Flour, Pancakes, and Morning Chaos
Jay POV
"MAMA!!!! DADAAAA!!!!!! WAKE UP!!!!!!"
I wake up to Kade jumping on the bed between us and shouting at the top of his lungs.
I hear Keifer groan, followed by me.
"Baby... it's too early," I say, pulling the blanket over my face.
"I hungry!" he claims.
I peek out of the blanket to see the time on the nightstand. It's barely 5 AM, and our two-year-old is a tiny box of energy, I swear.
"Of course you are. Just like your mother," I hear Keifer say, and I kick him under the blanket. This man has the audacity to chuckle. How can he manage to tease me even at this hour? Gago.
"Go make him breakfast," I say to Keifer, turning on my side to sleep again.
"Yeah, I'm going," he says lazily.
I feel the bed shift as he sits up, and I peek at him. He runs a hand through his hair, then yawns. How can someone look this attractive and handsome this early? I probably look like a ghost with my messy hair and pillow creases.
"Come on, champ," he says, pulling Kade onto his lap. Kade happily sits there, knowing he's going to have breakfast.
Keifer leans down and kisses my forehead.
"Sleep, wifey. I've got him," he says, his voice husky with sleep and so damn attractive.
I smile and pull him down by wrapping my arms around his neck, giving him a kiss. He's about to deepen it when—
"EWWWW...." Kade makes a noise and tries to pull Keifer back. I swear his expression is priceless.
"I'm going to make breakfast, but let me have mine first," he says, annoyed, and tries to kiss me again, but I pull the blanket over me.
"Go make breakfast, hubby," I say teasingly, hiding my smirk.
He sighs and stands up with Kade in his arms. "Let's go, buddy, and get you your breakfast," he says, lifting Kade to sit on his shoulders. Kade shrieks with laughter, gripping his head as they both leave the room. I can't help but smile. How did I get so lucky? Whatever it is, I'm thankful.
I try to sleep again. I really try. I try sleeping on my side, then roll to the other side, then onto my stomach, then onto my back, but I can't sleep. I finally sit up with a hmph.
Since I can't sleep, I decide to go to the kitchen. I pad downstairs and hear laughter from the kitchen. I smile and enter—but my smile vanishes as I take in the scene.
"What the..." I whisper to myself.
Keifer is covered in flour. Kade is covered in batter—which I suppose is the pancake batter—and both of them are laughing.
Kade spots me first and grins so wide I wonder if his cheeks hurt.
"What... the hell... happened here?" I ask, walking into the kitchen. They both freeze, then Kade raises his hand with a bright smile.
"We're playing," he says proudly.
"Playing with my feelings," Keifer responds.
"What did that happen?" I ask him. He straightens a little, and I'm sure he's going to explain with his tortured feelings.
"The flour bag exploded," Keifer says, trying to sound completely innocent, but the white powder dusting his eyelashes makes it impossible to take him seriously. "It wasn't a tactical error on my part, I swear. Kade just wanted to help mix, and things got... enthusiastic."
"Boom!" Kade cheers, clapping his hands together. A small cloud of flour puffs into the air between them, landing right on Keifer's nose.
I cross my arms, trying my hardest to look stern, but my lips are twitching. "An enthusiastic explosion. Right. And the batter on the cabinets? Was that Kade's enthusiasm too?"
"Hey, team effort," Keifer counters, flashing that crooked, devastating grin that always gets him out of trouble. He takes a step toward me, his bare feet leaving dusty prints on the hardwood floor. "Don't look at us like that, Jay. We were doing it for you. We were making breakfast in bed."
"By destroying the kitchen?" I raise an eyebrow, stepping back as he gets closer. "Oh no, you don't. Keep your floury self over there, Keifer."
"Come on, wifey," he coos, his voice dropping into that low, playful register. He lunges forward and catches me by the waist before I can dodge him.
"Keifer! No!" I shriek, laughing as he pulls me flush against his chest. I feel the dry, powdery transfer of flour onto my clean pajamas, but as his arms wrap securely around me, I stop caring.
He leans down, pressing his cheek against mine, purposely rubbing the flour onto my skin. "If we're going down for the kitchen, we're taking you down with us," he murmurs near my ear, his breath warm and ticklish.
"You are a child," I gasp, but I reach up anyway, my fingers tangling in the soft, messy hair at the back of his neck. Even covered in baking ingredients, he smells like warmth, mint, and uniquely him. He leans in and kisses me properly this time—soft, lingering, and completely ignoring the tiny critic watching us from the kitchen island.
"YUCK!" Kade's loud voice breaks us apart. He's sitting on the counter, a silicone spatula in one hand and pancake batter smeared across his left cheek like war paint. "No kissing! Food!"
Keifer lets out a low chuckle against my lips before turning his head to look at our son. "You hear that, Jay? The boss wants results."
"Well, the boss is covered in raw egg and flour, so the boss needs a bath," I say, gently swatting Keifer's chest to get him to release me. I walk over to Kade, picking him up around his middle. He giggles, dangling his batter-covered hands away from my shirt as if he actually cares about keeping me clean now. "Look at you. You're a sticky monster."
"I a pancake monster!" Kade corrects proudly, twisting in my arms to look at the mixing bowl.
"More like a kitchen hazard," I tease, kissing his clean forehead. I look back at Keifer, who is already picking up a wet rag to start wiping down the counter. The sight of him—this tall, built, normally intimidating man, tamed so easily by a two-year-old and a messy kitchen—makes my heart do a familiar, stupid little flip.
"I'll wash the monster," Keifer offers, intercepting me before I can carry Kade upstairs. He takes our son from my arms, but not before leaning in to press a quick, firm kiss to my lips. "You sit. Relax. I'll clean him up, finish the actual edible pancakes, and clean the floor."
"Promise?" I ask, arching an eyebrow.
"Cross my heart," he smiles, his eyes warm and completely soft as he looks at me. "Just let me take care of you this morning."
---
I watch them disappear up the stairs, Kade's giggles echoing through the hallway as Keifer tickles his sides. The kitchen falls quiet, save for the drip of batter sliding off the counter onto the floor.
I sigh, grabbing a rag to start cleaning up the worst of it while I wait. My hands move automatically, wiping flour from the cabinets, but my mind drifts upstairs. I can hear the water running, Kade's shrieking laughter as Keifer probably splashes him, the low rumble of Keifer's voice saying something I can't quite make out.
Fifteen minutes later, footsteps descend the stairs. I turn from the now semi-clean counter to see Keifer walking back in, alone. He's changed into a fresh t-shirt, his hair still damp and pushed back from his forehead. He looks... edible.
"Where's Kade?" I ask.
"Parked in front of cartoons with a bowl of cereal," he says, crossing the kitchen toward me with that purposeful stride that makes my stomach tighten. "He's contained. For now."
"For now," I echo, laughing softly. "That's reassuring."
"He's two, Jay. Nothing is reassuring." He stops right in front of me, close enough that I can smell the soap on his skin. His eyes drop to my lips, then lower, tracing the curve of my neck, the collar of my flour-dusted pajama top. "You missed a spot."
I look down at myself. "Where?"
He doesn't answer with words. Instead, his hand comes up, fingers brushing along my collarbone, feather-light. "Here," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. His thumb sweeps across the hollow of my throat, and my breath catches. "And here."
His hand slides lower, palm flattening against my sternum, warm through the thin cotton. My heart hammers beneath his touch.
"Keifer," I warn, but it comes out breathless, not stern at all.
"Hmm?" He tilts his head, innocent as a saint, but his eyes are anything but. They're dark, hungry, fixed on mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak. "I'm just helping you clean up."
His other hand finds my waist, pulling me closer until my hips meet his. I can feel the heat of him through our clothes, the solid muscle of his chest pressed against me. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.
"The kitchen," I manage. "We're in the kitchen."
"Kade's watching cartoons," he reminds me, lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Volume's on high. He won't hear a thing."
His hand moves again, sliding from my sternum down, down, skimming the side of my breast. I inhale sharply, and he takes advantage, ducking his head to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along the side of my neck. My head falls back, a moan escaping my lips before I can stop it.
"You're covered in flour," I whisper, but my hands are already sliding up his chest, over his shoulders, into his hair.
"So are you," he murmurs against my skin. "We should probably take a shower."
"Together?"
"Efficient." His teeth graze my pulse point, and I shudder. "Water conservation. Very important."
His hand cups my breast through my pajamas, thumb finding my nipple through the thin fabric, and I gasp, arching into his touch. He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my neck.
"Fuck, Jay," he breathes. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"I have some idea," I manage, feeling the evidence of it pressed against my thigh. "Keifer..."
"Tell me to stop," he says, but his hand is already sliding lower, fingers trailing down my stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of my pajama pants. "Tell me, and I will."
I should. I know I should. It's barely 6 AM, our son is in the next room, and the kitchen still looks like a flour bomb went off. But his fingers are so close, hovering just above where I need them most, and I've never been good at denying him.
"Don't stop," I breathe.
His groan is triumphant. His fingers slip lower, finding me wet and ready, and he groans again. "Fuck, baby. You're so—"
"Keifer." His name is a plea, a prayer.
He circles my clit with his thumb, slow and deliberate, and my hips buck against his hand. He catches my mouth with his, swallowing my moan, kissing me deep and dirty while his fingers work me over. His other hand grips my hip, holding me steady against the counter, grounding me while I fall apart.
"That's it," he whispers against my lips. "That's my girl. Let go."
And I do. I shatter against his hand, biting down on his bottom lip to keep from crying out, my fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. He works me through it, gentle now, coaxing every last tremor from my body until I'm boneless, leaning against him for support.
When I finally open my eyes, he's grinning down at me, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Good morning," he says.
I slap his chest weakly. "You're insatiable."
"You love it."
I do. God help me, I do.
"Shower?" he offers, already steering me toward the stairs.
"Kade—"
"Cartoons," he reminds me. "Twenty minutes, at least. We'll be quick."
"Quick?" I raise an eyebrow.
He grins, that devastating, crooked grin. "Well. Maybe not that quick."
---
Twenty-five minutes later—and significantly cleaner, though not for lack of trying—I'm sitting at the kitchen island, freshly showered and wrapped in Keifer's oversized hoodie, watching him flip pancakes at the stove. He's got Kade on a stool beside him, "helping" by holding the spatula and occasionally smacking it against the counter with alarming enthusiasm.
"Mama!" Kade spots me and grins, waving the spatula. "Pancake!"
"I see that, baby," I laugh, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "Are you being a good helper?"
"He's a menace," Keifer says fondly, sliding a slightly lopsided but perfectly golden pancake onto the growing stack. "But he's my menace."
"And mine," I agree.
Keifer glances over at me, and something soft passes through his eyes—something that makes my chest ache in the best way. He sets down the spatula, crosses the kitchen, and leans down to kiss me. Soft, sweet, a promise.
"Thank you," I murmur against his lips. "For this morning. For handling him. For being a good husband"
"Thank you for not killing me for the flour explosion."
"There's still time."
He laughs, straightening up. "Fair enough. Breakfast?"
"Please."
He plates two pancakes for me, drizzles syrup in a little heart shape that makes me roll my eyes fondly, and sets it in front of me with a flourish. Kade gets a smaller portion, cut into bite-sized pieces, and the three of us settle into our respective seats—me at the island, Kade in his booster chair, Keifer standing at the counter with his coffee, watching us both with that soft, contented look he gets when he thinks I'm not paying attention.
I am. I always am.
---
Sorry guy I know I ghosted you for so long but I had my reason and one if them was severe constant migraine.
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