He smelled cooking coming from the kitchen at the back of the house and thought he heard someone moving around back there, the sounds of pots and pans... forks and knives.Peter stepped into the kitchen. He could feel the warmth of the stove on his face. "Ms Franklin?" he called again.The kitchen seemed to be empty. Peter walked around the kitchen table where various steaming dishes full of food had been laid out. He stood in front of the stove, scratching his head. There were two pots boiling on. Stooping, you pluck a bluebell from a clump beside the path. You present it to me and, stirred, I break my stride to cup your face in my palms. Rising on tiptoe, I kiss your lips, my stomach tightening, fluttering – as it does whenever I’m with you. You smile and trail a hand slowly down my arm. Then you gently kiss my neck before placing both hands daringly on my buttocks. You squeeze teasingly... but I pull away as a jogger runs past, nodding a greeting as he goes.I throw you a look which. More

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