Chapter 105 Taste Better Than Sandwich
Next morning, Elliot emerged from the bedroom, hair still slightly damp, and walked toward the kitchen.
There she was. Audrey stood at the counter in an oversized shirt and shorts, focused on arranging sandwiches on a plate.
She hadn't noticed him yet.
He smiled softly, then moved behind her without a sound. His arms wrapped around her slender waist, pulling her back against his chest. He dipped his head, lips finding her neck.
She startled. "Elliot!" Her shoulders tensed.
"Hmm?" He murmured against her skin, voice low and rough. He didn't stop—trailing kisses down to her shoulder where her shirt had slipped, savoring her warmth.
She bit her lip, hands still moving mechanically, though her mind was already scattered. "Stop. Sit down. I'm making breakfast."
"I want breakfast."
"That's what I'm making!"
He chuckled against her neck. "Not that kind of breakfast."
"Elliot! It's early!" She tried to squirm away, but her heart was already racing.
"Breakfast is supposed to be early." His lips kept moving, hands sliding under her shirt.
She set down what she was holding, gripping the counter as she squeezed her eyes shut.
Why does he always do this to me?
"Elliot..."
"Hmm?"
Her cheeks burned at his teasing tone. She tried to focus. "Your breakfast is on the plate."
He chuckled softly but didn't let go. "But this one's more satisfying." He bit down gently on her neck, and she nearly dropped the plate.
"Elliot!" She turned, half-annoyed, half-flustered.
He finally laughed and released her reluctantly. "Okay, okay."
But before walking away, he stole a quick kiss on her cheek.
She glared.
"I still prefer breakfast the other way though." He strolled to the table.
She rolled her eyes, bringing the plate and coffee to him.
"Sorry, this is all I could make," she said, slightly embarrassed.
He looked at the sandwich, then at her standing beside him. "This is perfect." He took a bite without hesitation.
She watched him suspiciously. "You'd say it's good even if it wasn't."
He chuckled. "Of course. My wife made it."
She clicked her tongue. "Stop being so sweet!"
He laughed again, then took another bite. "Want to take a cooking class?"
She blinked. "Cooking class?"
He nodded.
She stared at him seriously. "Is my sandwich that bad?"
He burst out laughing—a real, warm laugh. She forgot to breathe for a second, watching him.
"I'm just offering. You said yourself this is all you could make." He brushed her cheek briefly before continuing his meal. "But it's not a big deal. Don't overthink it."
"But... I really can't cook properly." She looked genuinely concerned.
He chuckled again, leaning in to kiss her neck. "And that's fine. We can hire someone."
She ignored his touch, too focused on the topic. "Then you'd be eating someone else's cooking."
"Doesn't matter." His lips were already traveling down her shoulder, sliding under her shirt again.
"Elliot! I'm serious!"
He pulled back with a sigh. "I'm serious too. I want you right now."
She rolled her eyes. "Breakfast first. Then other things!" Her voice was sharp, but her cheeks were pink.
He looked at her with that teasing gaze. "Then you have to feed me."
She frowned. "What?"
He waited.
She huffed, grabbing the remaining sandwich. "After this, no more games." She held it up to his mouth.
He grinned, taking a bite slowly, watching her. They repeated until only a small piece remained in her fingers.
Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand toward him, taking the last bite—and her fingers with it.
She froze. The warm, wet sensation of his tongue between her fingers made her shiver.
She swallowed hard, trying to pull away. His grip held firm.
"Elliot..." she whispered—half protest, half lost for words.
He looked at her, still sucking gently on her fingertips before finally releasing them with a soft sound that nearly undid her.
He smirked. "Tastes better than the sandwich."
She grabbed a napkin, wiping her fingers, face burning. "You're impossible..."
He laughed, pulling her hand again—this time just holding it. "Don't be embarrassed. I'm your husband."
She rolled her eyes, pretending not to care. But he saw the blush.
"I'm full," he announced.
"Then go get ready for work. I need to clean up."
He didn't move. Instead, he leaned in, breath warm against her ear. "If breakfast is over... doesn't that mean we can continue what we started?"
She threw the napkin at his face. "Can you not think about that for five minutes?!"
"Can't blame me. You're too tempting."
His arms were already around her waist again.
In one smooth motion, he lifted her onto the table. She squeaked.
"Elliot, I need to clean—"
"Later." His lips found her neck again.
She moaned softly as his mouth worked its magic, leaving warm trails along her skin. Her body tensed, but she didn't really resist. Her fingers gripped his shoulders as her breath scattered.