The key to our apartment slides into the lock with a familiar click that seems to mark the boundary between my work self and whatever version of me exists at home these days. As the door swings open, I'm hit with a smell so good it actually makes me stop mid-step, savory herbs, roasted garlic, and something unmistakably homemade.
Summer stands at the stove, her back to me, blonde hair twisted into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She's wearing an apron I don't even remember owning, tied tight around her waist, emphasizing curves I've spent too many nights missing.
"Hey Scotty, welcome home," she calls over her shoulder, flashing me that smile that still hits me like a sucker punch to the gut after all these years. There's something playful in it, a hint of the girl I fell for in high school before life chewed us both up and spit us out.
I set my laptop bag down, taking in the scene. The table's actually set, real plates, not the paper ones I've been eating off for months. There's even a small vase with fresh flowers in the center, a touch so unexpectedly normal it almost hurts.
"You cooked," I say stupidly, still standing in the doorway like I'm not sure I've walked into the right apartment.
"Rosemary chicken breast," she confirms, using tongs to flip a perfectly seared piece of meat in the pan. "With roasted vegetables and that garlic mashed potato recipe your mom taught me."
My stomach growls in response, loud enough that Summer laughs. It's been so long since I've had a real home-cooked meal. My dinner routine has devolved into whatever takes the least effort after dragging myself home from Halcyon Bridge Capital. Usually, that means takeout containers piling up in the trash or, on particularly bad nights, just chips and whatever condiments haven't expired yet.
"It smells amazing," I admit, finally stepping fully into the apartment and closing the door behind me.
Before I can take another step, Summer abandons the stove and launches herself at me. She crosses the kitchen in three quick strides, her body colliding with mine as she jumps up, wrapping her legs around my waist. My hands instinctively move to support her, gripping her ass to keep her from falling as she clings to me like a koala to a tree.
"I missed you so much today," she breathes against my lips before crushing her mouth to mine in a kiss so intense it makes my head spin.
She tastes like home and danger all at once, her tongue sliding against mine with a desperate hunger that awakens something primal in me. Despite everything that's happened between us, my body responds immediately, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs.
When she finally breaks the kiss, she's breathless, her blue eyes bright with an emotion I can't quite name. "Eight hours is too long," she whispers, her forehead pressed against mine. "I counted every minute you were gone."
I should set her down. I should maintain some distance, keep those boundaries I promised myself I'd enforce. But her weight in my arms feels right in a way few things have lately, and I find myself holding her tighter instead of letting go.
"The food's going to burn," I murmur, my voice rougher than I intended.
Summer laughs, the sound light and carefree. "Let it," she says, pressing another quick kiss to my lips before reluctantly unwinding her legs from my waist.
I lower her gently to the floor, my hands lingering at her hips longer than necessary. She smiles up at me, something triumphant flickering in her eyes before she turns and rushes back to the stove.
"Just in time," she says, removing the chicken from the heat. "Perfect sear."
I stand there for a moment, feeling oddly disoriented. This domestic scene, Summer cooking dinner and greeting me like an eager housewife from some 1950s sitcom, is so at odds with the broken woman who showed up at my door just days ago. The whiplash between her different personas leaves me constantly off-balance, never sure which version of her I'll encounter next.
"How was work?" she asks, transferring the chicken to a serving plate with practiced ease.
"Fine," I answer automatically, moving to the sink to wash my hands. "Just the usual corporate nonsense."
Summer wipes her hands on her apron and looks at me with an expression that's a dangerous mix of innocence and hunger, like a predator playing at being prey.
"So," she says, her voice dropping to that husky register that bypasses my brain and goes straight to my groin, "I was thinking about options for tonight."
"Options?" I repeat, my mouth suddenly dry as she saunters toward me.
She reaches behind her back, untying her apron with deliberate slowness before letting it drop to the floor. I notice now that underneath, she's wearing just a flimsy tank top and a short skirt that barely covers the essentials. No bra, her nipples visibly hard against the thin fabric.
"Would you rather eat first?" Summer asks, closing the distance between us until I can feel the heat radiating from her body. "Or..."
Her hand slides down to the hem of her skirt, lifting it just enough to reveal she's not wearing any underwear. She parts her folds with two fingers, exposing herself completely.
"...Fuck first?"
My throat constricts as I take in the sight of her, pink and already glistening with arousal. A week ago, I couldn't even remember what desire felt like. Now it's a constant companion, my body responding to her with a Pavlovian eagerness that terrifies me.
"Jesus, Summer," I whisper, my cock hardening so fast it makes me dizzy.
She smiles, knowing exactly what she's doing to me. "The food will keep warm," she murmurs, her fingers still holding herself open. "But I don't think I can wait that long."
I should resist. I should maintain some control over this situation. But after a year of numbness, of feeling nothing but the dull ache of abandonment, this fierce want feels like coming back to life. It scares me how quickly my body has recalibrated, how eagerly it's accepted the possibility that she's staying this time.
"No," I say, the word escaping before I can think better of it. "Let's eat first."
The disappointment flashes across Summer's face so quickly I almost miss it, but it's gone just as fast, replaced by something more calculated. She slowly withdraws her fingers and straightens her skirt with deliberate care.
"If that's what you want," she purrs, but there's an edge to her voice that makes my skin prickle.
Summer moves to the kitchen table with exaggerated slowness, each step a performance. Instead of sitting down, she positions herself at the edge, her back to me. I watch, transfixed, as she places her elbows on the table and arches her back, pushing her ass out in a way that makes her short skirt ride up dangerously high.
"Are you sure about that, Scotty?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder with hooded eyes.
She begins to rock her hips in a hypnotic rhythm, her ass swaying back and forth like some lewd metronome. The movement deliberately trying to break my resolve, and God help me, it's working.
"Come on," she whispers, her voice thick with desire. "Don't you want me?"
My hands clench into fists at my sides as I fight against the magnetic pull she's always had on me. This is exactly what I'm afraid of, how easily she can reduce me to pure instinct, bypassing all my carefully constructed defenses.
"Summer," I manage, my voice strained. "The food will get cold."
She laughs, the sound low and throaty as she continues her provocative dance. "So will I if you keep me waiting," she counters, reaching back to lift her skirt completely, exposing herself fully.
I don't know what comes over me. One moment I'm standing there, fighting every primal urge in my body, and the next I'm dropping to my knees behind her like a man possessed. My hands grip her thighs, spreading her wider as I bury my face between her legs without hesitation.
Summer gasps, her body tensing in surprise at the sudden contact. I feel her thighs quiver against my palms as my tongue finds her center, tasting her arousal with desperate hunger.
"Oh!" she cries out, a startled sound that quickly dissolves into breathless laughter. "I guess I'm what's for dinner now."
Her delighted giggle sends vibrations through her body that only intensify my desire. I grip her hips tighter, pulling her against my mouth as I devour her with an enthusiasm that surprises even me. She tastes exactly as I remember, sweet and tangy and unmistakably Summer.
"God, Scotty," she moans, pressing back against me. "I've missed this so much."
My mind goes blank as instinct takes over, all my carefully constructed walls crumbling under the weight of pure need. I work my tongue against her in the patterns I know drive her wild, finding that sensitive spot that makes her knees buckle. Her hands grip the edge of the table for support as she rocks against my face.
"Just like that," she gasps, reaching back with one hand to tangle her fingers in my hair, guiding me exactly where she wants me. "Don't stop."
I have no intention of stopping. Despite everything, despite all the pain and betrayal between us, this connection feels real. In this moment, with her taste on my tongue and her desperate sounds filling our kitchen, I can almost believe we're just us again. Scott and Summer, before the drugs, before Taevion, before everything fell apart.
She's close already, her body trembling with each stroke of my tongue. I can read her responses like a book I've memorized, knowing exactly when to press harder, when to ease back, when to focus on that bundle of nerves that makes her cry out my name.
"Scotty!" she screams, her orgasm hitting her suddenly. Her body shudders violently against my mouth as I hold her steady, working her through the waves of pleasure until she collapses forward onto the table, breathless and spent.
I pull back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as reality comes crashing back. What the hell am I doing? One suggestive pose from her and I'm on my knees like some trained dog? So much for maintaining boundaries.
I rise to my feet, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the bulge straining against my work pants. My mind is a battlefield between desire and restraint as I adjust my collar, trying to regain some semblance of control.
"Let's eat," I say, gesturing to the perfectly plated food still waiting on the counter.
Summer stares at me like I've just suggested we do our taxes instead. Her eyes narrow dangerously, lips curling into a pout that somehow manages to be both childish and seductive.
"You're stopping after just the appetizer?" she asks, incredulity dripping from every word. She pushes herself up from the table, her skirt still hiked up around her waist. "That's not very gentlemanly of you, Scotty."
I swallow hard, my resolve weakening by the second. "The food looks amazing and I…"
"I look amazing," she interrupts, stepping toward me with predatory grace. "And I taste even better. You just confirmed that yourself."
My back hits the refrigerator as she advances. I hadn't even realized I was retreating until the cold surface presses against my shoulder blades. Summer places her palms flat against my chest, her face tilted up to mine.
"Don't you want to finish what you started?" she whispers, one hand sliding down to cup me through my pants. "I promise to make it worth your while."
I grab her wrist, halting her exploration. "Summer, please. I'm hungry."
Summer laughs, a sound that's half amusement, half frustration.
"I'm hungry too," she purrs, ignoring my grip on her wrist as she drops gracefully to her knees. Before I can protest, her nimble fingers are working at my belt buckle. "Just not for food."
I watch her methodically unbutton my pants, sliding the zipper down with deliberate slowness.
"Summer, we should really…" My words die in my throat as she tugs my pants and boxers down in one swift motion, freeing my erection.
She looks up at me with those dangerous blue eyes, a triumphant smile playing at her lips. My cock stands fully at attention, betraying every attempt at resistance I've tried to maintain.
"Look how much you want me," she whispers, her hot breath ghosting over my sensitive skin.
I grip the refrigerator door handle behind me, needing something solid to anchor myself as Summer leans forward. She inhales deeply, her nostrils flaring slightly as though she's savoring an expensive cigar.
"God, I've missed this smell," she murmurs, her eyes fluttering closed in appreciation. "Pure Scott."
Her lips brush against the tip, a feather-light touch that sends electricity shooting up my spine. I stifle a groan as she places a delicate kiss there, her eyes locked on mine the entire time. Then, without warning, she takes me completely into her mouth in one fluid motion until I feel the back of her throat.
"Jesus Christ," I gasp, my head thumping back against the refrigerator.
She doesn't stop, doesn't hesitate, doesn't show any discomfort as she swallows around me. My hands instinctively move to her hair, fingers tangling in the blonde strands as she begins to move.
The sight of her taking me so completely, so effortlessly, hits me with a confusing mix of arousal and unease. This isn't how Summer used to be. She was always enthusiastic but never quite this... professional. The thought of where she learned this particular skill makes my stomach twist even as pleasure builds at the base of my spine.
She pulls back slowly, dragging her tongue along the underside before releasing me with an obscene pop.
"Fuck my face, baby," she urges, her voice husky with desire. "I can take all of you. I want to feel you lose control."
"Are you sure?" I manage to ask, my fingers still tangled in her hair.
Summer nods enthusiastically, opening her mouth wide in invitation. "I'm sure. Use me, Scotty."
Something primal takes over as I grip her head between my hands. I thrust forward experimentally, watching her reaction carefully. She moans around me, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure. Her eyes water slightly but she doesn't pull away, if anything, she leans in, taking me deeper.
I begin to move in earnest, my hips finding a rhythm as I thrust into her waiting mouth. For a brief moment, guilt flashes through me. This feels too rough, too demanding, but when I look down, Summer is completely in her element. Her eyes are closed in concentration, her hands gripping my thighs for support as she takes everything I give her.
The sight of her like this, so eager and willing, pushes me closer to the edge faster than I expected. Heat coils tightly at the base of my spine, my movements becoming more erratic as I chase my release.
"Summer," I groan, feeling the pressure building to an unbearable point. "I'm going to…"
She suddenly pulls away, breaking contact so abruptly I nearly stumble forward.
"Wait," she gasps, her lips swollen and glistening. "Not like this. I want it inside me."
Before I can process what's happening, she's standing and turning around, bracing herself against the refrigerator and arching her back in invitation. In one swift movement, she positions herself perfectly, guiding me to her entrance.
I slide into her with a single thrust, her body accepting me completely. The sensation is overwhelming, tight, hot, perfect, and my control shatters instantly. My release hits me like a freight train, unstoppable and all-consuming. I drive deeper into her, emptying myself with a primal groan that seems torn from somewhere deep in my chest.
"God, yes, Scott!" Summer cries out, her voice rising to a pitch that could probably shatter glass. Her entire body shudders against mine as I collapse against her back, both of us panting against the refrigerator door. "That's it, baby! Fill me up!"
Her enthusiasm borders on theatrical as she reaches back to stroke my hair, her face glowing with an almost manic satisfaction. "You're so perfect," she coos, wiggling her hips against me.
I ease away from Summer, feeling both dazed and vaguely unsettled by how quickly things escalated. My legs are still trembling as I tuck myself back into my boxers and pull up my pants.
"We should probably eat," I say, zipping up and gesturing toward the food that's been waiting patiently through our impromptu kitchen floor show.
Summer straightens up, adjusting her skirt with a satisfied little shimmy. Her cheeks are flushed, hair disheveled from my grip, but she looks utterly pleased with herself as she gathers the plates from the counter.
"Coming right up," she chirps, carrying the food to the table with a bounce in her step.
I slide into my chair, still feeling slightly disoriented as Summer sets a steaming plate in front of me. The chicken looks perfect, golden-brown with sprigs of rosemary, surrounded by roasted vegetables and a generous scoop of garlic mashed potatoes.
It's surreal how quickly we've transitioned from fucking against the refrigerator to this picture of domestic normalcy. If someone looked through our window right now, they'd see nothing but a married couple enjoying dinner together, no hint of the dysfunction beneath the surface.
The first bite of chicken melts in my mouth, perfectly seasoned and juicy. Despite everything, I can't deny Summer's always been an incredible cook.
"Summer, this is amazing," I say, genuinely impressed. "Seriously, it's perfect."
Her entire face lights up at the compliment, like I've just handed her the keys to a new car instead of offering basic praise for a meal.
"Really? You like it?" she asks, leaning forward eagerly. "I was worried the chicken might be a little dry. I haven't cooked it in so long."
There's something vulnerable in her expression that catches me off guard, a glimpse of the old Summer peeking through the veil.
"It's not dry at all," I assure her, taking another bite. "Best meal I've had in months."
Summer's face transforms at my words, her expression melting into something so radiant it's almost painful to witness.
"Thank you," she whispers, her fingers fidgeting with her fork. For a fleeting second, she looks almost shy.
I take another bite of the perfectly seasoned chicken, savoring the flavors as I watch her across the table. Unlike the sex against the refrigerator. I didn't compromise any boundaries by acknowledging her cooking skills. This is safe ground, a normal interaction between two people sharing a meal.