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Joyce lingers in the doorway longer than she means to.
There are a lot of things she loves about Karen Wheeler—more things than she can ever even hope to count—but these messy little moments in the kitchen might be her favorite. Finding her working attentively with flour dusted on her hands, sugar spilled over the countertops, and humming a melody under her breath that changes tune each time she gets distracted.
The kitchen smells like vanilla and sugar, and the air warms with the heat of the oven. Joyce just can't seem to stop watching Karen as she leans her elbows on the counter, sneaking a taste of cookie dough into her mouth, and making a soft noise of satisfaction. Joyce feels a smile stretch her lips, exhaling a quiet, fond breath through her nose. Karen is utterly enchanting in her happy place, leaning her weight on the heels of her feet as she bounces absently, eyes glued to the bowl of finished dough.
She's wearing that soft sweater of hers—the one with the shade of red that suits her a little too well, and Joyce adores seeing her wear it so much that she can't help as her eyes drag helplessly a little further down.
Her jeans are covered in flour. Joyce can make out the outline of her hands against the darker fabric, likely left there by her own doing after carelessly dusting off her hands without wearing her apron, as Joyce often has to remind her to do. She still forgets—but it's always fine, because it's endearing to find her all messy and covered in a little bit of each ingredient; except this time, Joyce isn't focused on that. Her eyes are wandering down to the swell of her ass, and she can't think about the flour anymore. She's thinking about how she's aching to touch her.
Joyce moves closer in silence, gently placing her palm against the small of Karen's back. She jumps slightly at the sudden contact, elbows still perched against the marble as she looks up. She looks like a deer caught in headlights, the tip of the spoon still tucked into her mouth as she enjoys the lingering taste of cookie dough.
Joyce's heart skips a beat. Karen smiles bashfully, "Hi."
"Hey, sweet girl," Joyce greets softly, then smiles playfully. "You know you're supposed to leave some for the oven, right?"
Karen returns the spoon to the counter and giggles quietly, turning to face the other woman, "I'm just making sure I did the measurements right, that's all."
Joyce's eyes drop down, landing on the dimple on her right cheek and the dash of flour just above it. Her heart swells in her chest, lifting her hand absentmindedly and using her thumb to swipe the flour from her skin, humming fondly, "Messy girl. I think you've checked it more than enough now, haven't you?"
A soft pink tint spreads over her cheeks, and Joyce feels the heat grow beneath her touch. Karen huffs softly, "It's important that everything is right."
Joyce smiles to herself. Up close, she's all the more captivating. Karen stands up straight, scrunching her nose defiantly as she leans to get just one more taste of the dough, but Joyce catches her hand. There's flour caught along her knuckles, and Joyce brushes it away with her thumb, slow and deliberate.
"You're gonna make yourself sick, baby," She murmurs, voice a little lower now, distracted in a way she makes no effort to hide. Her eyes aren't still—they're relearning everything about her.
"I'm not," Karen pouts, but she pulls her hand back anyway. Joyce hums in response, sliding her hand gently downwards until it lands on her hip, squeezing affectionately.
Karen stills. Joyce bites back a grin as her fingers slide under her sweater, landing on the warm skin hidden beneath.
"I have to start preparing the next tray," Karen stammers, cheeks burning bright red under her watchful eyes. Joyce steps in closer, and her free hand lands on her other hip, guiding her backwards until she's pressed slightly against the edge of the counter.
"It can wait a minute or two," Joyce smiles fondly. "Can't I admire my beautiful girl?"
Karen seems to preen and yet simultaneously shrink away from the attention, her hands moving back to grip the edge of the counter. She's thriving on the receiving end of her affection, and yet she can't seem to know what to do as Joyce's thumb presses down on her hip, just enough to feel the shape of her there.
Karen's breath stutters when Joyce leans in to kiss her cheek, then moves her mouth just beside her ear, "Up, baby."
Karen blinks quickly, feeling goosebumps rise on her skin at the feeling of her breath brushing against her earlobe, but she listens nonetheless—she always does. Her hands move flat against the countertop, and she uses the leverage to lift herself off the floor. Joyce lifts her by her hips and watches her sit comfortably on the countertop, feeling Karen’s hands come to rest on her shoulders for comfort.
Joyce steps in closer between her knees, and her hands settle again on Karen's waist for a moment before drifting, slowly and deliberately, downwards along the curve of her hips, over her thighs. Her palms fit like they were meant to, thumbs tracing idle patterns as she savors the feeling of her.
Karen shifts slightly under her hands, her own moving down from Joyce's shoulders and gripping her forearms shakily. She's reacting to every touch, nervously whispering her name, "Joyce.."
"Yes, sweet girl?" Joyce hums, lifting her eyes until they're fixed on Karen's, watching every little change in her expression. She doesn't say anything else, too captivated by the attention, and Joyce's hands press a little more firmly along her thighs, wishing that she had worn that skirt she adores so much.
It's almost unfair how constricting these jeans are.
Joyce's hands move slightly, inching closer to her inner thighs, "Relax."
Karen's face turns a different shade when her legs twitch, but she relaxes as soon as Joyce's voice reaches her. Her hands stay where they are, resting lightly against Joyce's forearms, fingers curling just slightly around the fabric of her flannel.
Joyce's thumb slides along the inside of her thigh, warmth seeping through the fabric, drawing absent patterns like she can't help herself. She's watching her so fondly—like Karen, sitting there, a little flustered and messy, has a beauty like the sun.
"You're distracting me from my cookies," Karen mutters, then pouts again when she breathes out softly.
Joyce smiles apologetically, "Sorry, sweetheart. But you're not trying very hard to stop me."
Karen huffs, but it dissolves into something quieter when Joyce's thumbs trace slow, idle lines along her jeans, just subtly dipping to continue to adore her inner thighs. She's slow, unrushed—just touch for the sake of touch, as if she were memorizing the feel of her. As if she hasn't already. Karen's breath catches slightly, barely noticeable, but Joyce hears it. She always catches the slightest reactions—she basks in them.
Her hands shift again, one sliding up to Karen's waist, and the other remaining glued to her thigh. She leans in, close enough to make Karen's breath stutter in excitement—enough that the warmth of her is too much to ignore.
"C'mere," She whispers, and Karen leans in without missing a beat, their lips brushing together until they're pressed in a kiss. She melts into it instantly, moving as close as she possibly can as Joyce's scent washes over her again.
Joyce lets out a breath through her nose as Karen's hands move up her arms and shoulders to cup her neck, fingers toying absently with the loose strands of brown hair. The kiss is gentle at first, warm and familiar, tasting faintly of cookie dough and chocolate. Karen lets out a soft, quiet whine when Joyce pulls back briefly.
"You taste like chocolate," She murmurs fondly, and Karen ignores the comment, eyes hazy as she gently tugs her forward to meet for another kiss. It deepens just slightly, not rushed, or overwhelming, but enough to linger. Enough to make her dizzy.
And when her hand slides up her inner thigh, Joyce pulls away when Karen gasps, pressing a kiss on the underside of her jaw. Her knees part as she breathes in sharply through her nose, feeling Joyce's fingers gently tug at the button of her jeans. It comes undone easily.
And the timer goes off.
Joyce starts to pull away before Karen can even process the beeping in the background, her heart thrumming in her ears as she calls Joyce's name breathily. Her throat is dry, the remaining bit of strength in her body leaving the very second she feels butterflies flutter in her stomach.
"The cookies, baby," Joyce reminds softly, already moving to grab the oven mitts. Karen blinks hazily, then lets out a long, frustrated groan. Joyce smiles, warm and impossibly fond.
"Now you care about the cookies?" Karen laughs breathlessly, pushing herself off the counter. Her hands are a little shaky, not enough for Joyce to notice, but enough to make her breathe deeply with the hope that she can compose herself. She feels too hot and constricted in her clothes, but she still shakily tries to fix her button.
"I don't want them to burn," Joyce answers lightly, sliding the tray from the oven before glancing at Karen again. "Are you making more cookies, or do you want to keep the rest of the dough?"
Karen's mind isn't focused on the cookies at all—she's still recovering from the kiss. From the touch on her thighs. The desire that Joyce had touched her longer, in more places. She swallows, her mouth feeling too dry for comfort, and clears her throat, "I don't know. Later."
Joyce chuckles and turns off the oven, glancing over the cookie tray as the cookies cool. It doesn't take long, because by the time Joyce serves Karen a cup of milk, the cookies are ready to be eaten—and Karen is pouting over the three cookies served on a plate.
"Why just three?" She sighs, and Joyce chuckles, moving behind her. Her arms wrap around Karen's waist, hugging her close and kissing her ear. Karen giggles, and Joyce's smile appears instantly, watching her laugh. Her ears are sensitive—the smallest touch makes her skin burn red.
"I told you," Joyce murmurs. "You'll make yourself sick."
Karen hums, leaning forward again to reach for a cookie. Joyce's hands move to her hips, eyes trailing down the arch of her back before she stands straight again, dipping the cookie in the milk and taking a bite out of it, "I'll eat some later anyway."
Joyce rolls her eyes fondly, gently using her finger to move Karen's head to the side, pressing another kiss to her lips. Karen melts back into her, and Joyce smiles against her mouth as she tastes the cookies.
Her hands don't stop wandering.
They never really do.