Golden Luckenbooth

Four

The first "ha" escapes my lips at the velocity of a peregrine falcon. Although I clamp both hands over my mouth, I'm unable to contain the next thousand laughs until my face must be red from the exertion of trying to keep the laughter inside.

His mouth open in flabbergasted astonishment, Harry grips the table with both hands as I attempt to get myself under control.

"Never gotten that reaction before," he mutters. "Did I miss something? Are you not into blokes?"

The question sets me off again, and I clutch my stomach in my guffaws until the dogs sit at my feet and bark in concern. Taking deep breaths, I swipe the tears from my cheeks with the napkin, not having previously recognized that I've been crying.

"Oh, goodness, Harry. I'm sorry." Calming, I grab our dishes and carry them to the sink to wash. Perhaps today is the start of an ongoing trend where I wash the dishes nightly instead of leaving them around to grow science experiments? "I just thought you'd be more suave about seduction. I mean, is this how it's done in the land of rock and roll?"

He picks up the remainder of the dishes and joins me at the sink, shrugging. "I have to ask. Being in the tabloids for forcing myself on a woman is not on my bingo card for this year. And yeah, it's awkward, but necessary."

My hands are busy; otherwise I'd slide a palm along his shaven jaw. "Aw, Harry. That's sweet. I shouldn't have laughed. It was rude. To answer your questions, I'm definitely into guys, and I would love to be kissed. And for the record, I purposely didn't wear a bra, and I'm wearing lacy knickers too."

Eyebrows raise, and that left dimple deepens. "I see," he grins, and this time both dimples pop, causing my knees to weaken, especially when the laugh lines along the outside of his eyes appear. "That helps with the other questions I was going to ask."

"You have my full consent for anything and everything conventional. Anything beyond that requires negotiation." Continuing to clean the dishes, I gesture towards the leftover soup on the stove. "If you look in the cabinet to the left of the cooker, you'll find a container for that. Would you mind?"

"Would I – No, I don't mind, but this is the strangest pre-sex encounter I've ever had," he remarks.

"Ditto," I concur. "I mean, it might be wildly romantic to just leave the dishes out and let the leftovers rot, but I'm trying to turn over a new leaf here with my tidiness. Plus you went to all of that effort to make extra for me to eat as leftovers."

"Ah," he nods, "I see." Locating a suitable container, he pours the leftovers while I rinse and dry the dishes. It's a companionable and domestic moment that touches my heart. Who else gets to do this with a popstar? No one I know for sure!

With the last dish put away, I twist to him, popping my hip as I place a hand on it, making sure my tits are as enticing as possible. "Do you mind if I use you for sex?" I inquire playfully.

"I was hoping you would," he replies, that sweet, sexy smile encompassing his full face, and I am grateful that my hands are free so that I can follow my strongest desire, reaching to caress the stubble that's growing along his jawline.

Twisting his face, he kisses my palm, and I curl up my hand. "I'm keeping this one," I tease, sliding my hand into a pretend pocket on my dress.

"Really?" His voice has dropped at least an octave as his hand rests on my waist, pulling me closer to him. "Planning to sell it for money to buy a new x-ray machine?"

"Ohhhhh, there's a thought." My eyes widen. "How much do you think I could get for it?"

"Probably millions" is his droll response, and I giggle in a wildly girlish manner that feels very unlike me. Yet I know it isn't actually. It's simply been a long time since I've been treated like the flirty woman I am capable of being.