Chapter 107: Shirtless Chef

Salmon cakes sizzled in an iron skillet on the wood stove as Hunter stirred a pan of boxed au gratin potatoes. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as Poppy worked to lay out their wet things in front of the fireplace.

She wore a huge forest green and navy-blue plaid flannel shirt he’d discovered in the wardrobe, a remnant of last summer’s season, he supposed. But holy shit, did she look better in it than he ever had! Of course, she’d had to roll up the sleeves over and over again so her hands stuck out. But as she leaned over to straighten the pair of jeans she’d hung over the back of a chair, the shirt rode up to reveal the lower curve of her ass, and his cock performed an enthusiastic salute.

Down, boy. They’d fucked twice already. At thirty-five, he figured he’d left his days of marathon sex way behind. Could be I’m wrong about that, he considered.

“That smells really good,” she commented.

He chuckled. “That’s just because you’re starved.”