Page 34 of Ask Your Mom If I'm Real

I loved that smart mouth.

“Looks like you’re cookin’,” I teased.

“I am.” She winked.

“Why are you cooking?” I pushed.

She only cooked like this when she was stressed.

Not that she didn’t have a damn good reason to be stressed, but still.

She shouldn’t be cooking.

She ignored me and waved me over.

I came, fully expecting her to say what she said next.

Again, something we’d done a thousand times before.

“Taste.”

I tasted, the flavor of cinnamon apples bursting on my tongue.

“Excellent,” I said as I licked the spoon clean.

Her eyes heated.

“Dix?” she teased.

I pulled her into my arms. “Yeah, Mary?”

“Love me.”

So I did.

With my mouth and my hands, with my cock and my body.

When we were both panting and sated in our bed, she rolled over so that her face rested against my chest.

“Dix?” she asked.

I smoothed my hand up her bare back.

God, I loved this woman.

With my whole fucking heart. “Yeah, Mary?”

“I’m making as much food as I can,” she admitted.

I knew that.

I knew what she was doing.

She was giving me little pieces of herself. Something that I could eat, and remember that they were made with every ounce of love she possessed.

Tears clogged my throat as I said, “I know, honey.”

She smoothed her hand up my chest, coming to a stop over my pounding heart.

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