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fit for a queen

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“Let’s just eat all our meals in bed from now on,” Kat says. “Just get rid of the table. No chairs. Only pillows.” She knows her voice is slow, lazy, still raspy in the dark room. Her thoughts come quicker than her words.

This is, she thinks, the very definition of fucked out.

Adena smiles, eyes hooded. She’s looking at Kat like Kat is the the meal and she’s ravenous for another taste. “So you like it?”

Her human brain knows Adena is talking about the bowl of fesenjoon between them, still warm and fragrant as they feed one another. The savory scent is like a blanket over the apartment—roasted walnuts, fruity olive oil, gingery turmeric, the sweet-bitter of pomegranate. Kat has never tasted anything more delicious.

On the other hand, her lizard brain wants Adena to be asking about the sex—the earth-shattering, athletic, timeless, limitless, aching, beautiful, mind-bending sex they spent the last five hours perfecting until baser needs took over and forced them out of bed only long enough to heat up the food and bring it back to their rustled little nest of blankets.

“I love it,” Kat says. “It’s perfect.” She lifts another spoonful to Adena’s mouth; their gazes hold, eyes locked like nothing else exists.

Adena purses her lips around the spoon. Once she swallows, she swiftly moves the dishes to the night table and pulls Kat close once more. “I’m so glad,” she says softly, pressing a feather-light kiss to Kat’s lips.