She pushed back into him, just slightly, her ass into his unmistakable hardness, and did she...? Yes, she’d definitely just opened her legs a tantalizing half inch. John let out a breath and could practically watch it wash over that exposed patch of golden shoulder. He wanted to follow his breath with his lips, his lips with his tongue, his tongue with his teeth. He couldn’t help but shift his hips forward a barely there centimeter, pressing himself into her softness.

His beer was half-drank and long forgotten on the bar next to him. One needed a free hand to drink a beer and his hands were currently ocupado. Exactly where they’d been born to be.

John slid his hand just an inch up the inside of her leg, still basically on her knee, just the smallest bit under the hem of her dress. If Richie and Beth were to look down, they might raise an eyebrow, but it wasn’t indecent. Still, John felt Mary melt back against him, her leg shifting, pushing against his, opening an amount so small that if his hand hadn’t been there, he might have missed it.

She ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it, pulling it up off the back of her neck, and when it fell, John realized that they were sitting so close that her hair fell over his own shoulder. He felt the warm, silky weight of it tumbling down his arm, cascading everywhere as she leaned forward to laugh with Beth.

That sheet of her hair was too much temptation. He slid his hand up from her leg and brushed her hair down her back, smoothing it. He wanted to see her hair wet. He wanted to see her wet. He wanted a long luxurious, soapy shower with Mary. But he also wanted a quick late-for-work shower with her just as badly. He wanted to watch her brush her teeth while she wore a white towel in that twist thing that women did. He wanted to race around a kitchen with her, make sure she left the house with at least a cup of coffee and a muffin. If she even ate muffins.

He slid his hand back to her knee and maybe half an inch farther up her leg than it had been before. “What kind of breakfast do you usually eat in the morning?” he couldn’t help but ask, muttering into her ear. He wanted information, anything he could learn about her. He wanted his morning-time fantasy to be as accurate as possible.

She tipped her head back and eyed him, her eyes at half-mast. “You planning on feeding me breakfast, John?”