I closed the front door and found Amadeus back in the kitchen helping himself to a huge slice of the blackcurrant pie. He certainly had no problem finding the plates and forks.
“Amadeus! I was going to warm the pasties so we could eat first.”
“But I’m starving.”
“So am I. Put it down. I’ll heat up these pasties so we can eat. Why don’t you open the bottle of wine. And put that pie down!”
“Mmm, okay,” he mumbled as he crammed his mouth full of pie.
I walked over and snatched the plate out of his hand, knowing full well he would eat the entire piece while we waited for the main course. Fortunately for us, the pasties were still fairly warm and I popped them into the microwave for a minute just to make them hot.
And for dessert. . .
I got up, gathered the dishes and put them in the dishwasher before I walked back over to where Amadeus sat, still at the kitchen table. I began to massage his neck and shoulders.
“How does that feel?”
“God you’ve got good hands. That feels wonderful.”
I knew beneath the table Amadeus was hard as granite, the blood running like lava through his veins, and I knew where this was going if I kept touching him.
I moved his hair to one side and began kissing him against the nape of his neck and smiled as a shudder rippled through him.
“Amadeus,” I cooed softly, “would you like to check out our new bedroom?”
It was all the encouragement he needed. Noisily he shoved back his chair and hauled me into his arms. “Why go all the way upstairs to the bedroom, love?”