"You wouldn't have been successful, because it's just close friends." But it was a case of bad timing on both our parts, I thought, casually running my fingertips down his well-defined abs. Right now, I could think of nothing more pleasant than spending several more hours in bed with him.
"Given the afternoon we just shared, I dare anyone not to call us close." He placed a hand over mine, stopping my playful progress downward. "And if you don't move, my resolve to let you go will weaken and you'll end up being extremely late for your friend's party."
I sighed regretfully, but tossed the sheet off me and rose. His gaze skimmed my body and the scent of his desire sharpened. "I'll be in the kitchen," he said abruptly. "Everything you need for a shower is in the bathroom."
I watched him leave, my smile dying a little as I saw the puckered, ruined skin on his back. The remnants of what once were wings. Bastards.
I gathered my scattered clothes, then headed for the bathroom, quickly washing the scent of sex, sweat, and him from my skin before drying and getting dressed.
The smell of burned meat filled the stairwell as I headed down the stairs. He'd obviously set the heat under the pot too high. "Is the pot salvageable?" I said as I entered the kitchen.
"Yeah," he said, dumping it upside down on a tray before pushing it into the dishwasher. "It probably only started to burn in the last hour or so. I'll leave the fans on, and that should clear the smell out quickly enough."
He washed his hands in the sanitizing sink, then walked toward me, catching a quick kiss before presenting me with several sandwiches on a plate. The beef inside was thicker than my thumb.
"Best I could do on short notice," he said, sweeping his keys off the countertop. "Shall we go?"
"Yes. And thank you."
He smiled as he motioned me toward the front of the restaurant. "Next time, you can pay for the meal."
I snorted. "It's not like you paid for the sandwiches."
"No, but I paid for the stew in the sweat and tears it took to clean the damn pot."
I laughed, but having cleaned a few burned pots in my time, I knew exactly what he meant. Even in this day and age of machines capable of doing anything, they failed to as good a job as good old-fashioned elbow grease. "Okay, my treat next time."
"Excellent," he said as he guided me left down the street. "If only because that means there will be a next time."