“Babe, I like the way it sounds. You know a hell of a lot more than food service, but you definitely need a commercial kitchen. When you cook at home like this, I get all kinds of dirty thoughts. And I don’t think that’s good for business.”
“Well, this woman asked me to cook in her kitchen, which is great, but yeah, I need a space. I’d have to take a loan from you, but my goal would be to pay you back.”
I shouldn’t be mad, because the fact she even considered taking a loan from me was progress. Still, it bugged me.
“Jules, it’s not a loan. It’s ours, and I say go for it.”
“But I want to, and the cool thing is if I get big, then I could hire some staff, treat them right. I’d want to take care of people. Women. Single moms.”
“No buts, and that’s beautiful. I don’t doubt you’ll get big.” Then I shut her up real quick with my tongue in my mouth and my hand on her ass. “But you’re never paying me back,” I mumbled into her mouth.
She didn’t have time to respond because I gripped her from behind and slid her onto the white quartz counter. Good thing it was a mess, because we were going to make it messier.
Jules’s hands went up the back of my T-shirt as I fumbled with her apron. I untied the flimsy piece of fabric and tossed it aside. Breaking free from her lips, I pulled my shirt overhead and yanked Jules’s leggings over her bare feet, then her thong. After shoving her tank and bra to the side, I found her nipple and sucked until she squirmed.
I traced a finger over her top until it came to the top of her landing strip. When I spent a minute too long teasing her nub, she moaned, “Please,” so I slipped in one finger, and then two. Her sticky fingers traced my waist.
“Love this,” she whispered, and ran a fingernail around the outline of my newest tattoo.
A turtle, as requested by my daughter.
It wasn’t nearly as badass as my scorpion, but it meant everything. The tortoise was slow, like our love. Jules and I were a slow-burning torch, one that never would fully extinguish. Of course, on the turtle’s shell was the name Darla, because she was our protector in all of this, the hard casing that kept us together.
At some point, I couldn’t think about the turtle anymore because Jules was riding my fingers and getting herself there, and I wanted to be a more active participant. Dropping to my knees—fuck the bad one—I put my mouth on her. It was my favorite meal.
It didn’t take long for me to get her off. She came apart with a delicious moan, my name rolling off her tongue in that way that always made me hard. Afterward, I stayed the course, riding out her waves until Jules tugged on my hair.
Yep, it was long enough to do that now. I’d let it grow back out.
She yanked me up and sealed her mouth over mine, not one bit bashful about her taste all over my face and lips. Her delicate fingers tugged at my zipper and pushed my jeans over my ass. Lucky for her, I was commando. As usual.
“You can’t walk around here with no boxers ... I keep telling you,” she grumbled. But I knew she liked it.
“I’m usually wearing pants.”
Her hand wrapped as much as it could around me and started working me hard.
Fuck it, I couldn’t wait. I pushed her back onto the counter, bowls flying and spoons landing next to her face, and shoved inside. I took a moment after I was fully seated to revel in my life. It waslove all, or whatever you wanted to call it. Cat’s game, a tie. Jules and I had both won. We had each other and our daughter.
And this—me deep inside her, no barriers except that she was on the pill. I had to convince her to marry me first, then babies.
One thing at a time, I reminded myself. It was like she was the teacher, and I was the student. She taught me well, so I had to go with her cues.
“Come on, King Drew.”
She nudged my ass with her foot, and I started moving. I took her in long, leisurely strokes, my movements slow and seductive, until neither of us could take it anymore. Then I took her hard and fast, my thumb strumming her spot and the heel of her foot kneading my ass until we both exploded in climax.
“Babe, I don’t think you’re going to be able to cater anything out of this kitchen. Ever. Seeing you in that apron does something to me, and we’re violating every health code in the book.”
Jules
Dinner was ready. I paced the kitchen while Drew went to the airport to pick up his mother. Luckily, my mom was being civil to both Drew and me—not loving, but tolerant—and was reading to Darla in the other room. Knowing Darla, she was probably reading to my mom. She wasn’t one to sit around and listen to someone else. She was a take-charge person like her dad.
It was the night before Thanksgiving, and I’d made beef Wellington and eggplant parmesan. No way was I serving Drew’s hot-blooded Southern mom only vegetables. I’d perfected my puff pastry the week before, and tried not to breathe while stuffing the slab of raw meat inside it.
The house smelled delicious, thanks to the apple-spice candles burning in the living room and the fruit cobbler in the oven. I smoothed my sweater and rolled my sore foot a little. It still ached from too much use, but hey, I needed to be mobile in order to cook.
“Mom!” Darla came running into the kitchen. “They’re here.”
