Kiss me, kiss me, I chanted in my mind, the tension building so much that when his head finally started slowly moving toward mine, I almost groaned in relief.

He moved toward me, his lips parting slightly, the look on his face a mix between uncertainty and blatant lust. I'd never forget that look–as long as I lived, I'd never forget the sheer beauty of the expression on Archer's face. Next time it wouldn't be the same. Once he had kissed me, his first kiss, this I knew, it would never be the same again. I drank it in, memorized it, made it a part of me. And then his lips reached mine and I did groan, a breathless sound that came unbidden up my throat. His eyes opened and for a second he paused, his eyes growing even darker before he pressed his lips firmly against mine, closing his eyes once more. I closed mine too and soaked in the feel of his soft lips tasting mine, experimenting, brushing softly and then pressing again. After several seconds, he moved his body closer to mine and his tongue swept across the seam of my lips to which I immediately opened, inviting him in without reservation. His tongue entered my mouth tentatively and I used my own to tangle with his. He pressed his body even closer and a small exhale released from his mouth to mine, as if he was breathing life into me. And maybe he was. Maybe he had been all along.

He laid me back gently on the couch, his mouth never disconnecting from mine and he leaned over me, tilting his head. The kiss went deeper as his tongue continued to sweep inside my mouth, mine meeting his in a slow, erotic dance.

And nothing had ever felt more right.

The delirious relief that bloomed in my heart at the feeling of how much I wanted this man above me, kissing me, almost made me want to weep with happiness.

After several minutes, he pulled away, breathless, sucking in air and looking into my eyes. I stared back at him and smiled, but instead of smiling back, he pressed his lips back to mine and brought his hands up and raked his fingers through my hair, gripping gentle handfuls. It felt so good that I moaned again, pressing my hips upward into his hard body. I could feel his erection, hard and thick, and I wiggled until it was pressed right where I needed it, the heat of it radiating through the material of his jeans and the thin material of my linen shorts. He expelled another small puff of air into my mouth and I drank it down, knowing that it was a moan that didn't have sound.

He pressed his erection down gently and broke his lips from mine to look down questioningly into my face, to see if I was okay with what he was doing. His gentleness and his concern with what I desired made my heart squeeze tightly, and I smiled a small smile. "Yes," I breathed out. "Yes."

He resumed kissing me and now added the gentle rolling of his hips so that his erection moved over my clit in delicious circles. I wondered if he knew that the movements that were bringing him pleasure were bringing me pleasure too. I made a point to express what I loved about what he was doing, by panting into his mouth and pressing my hips up into him. He adjusted his movements according to my reactions, and the fact that he was so in tune with my own pleasure, sent another bolt of arousal to my core, causing my clit to tingle and swell, the blood pulsing furiously there. I thought dazedly how much of this dance between a man and a woman was pure instinct, pure unspoken communication.

As he moved above me, my stiff nipples rubbed on his chest, causing more sparks to shoot downward.

Another burst of air came out of his mouth and at the feel of it, my body tightened deliciously, and I shuddered in release, breaking free from his mouth and crying out, my chest arching back.

I felt him shudder too and then go still above me, his breathing ragged. When I opened my eyes, he was staring at me, a look of pure, awestruck wonder. He sat up, still looking at me and signed, Was that supposed to happen? Just from kissing, I mean?

I laughed and nodded, bringing my hands up. Yes, I said, I mean, yes, sometimes that happens.

I leaned up and kissed him lightly on his mouth. When I leaned back, his face broke into a huge grin. Oh God, my heart. My heart couldn't take those grins. They were too much–too beautiful and too overwhelming.

I laughed at the slightly smug look on his face. I wasn't going to tell him that coming in your pants wasn't exactly something to be smug about, because the truth of it was, I didn't think I'd ever been half as turned on as I had been on this couch with him a few minutes before. So, he could be smug for now. I laughed again, with happiness and kissed him lightly again.

I leaned back and said, I'm not going to give you that cooking lesson right now. I'm going to cook for you. I want to take care of you tonight. Is that okay?

He studied me, something warm and gentle coming into his beautiful eyes and he nodded simply, yes.

While Archer washed up, I made myself at home in his small kitchen and got to work preparing a meal for him. It was the first time I had cooked in almost a year, but I felt nothing except happy and satisfied as I chopped and mixed and prepared, humming as I worked. Archer came in and poured potato chips into a small bowl and took a container of onion dip out of his refrigerator and set it on the counter. Appetizer, he said, smiling.

Fancy. I laughed, and then pushed a few chips aside to get to one that had folded over during the frying process. Those were my favorite. They were slightly crunchier and were perfect to use as a little scoop for the dip. I popped it into my mouth and grinned at him, getting back to work.

We didn't talk much as I cooked, as my hands were busy, but Archer seemed content just to watch me, standing with one narrow hip propped against the counter. I glanced at him a couple times, standing there with his arms crossed on his chest and a small, happy smile on his face.

Several times he pulled me to him and kissed me deeply, and looked awestruck again when I didn't stop him. Then I grinned and found another folded chip and popped it into my mouth.

When dinner was done, I set his small table and we sat down, and I dished up the food. Archer grabbed my hand and said, Thank you for this, looking almost like a little boy who didn't quite know how to express what he truly meant. Thank you, he repeated. I understood what that simple thank you meant though. No one had taken care of him in a long time.

He took a bite and sat back, and his face took on that same dreamy expression that had been on his face after our first kiss. I grinned. Good?

He nodded his head, still chewing. You were right, you're a really good cook.

I smiled. Thank you. I used to cook at our deli. My dad and I came up with all of the recipes. We used to cook and bake together.

I stared off behind Archer picturing my dad flicking flour at my face and then pretending it was an accident. I smiled slightly–the memory bringing a warmth to my chest, not the tightness I had experienced over the last six months whenever my dad's memory came to mind.

You okay? Archer asked, looking at me concerned. My lips curved into a wider smile, and I grabbed Archer's hand, squeezing it lightly.

Yeah, I'm good.

Suddenly rain started falling gently outside the kitchen window and I looked over, furrowing my brow slightly. I looked back at Archer when I saw his hands moving in my peripheral vision.

It's not supposed to storm tonight, he said, obviously reading my mind.

I breathed out, and smiled, relaxing my shoulders.

Archer studied me, grabbing my hand and squeezing it.

I got up and went to his front door, calling to Phoebe, who was already on the porch. I brought her inside and she settled herself on the rug in the living room.