Baking Naked: My Girlfriend Cooks for Me

So there I was, leaning against the kitchen counter, just watching her move, and I have to tell you, the whole “my girlfriend cooking” thing took on a whole new meaning that night, because she’d decided to ditch the clothes entirely and just keep that flimsy little apron on, the kind that ties at the neck and waist, and honestly, the way the strings hugged her skin while she reached for the olive oil had me completely transfixed, my mind just drifting to the soft curve of her back as she bent over the stove to check on the sizzling pan, the heat from the burner making her skin glow just slightly, and I could smell the garlic and herbs mixing with her perfume, which was this intoxicating combo that made my mouth water for something other than dinner, so I moved closer, my hands finding her hips from behind, feeling the soft fabric of the apron against my chest while my fingers traced the bare skin just above the tie, and she let out this little hum, not missing a beat with the recipe, but leaning back into me just enough to let me know she was fully aware of my presence, and then she turned her head, giving me this sly, knowing smile that said she’d planned this little show all along, and that’s when I lost all pretense of helping, instead just pressing my lips to her shoulder, tasting the faint saltiness of her skin as she continued to stir the sauce, her movements becoming slower, more deliberate, as if she was savoring the tension building between us right there in the warm, dimly lit kitchen, and by the time she plated the food, we were both breathing a little heavier, and I barely even registered the taste of the meal because all I could think about was getting her out of that apron, the dessert we eventually shared being a sticky, sweet mess that had nothing to do with baking.