Leaps and landings

8

The back of Jess' fingers traced her face as he studied her, having never really before had the chance to take her in fully, with all the time in the world. Her smooth fawn-toned skin glowed, her cheeks slightly flushed, a couple of tiny freckles on her nose, another few on her cheeks. She didn't wear any makeup, as far as he could tell, just her natural self, not hiding the minute imperfections. Her small button-nose squinted as she observed his expressions in return. When the tip of his finger gently touched her tempting lips, her mouth bit onto his finger playfully. He even appreciated the small lines in the corner of her eyes and the lines that became visible on her cheeks when she smiled - making her just seem real. He was not in his twenties either. He couldn't help but wonder what she thought of this, of him - it had been years as he'd been so worried about things like that. What conversations went on behind those green eyes?

"What about Este?" he finally spoke, having appreciated the opportunity to suggest what to call her. He'd actually really loved the name Odette, recognizing the name from a Proust novel and it was definitely uncommon. But he understood the need to change it. Either way, as long as it was the same person, it didn't really matter to him.

"Not bad, you'll have to try it out to see how it sounds some time," she replied, her fingers still running along his neck and through the back of his hair.

"You know if you keep that up, we won't ever leave the bed, right?" Jess stated with a crooked smile. He'd almost forgotten the time, the grumble of his stomach reminding him that he'd been in fact starving already before.

"There are worse ways to go," she chuckled with a wink, certainly not making it easy for him. She was starving too, but the way she felt with him in bed like this, flesh on flesh, seemed more essential right now.

"Come on, let's make some food, the bed is not going anywhere tonight," he suggested, somewhat reluctantly, pulling her up along with him, landing one more deep kiss on her lips, clearly running on an endorphin rush.

"Where's your bathroom?" she asked, beginning to look for her panties.

"Just by the kitchen," Jess replied, "and if you want something comfortable to wear, help yourself," he added gesturing towards his dresser, with his suits and dress-shirts hanging over it on a rack made of pipes.

"Okay, thanks," she smiled at him, not bothering to hide herself, and walked towards the bathroom, her panties in her hand, a notable swing in her hip, leaving him speechless. She was so different than any of the women he had ever dated - not an ounce of wilingness to hide, oozing confidence.

Jess pulled on a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants, and headed for the kitchen to get a head start. He gulped down a glass of water with a satisfying slurp and then began to prepare their meal, deciding on a recipe, from the top of his head, that was fairly hands off in it's cooking process.

She emerged from the bathroom some minutes later in her underwear, which she would've been fine with wearing, loving to be a bit of a tease, but since it was a little chilly, the rain still pouring down outside, she browsed through his drawers, settling for a black The Distiller t-shirt, that almost covered her hips.

"So I'm finally getting to see you cook," she commented, adding, "anything I can do to help?"

"You can grab some wine from the fridge if you want," he added, giving her a small peck on the lips. It was distracting being in the kitchen with her, but he tried to focus, wanting to impress her a little. It was something primal - as if wanting to provide for her, at least in this very modern version by cooking her dinner.

"Sure, but I don't want you to think my hands fall off if I were to actually do some cooking," she noted as she poured them two glasses of organic Pinot Grigio. She'd dealt with presumptions all her life, people assuming what a girl with her background might and might not do, buy or consume. And for quite a while she'd almost wanted to prove everyone wrong. She'd grown up significantly from that time though, now knowing already what she liked and what she didn't, and not particularly bending her convictions for other people. But doing things herself, and trying new things she didn't yet know how to do, was always to her more of a matter of pride, the assumption that she could be useless in a certain situation, whether that involved doing the dishes or changing the windshield wipers on a car hurting her somehow more than the rest.