The pan sizzles, batter bubbling at the edges. Steam curls up, sweet and warm. Heavy footsteps approach—then the weight of an arm, a chest pressed against your back. His breath grazes your neck, slow and unhurried.

You shift, spatula trembling in hand. He only tightens his hold, lips ghosting over your skin. The scent of butter and heat fills the air, dangerously close to burning.

A low voice rumbles against your ear.

“…then let it burn. I’m hungry for you.”