Page 65 of Bridesmaid By Chance
“Which reminds me, you didn’t say if you liked my outfit.”
She turns me to face her and then conducts a small spin, showing off her apron.
“Normally, when a husband comes home and finds his wife in an apron, cooking dinner, he slides in behind her, caresses her bare ass, and then spins her around to lift her up onto the counter to take advantage of the lack of clothing. Imagine my disappointment when my husband doesn’t even compliment me on my outfit.”
“This is not what I’m talking about when I claim you as my wife,” I say.
“But this is what a wife does,” she says, stepping in close. “They like to please their man, and what’s one way to a man’s heart?” When I don’t answer, she says, “Foods and nudes.”
“We don’t do nudes.”
“And why not?”
“You know why not. We can’t cross that line, Sloane.”
“Mm, shame,” she says as she turns around and my eyes go directly to her ass again. It’s impossible for me to look away, especially when she saunters like that. “Can you set the table please?”
“Can you put some clothes on please?” I ask, just as she whips a T-shirt off the counter, turns away from me, and undoes the apron. She fits my large T-shirt over her body and then turns toward me when it’s firmly in place.
“Happy?”
No.
I don’t answer her. Instead, I gather plates and silverware and then grab us both waters and set the table. Once everything’s in place, I help her bring the food over, while she monitors the garlic bread in the oven.
Unsure of what else to do, I connect my phone to the Bluetooth speaker and play some subtle music so it’s not completely quiet in the house. I can’t imagine the conversation is going to be flowing tonight.
She removes the garlic bread from the oven and then slices it up, putting it in a bowl. She sets the bowl down and gestures to my seat.
“Go ahead, sit down.”
“I can serve?—”
“I got it,” she says, moving my chair away from the table now so I can sit.
Unsure what she has up her sleeve, I timidly take a seat and then scoot my chair forward, but she stops me midway and sits down on my lap.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Serving you some dinner,” she answers as she starts dishing some noodles on my plate, followed by some sauce.
“Do you have to do that on my lap?”
“You can hold my thigh in the car, so I can sit on your lap at the dining room table. After all, just getting comfortable with each other, right? We’re a married couple, Hudson, we need to act like one.”
And yup, my words are coming back to bite me in the ass.
Seeing that she’s in the mood to prove something to me, I decide to go with it and allow her to sit on my lap.
She sprinkles Parmesan cheese onto my noodles and sauce, adds some salad on the side, and then loads up the plate with some pieces of bread.
I stare down at the plate, taking in the mound of food. “I don’t eat that much.”
She turns on my lap so her legs are between mine and she’s sitting on one of my thighs. She wraps one arm around my shoulder, picks up the fork, and loads on some noodles. “This is for both of us.”
“So you’re going to sit here the entire dinner?”
“Yes,” she answers. “The guy who gave me the best sex of my life used to let me sit on his lap like this when we ate cereal, although he never asked me to put a shirt on like you did.”
