I’ve had sex almost everywhere: on balconies, in a car, in a pool once, but never in a kitchen. I don’t know why. Maybe because it always felt like sacred ground, a place for food, not lust. Not until that Friday night did the kitchen stop being a safe zone.

I’d been restless all day. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t eat properly. There was this heat inside me I couldn’t shake off. My skin felt tight. My mind was filled with thoughts that made me cross my legs and bite my lip. I had been fantasising for days, random flashes of bodies, hands, heat, lips, and the sound of skin on skin. I needed a release. I needed something.

Then I remembered, Gabriel was coming over. I knew that night was not a good time to have him around, but it was too late to cancel on him.

We’d talked earlier in the week, joked around during a drinking game, and I’d lost. The punishment? I had to cook him pasta on Friday. That was the plan. Cooking and chilling. Nothing more. We were friends, after all. Well, kind of. We’d made out once, drunk and lost in the moment, but I shut it down after that. I told him we should stay friends.

I heard a knock on the door, and I knew it was him. I opened the door to see Gabriel, arms full of tomatoes, peppers, pasta, and a bottle of red wine tucked under his elbow.

We moved to the kitchen. He placed the ingredients on the counter while I set up the stove. We chatted, joked, and touched. I laughed a little too loudly. Swallowed too hard. My body felt like it was humming. My nipples tightened under my shirt, and it was then I realised that I wasn’t okay. I was horny as hell.

Trying to shake it off, I stepped away from him. “Let me just start the pasta,” I said, turning my back to him.

I was stirring the sauce, trying to focus on anything but the throbbing between my thighs when I heard him behind me. He was Close. Too close.

“You good?” he asked softly, his voice rough.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, but even I didn’t believe it.

I could feel him behind me.

I turned around, and that’s when I saw it. The bulge in his pants. Thick and hard, straining against the fabric.

“Do you… Is that a hard-on?” I asked, breathless.

He pressed his finger gently against my lips, silencing me. “Shh,” he whispered. “I know you want this too.”, he continued. Then he kissed me.

His lips were warm and hungry. I melted and kissed him back harder. Desperately. It wasn’t soft. It was messy, deep, open-mouthed, tongue-filled, groan-inducing.

I slid my hand down, unzipped him, and wrapped my fingers around his cock. He moaned against my mouth, his breath shaky. God, he was so hard. Hot, thick, pulsing in my hand.

He moved fast. His hand swept the counter clean, bowls, ingredients, and pots, crashing to the floor and lifting me onto the slab. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

He pulled my panties aside, spreading my legs wider with both hands.

Then he pulled me forward, lined himself up, and pushed in.

He filled me slowly, deliciously. Every inch stretching me, owning me. I held onto his shoulders, my moans breaking into whimpers.

The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, mixed with our heavy breathing. The sauce on the stove burned. I didn’t care.

He drove into me, harder, deeper, his hand gripping my butt, my fingers digging into his back. Our bodies fit like puzzle pieces, moving like they’d done this a hundred times before.

He pulled out just in time, stroking himself until he came all over my belly, groaning my name.

We stood there for a second. Breathless. Sweaty. Laughing.

We cleaned up or tried to. But then he grabbed me again, pulling me down onto the cold kitchen tiles.

We kissed. We touched. We made love slowly. This time, no rush. No heat. Just warmth. Intimacy. Connection.

When it was over, we lay there, tangled and naked on the tiles, the smell of burnt pasta in the air.

I looked at him, smiling. “So… kitchen sex. Finally.”

He laughed. “Best meal I’ve ever had.”

And damn it, I agreed.

Dorcas Akintoye
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Dorcas Akintoye is a versatile writer with a passion for beauty, fashion, relationships, and culinary delight. With a keen eye for detail and a passion for storytelling, she adds a touch of elegance to every topic she explores. She is a writer at THEWILL DOWNTOWN.