

"Tell me what you want." His fingers continued those maddening circles

"I want..." She swallowed a lump of embarrassment. This was new to her. She'd never talked during sex. She'd never done it on the living room carpet either. His fingers brushed higher in encouragement. "I want you to touch me. Inside."

She felt the burn of a blush flooding her cheeks, but then his fingers were slipping through the very edge of the moist heat between her thighs. He dallied a moment, exploring every part of her, before complying with her demand. With a hum of approval, he finally pushed inside her, stroking her with first one finger, then two. She felt the orgasm building inside her and tried to contain it. She wasn't ready yet, not yet. Then Theo shifted, moving down her body to replace with fingers with his mouth. The first stroke of his tongue shattered her control. She moved against him, matching the rhythm of his tongue with thrusts of her hips. The pressure inside coiled and tightened then burst. She shuddered and quivered while he continued to use his mouth to calm her.

He dropped gentling kisses on her thighs and up to her belly, needing the time to reign in his own passion before bringing her up again. He had never experienced anything like this before, anyone like her before.

Peyton opened her eyes then and smiled. She looked like a particularly satisfied cat who just snatched the canary: smug and a little bit naughty. Good lord he needed to be inside her before he shamed himself.

"Do I get to make anymore requests?" Boldness flavored her voice now. He liked this side of her.

He nodded and desperately tried for coherent thought. "Anything," he croaked. "Whatever you want as long as I get to have you soon."

She laughed, throaty and confident in her feminine power. "That works. Because what I want..." her voice trailed off as she reached between them to stroke the pulsing shaft of his erection. "...is you completely inside me. Now."

With a growl her rolled off her and snagged his jeans. He fumbled for the condom he had optimistically stashed in his wallet. He made quick worth of donning it despite his trembling fingers. He held her gaze as he positioned himself between her legs, stopping short of plunging into her. Peyton exhaled on a moan of anticipation and thrust her pelvis up to meet him, effectively pushing the tip of his penis inside her. It was too much, felt too good. He plunged. Again. And again. She met him stroke for stroke. Their moans and breathy words mingled until he wasn't sure which sounds were coming from him any longer. She murmured to him, sweet words that he didn't quite catch.

They came together in a heady rush of words and sensation. He collapsed, unable to breathe, much less support his own weight. This changed everything. It was still to be determined if that was a good thing.