*MATURE CONTENT* (also revised – I fixed some errors – I’m rusty at this, so please forgive the repost)
Finally, the girls had settled down and she’d gotten them tucked into bed. She exhaled in a deep sigh, walking down the short staircase, and went to the kitchen to do as he’d asked. Standing in front of the sink, Lana grinned as she put on the water for tea, hoping. She’d thought about him all day long.
Behind her, she could hear the sure rhythm of strong footsteps approaching, and she could feel the butterflies begin to flutter in her belly.
How does he still do that?
As he moved in quietly behind her, Rick leaned in and pressed himself against her, causing her to reach out and brace herself against the counter. Gently brushing her long, reddish-brown curls away from her ear, he whispered in his deep, scratchy voice, “Take off your clothes and come sit in front of my chair.”
Again, she did as he asked, first pulling her tan, linen blouse up and over her head, then she unbuttoned her dark, well-worn jeans. As she was lifting first her right leg to pull off her pants, then the left, she thought about how not long ago, she never would have done anything like this. It would have seemed ridiculous.
Take off my clothes in the kitchen? Sit at his feet? Never, not in a million years.
And now, as she unfastened her lacy, black bra, watching it fall at her feet, she realized she was not only willing, but compelled to do so. It fueled her.
Stepping out of her panties, the ones he’d chosen for her to wear just that morning, she walked to him, kneeling to sit at his feet, as usual. Because that’s where she has always belonged.
Sitting in his favorite chair, Rick leaned forward a bit to hand Lana the deep shade of red he’d chosen. “I’d like you to paint your toes,” he said.
He sat back, and he watched. His eyes were drawn to the easy way in which she folded her knees up to her chest, not meaning to show off, but exposing herself to him, nonetheless. As she leaned over to paint, the delicate way in which she pinched the polish brush between her first two fingers, the gentle manner in which she swiped the drips from the brush onto the edge of the bottle just so, biting her bottom lip in concentration, the way she glided the brush across each nail with precision and grace – it drove him mad. She is so damn irresistible.
Just as she finished the last nail, Rick rested on his knees in front of her, and locking her gaze, he wound the jute around her ankles, round and round, up and through the middle, the exquisite mix of the roughness of the rope and the softness of his touch sending shivers through her.
Not at all what she’d expected, Lana was immediately off-balance, watching him, waiting to see what he expected of her, the anticipation building.
As he handed her the polish again, expecting to watch as she so nimbly began painting her fingernails, the tea kettle whistled and beckoned to her. Her eyes moved up to meet his gaze again, and she said with a grin, “It’s gonna be really difficult to bring you that tea without spilling it.”
Such a smart ass, but I wouldn’t change a thing, he thought to himself.
Rick chuckled, stood, walked to the kitchen, calmly taking the kettle off the burner and returned to her.
“The tea and nails can wait, but I cannot,” he told her, bending to scoop her in his arms…
-photo credit Natashi Monko, found on Tumbr