Canine.

I could devour you, I think as you launch into an explanation of the dish you're preparing. Ravage you, right here, while you're still monologuing about garlic and thyme.

You turn away, still talking, but that's alright- I'm too busy watching you to be really listening.

The collar of your shirt brushes against your neck the way my lips ache to. Your shoulders move in a rhythm as you chop and season, distracting me far more than I'd admit. Then you glance back over your shoulder, eyebrows raised as though you'd just asked me a question and caught me missing it. A glint of light catches your canine just right- those damn fangs in that mischievous smile undo me every time.

"Nevermind that," I say, sliding my arms around your waist and across your ribs. "Dinner can wait."

You turn toward me, grin roguish and sharp. Your voice drops an octave, low and sultry: "Oh-ho, really, now?"

And just like that, the steak is no longer the only meal on the menu.