Mini NoNoWriMo -- 410 words

When she offers him a bed in return for a ride home, he looks at her for a long moment, and takes his time thinking about it. "You don't know a damn thing about me," he points out, and Nancy shrugs. She hasn't told him what she does for a living; he wouldn't believe her if she did.

"I'll take my chances," she says, because although she knows full well he's a dangerous man in his own right, he's no danger to her. He's tired enough of cheap motel rooms and heartburn from lousy truck-stop food that he's willing to chance her hospitality---which secretly amuses Nancy. If she's a danger to him in any way, it's in seductive domesticity---old-fashioned home cooking and enthusiastic sex.

The drive that shouldn't take but an hour runs close to two and a half, thanks to the Bike Week traffic, but the heater in his old Impala works just fine, and she stays awake enough in the warm car to give him directions.

"You leave your door unlocked all the time?" he asks when she stumbles up the back steps and into the kitchen, legs stiff from the long drive.

"Sometimes," she says, trying to remember what she has in the way of leftovers. She steers him to the upstairs bathroom, where he can shower and get cleaned up while she fixes the speciality of the house. By the time her guest reappears, she's sprinted through a shower in the downstairs bath, changed into a crisp housedress with a fresh apron, and started heating leftovers in one pan and beating up a panful of biscuits.

The refrigerator yields a cold hamburger pattie, some sausage, the tail end of a ham, and a scant cupful of leftover barbecued beef. She stir-fries the lot and makes pan gravy to accompany it over biscuits. Nothing fancy, but judging by the way he digs in, it's better than what he's been getting lately. She doesn't say anything, because she's got an inkling that his domestic situation has something tragic about it, and she doesn't want to get him riled up. At the same time, she's certain he doesn't have any steady women in his life---and she's aware of how he's ignored his physical desires.

It turns out that there's a vast divide between what he wants and what he'll allow himself. His performance is perfunctory, bordering on mechanical. He works on her like she came with an instruction manual: Apply stimulation to points A and B for three to five minutes until subject moans, then transfer stimulus to point C until suitably lubricated. This is not going to work.

Nancy gets loose and pins him. He's not expecting that, otherwise she wouldn't stand a chance, but he goes motionless when she puts her mouth to work on him. "You don't have to---" he starts to say, and she just grins and licks him where it'll do him some good.

No, she doesn't have to, but that doesn't mean she's not going to. After all, cooking is only half the package deal.

Mini NoNoWriMo -- 410 words

When she offers him a bed in return for a ride home, he looks at her for a long moment, and takes his time thinking about it. "You don't know a damn thing about me," he points out, and Nancy shrugs. She hasn't told him what she does for a living; he wouldn't believe her if she did.

"I'll take my chances," she says, because although she knows full well he's a dangerous man in his own right, he's no danger to her. He's tired enough of cheap motel rooms and heartburn from lousy truck-stop food that he's willing to chance her hospitality---which secretly amuses Nancy. If she's a danger to him in any way, it's in seductive domesticity---old-fashioned home cooking and enthusiastic sex.

The drive that shouldn't take but an hour runs close to two and a half, thanks to the Bike Week traffic, but the heater in his old Impala works just fine, and she stays awake enough in the warm car to give him directions.

"You leave your door unlocked all the time?" he asks when she stumbles up the back steps and into the kitchen, legs stiff from the long drive.

"Sometimes," she says, trying to remember what she has in the way of leftovers. She steers him to the upstairs bathroom, where he can shower and get cleaned up while she fixes the speciality of the house. By the time her guest reappears, she's sprinted through a shower in the downstairs bath, changed into a crisp housedress with a fresh apron, and started heating leftovers in one pan and beating up a panful of biscuits.

The refrigerator yields a cold hamburger pattie, some sausage, the tail end of a ham, and a scant cupful of leftover barbecued beef. She stir-fries the lot and makes pan gravy to accompany it over biscuits. Nothing fancy, but judging by the way he digs in, it's better than what he's been getting lately. She doesn't say anything, because she's got an inkling that his domestic situation has something tragic about it, and she doesn't want to get him riled up. At the same time, she's certain he doesn't have any steady women in his life---and she's aware of how he's ignored his physical desires.

It turns out that there's a vast divide between what he wants and what he'll allow himself. His performance is perfunctory, bordering on mechanical. He works on her like she came with an instruction manual: Apply stimulation to points A and B for three to five minutes until subject moans, then transfer stimulus to point C until suitably lubricated. This is not going to work.

Nancy gets loose and pins him. He's not expecting that, otherwise she wouldn't stand a chance, but he goes motionless when she puts her mouth to work on him. "You don't have to---" he starts to say, and she just grins and licks him where it'll do him some good.

No, she doesn't have to, but that doesn't mean she's not going to. After all, cooking is only half the package deal.