Chapter 19

As Marvin Gaye turns into Aretha, his swaying hips increase their speed, snapping from side to side, leaving me completely incapable of taking my eyes off him.

I want to sink to the floor behind him and muzzle my face into the small of his back, splay my fingers over his hips and try to figure out if he’s really going commando since I can’t see a trace of underwear. My mouth waters and heat pools in my belly at the thought of being so close to him, and I have to adjust my quickly plumping dick in my pants

He takes a few side steps, more like rabbit hops than walking or dancing, and grabs the wooden spoon in the huge pot on the stove—the source of the heavenly smell, I assume—and stirs with a flourish. He doesn’t know the lyrics to this song and makes up his own words that sound approximately right, and I can’t help the laughter that bursts out of me in a fit of happiness.