“I didn’t think they’d ever leave,” Bob declared. He wrapped his arms around me from behind as I juggled a stack of dirty plates.
“Stop it.” I ordered. “If I drop these, then you’re going to be cleaning up the mess,” I threatened.
He nuzzled into my neck. “You know that I can’t resist you when your hands are full,” he whispered.
I shrugged, trying to dislodge him. “I know, Thanksgiving dishes are just so sexy. It’s a wonder that Victoria’s Secret doesn’t have a line of them. They could display them next to the red teddies.”
He moved up to my ear. “Sounds like a plan. Maybe you should patent it.”
I made a quick spin and broke away from his embrace. “Time for that later. Now it’s time to clean up this mess. Why don’t you give me a hand? After all, your family created most of the mess.” I darted into the kitchen before he had time to respond.
He followed me in, carrying part of a pumpkin pie in one hand a fork in the other. “You know, this isn’t half bad,” he said around a mouthful of pie.
I grabbed a can of spray whipped cream that was sitting on the counter. “Isn’t half bad?” I asked with mock outrage. “Doesn’t that imply that it is only slightly better than half good?” I slowly advanced on him, armed with the whipped cream. “You have five seconds to correct your statement.”
“Or you’ll top my pie with whipped cream?” he asked hopefully.
“You wish! Five...four...three...” I marched closer.
“This is absolutely the most fabulous pumpkin pie ever made. Never in the history of man has such a pumpkin pie existed. All of the pumpkin pies of Julia Childs, Emeril Lagasse and Paula Dean combined couldn’t come close to rivaling this pie. If I were to die tonight, your pumpkin pie would be a sweet taste on my lips...”
“OK, you’ve redeemed yourself. Here, let me top your absolutely fabulous pie with some whipped cream.” I sprayed a generous amount on his pie.
“Love 'ems,” he said.
“I love you, too.” I stretched up to give him a kiss and he leaned down to meet me, closing his eyes. I quickly added some whipped cream to the tip of his nose.
“That’s for not helping me clear the table!” I shouted over my shoulder as I made a dash for the dining room.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he threatened. I circled, keeping the dining room table between us.
“What do you mean?” I innocently asked.
“Taking advantage of a man when his eyes are closed. That’s just not right.”
“Really? You didn’t seem to mind last night.”
“I don’t remember whipped cream being involved.”
“You have something on your nose. Are you saving it for later?”
“You really want to pay for this, don’t you?”
I laughed as we continued our dance around the table.
“You started this,” I pointed out.
“How? By spraying whipped cream on your nose? Oh, wait - that was you.”
“By eating pie instead of helping with the dishes. If you apologize nicely, I’ll forgive you.”
“Forgive me?” Suddenly he lunged across the table, reaching for me.
I dodged to the left and thought I was safe - until I felt a tug on my apron. I tried to slip out of it, but he reeled me in like a fish on a line.
“My fault, huh?” he growled. He grabbed the whipped cream out of my hand. “Here’s a necklace to say I’m sorry.”
Before I could stop him, he sprayed a circle of whip cream at the base of my neck. I screamed as the cold cream hit my skin.
“That’s freezing! You evil man!” I tried to wrestle the can away from him, but he held it just out of my reach. I jumped for it - and my “necklace” slid a little lower.
“Your necklace is dripping,” he observed. He threw the can into the kitchen. “Let me help you with that.”
He leaned down and started to nibble the sensitive area behind my ear.
“I don’t think my necklace goes that high.” My voice was husky with passion.
“I want to make sure that I don’t miss any of it,” he whispered.
His tongue made interesting patterns as he worked his way down to the base of my neck. His hot breath was a sharp contrast on skin chilled by the whipped cream. I leaned against the table for support as he gently traced the pattern of the necklace, removing the sweet cream.
“Mmmmm...much better than pie,” he murmured. “Now for the drip.”
I stifled a soft groan as his tongue followed a trail down from my neck. Lower and lower. Heat pooled in my body. I struggled for a rational thought.
“We should clean up the dishes,” I finally managed.
“Be quiet and I’ll do them tomorrow,” he promised.
And he did.