Sunday Funday With The Man of the House by Patience Lee

 
    I'd just got home and
started fixing some of step-daddy Michael's favorites. Soon the
whole house would smell like pot roast, potatoes, carrots, and red
velvet cupcakes with the special cream cheese frosting that he
loved so much. I had rented some of his favorite movies, and
cleaned the entire house. I wanted him to relax and kick back and
let whatever was bothering him so much just drift away. I wanted to
make sure to get everything done ahead of time, so that I could
shower and dress better before he got home. As it was, I was
standing there in the kitchen in an apron and panties -- I was
notorious for being a messy cook and really wanted to not have to
do laundry again.
     
    I had just bent over to get
the roast out of the oven when I heard the door close. The front
door. The door that had a straight shot view to the kitchen.
Whoops.
     
    I sheepishly raised up,
saying "Hey there, didn't think you'd be home this soon. I was
getting your dinner fixed and I didn't want to get messy, you know
how I am..." I hadn't turned around yet, but wanted to explain.
Slowly I just moved my head to see if he was upset. The look on his
face wasn't anger or anything of the sort, but I had a hard time
placing the emotion. It was something I had never seen in his eyes
before.
     
    "It's ok, Lacey. I
appreciate the nice meal. You may want to put some clothes on
before dinner, however." he managed, clearing his throat in the
middle of it. Clearly I had made him uncomfortable.
     
    Way to go,
dumbass , I thought to myself.
     
    I put everything on the
table, trying not to reach too far across because my apron kept
shifting. I had side-boob going everywhere and god forbid I had a
nipple slip out in front of step-daddy Michael. Plus my panties
kept riding up, making my respectable briefs look more like a
thong. I really need to pay more attention to the time of day when
I plan out these things, so I wouldn't be caught like this
again.
     
    After the table was properly
set and everything looked melt-in-your-mouth wonderful, I left to
change clothes and get ready to eat. As I was leaving, he started
texting away to someone. Part of me wondered if he was seeing
someone so soon after his separation, and part of me wondered why I
cared. Whatever and whoever he was doing, he stopped texting as
soon as I got back to the table, dressed appropriately in a white
button-up top and black jeans.
     
    "Much better, Lacey,
thanks." he said, smiling.
     
    We passed the rolls and ate,
swapping stories of our days with one another, and laughing at
random intervals. It was a good meal and as I wiped a bit of gravy
from the corners of my mouth I told him about the
movies.
     
    "Got all of them, Michael.
Ready for a Battlestar Galactica marathon?"
     
    He didn't reply, just beamed
up with those delicious brown eyes and radiated happiness through
me as if it were a laser. I was so pleased to give him a good day,
determined that this is what he needed to slip out of that two-week
funk he'd plunged into.
     
    We piled up on the couch and
started the shows. I wasn't feeling the storyline, I'm more of a
horror gal myself, but it was making him happy so I languished on,
trying not to fall asleep. However, there were times when I nearly
nodded off. Once I caught myself napping and jerked so harshly back
into a sitting position I wrenched something in my neck.
     
    "Owww, fuck that hurts!", I
stammered before catching myself. I tried to rub it, but it wasn't
working.
     
    "Here let me help", Michael
replied, as I laid over to have him rub my neck. His strong hands
wrapped around my neck and massaged, tenderly at first, a little
rougher later. Between those hands working out that tired, sore
muscle and the yawn-fest of shows, I was a goner. I moaned before I
could stop myself, it was just feeling too good. Michael,
thankfully, didn't respond. He must have been deep into the show. I
sat there, shifting to where his hands were not only on my neck but
my shoulders. Working