He wrapped me in his arms, pressing his lips against mine. His lips parted, his tongue tasting the inside of my mouth, making my insides tingle from hairline to toes. He pulled away.

I inhaled, feeling a little dizzy. “That too.”

“For the rest, you’ll just have to be surprised.”

I slid my fingers under his T-shirt, letting my fingers graze his back. “I’m good at things too.”

“I know you are.”

I kneeled in front of him, pulling his waistbands with me as I went. I took his already-hard shaft in one hand, cupped his ass in the other, and slowly pulled him into my mouth until I could feel the tip of his dick at the back of my throat. I pulled back with the tiniest bit of suction then went in again, even slower, keeping my mouth tight around him. His right hand grabbed the countertop, the left gripped the handle of the fridge.

“Oh my fuck,” he breathed out, the last word lingering in his mouth. Ten minutes later he finished, then he was lingering in mine.

I stood, but Zeke didn’t move, his eyes still closed, his brow still furrowed. “That thing you did … with your…”

“Yeah?”

“Holy hell.”

I laughed, kissed his cheek, then left him standing in the kitchen alone, his pants still around his ankles. “I’m taking a shower. Can you check the oven?”

“Uh-huh,” he called.

I came out in tight jeans and an ivory Henley with the top two out of four wooden buttons open, setting off my olive skin. My hair was down and curled for the occasion. It was simple, but Zeke was just as obsessed as he was when I didn’t have clothes on.

“Wow,” he said. “You’re going to keep having to remind me that we’re together, because you’re way outta my league.”

“Quit it,” I said, reaching over to peck him on the lips.

Zeke helped me clean up the kitchen for the second time in an hour before our friends arrived so we could start the potatoes, gravy, vegetables and finish the rest of what Zeke had started that morning.

As I set the table, someone knocked lightly on the door. I glanced at my watch, noting whoever it was, was half an hour early. If I had to guess, I’d say it was Harbinger.

I was wrong. On the porch stood Peter, holding a bottle of wine. He looked at me then down at the dark glass in his hand. “It’s a red. Paige did all the cooking, so I apologize for coming mostly empty-handed.”

“We have plenty of food. Come in.”

Peter stepped in and stood around for a few minutes, trying not to watch Zeke and I work together in the kitchen. He seemed to get sadder as each minute passed.

“Peter? The corkscrew is in the drawer to the right of the sink,” I said.