The kitchen was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of shallow bres. She was already pressed against the table, the cool surface beneath her thighs a sharp contrast to the heat between their bodies. He step in close, hands finding her hips, pulling her forward until she was perched right on the edge. Plates and utensils clinked and shifted, forgotten as he leaned in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was all hunger and heat. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he pushed her gently back onto the table, the wood creaking beneath her. One hand slid up her leg, beneath the thin fabric of her dress, until he found bare skin — soft, warm, inviting. She gasped as his lips trailed down her neck, teasing her collarbone, tasting her like a favorite dish he’d waited too long to devour. With every movement, the table shifted slightly, echoing their rhythm — raw, urgent, full of need. The kitchen, once ordinary, was transformed into something primal, sacred — a place where con

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