Walker
Alivia moaned. She moaned so fucking loud and closed her eyes and grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my chef’s whites as she chewed. “This …” She swallowed. “This issooogood. I don’t even have words.”
She’d just taken the first bite of the halibut, and my dick was hard.
It wasn’t just the noises she was making or her closed eyes or the way her head had fallen back, exposing her beautiful throat, that turned me on.
It was also the last hour we’d spent cooking together, which was the most creative I’d felt in a very long time. Sixty goddamn minutes of straight-up foreplay, where I watched her fingers move throughout the kitchen, saw her mouth part to take in the samples I fed her, watched her tongue lick those gorgeous lips.
“And this.” She’d speared a piece of filet with a dollopof blue cheese butter on top and put it in her mouth. “I could eat this every day of my life.”
Since I didn’t have a renge-style spoon at this restaurant, I gave her a regular soup spoon so she could take in some of the broth of the vegan ramen, along with a fork to twirl the noodles.
“Ohhh, yes.” She took a second bite. “The corn and tofu—perfect.” She cut off a slice of the steak, where the end had crisped, and using her fingers, she put it in my mouth. “It’s everything, isn’t it?”
I already knew how it tasted.
The second I had seen the temperature of the meat and taken in the aroma that was coming from it, I had been positive we had a winner.
“It is delicious,” I agreed.
Even though food was the last thing on my mind or what I wanted, she served me some halibut.
“Yep, that too.”
She couldn’t use her fingers for the ramen, so she gathered some of the noodles and toppings and held the fork in front of my face, our eyes locking as I took the bite.
“A little more chili oil.”
“Huh. You think?”
“For my taste, yes. For the event, no. Not everyone likes spice.”
She leaned her side into the prep counter, her teeth taking ahold of her bottom lip like that was the fourth course. “You’re talking like you’re convinced.”
“Of what?”
“What’s best for the event. That can only mean one thing …”
I didn’t know how she had done it. How she turned a moment around that had started with me balling up everyfucking menu attempt and tossing it across my office. How she forgave me for screaming and gifted me a painting that was going to be displayed in my home. How she had me close my eyes and visualize a cabin in the mountains, creating so much inspiration that I came into the kitchen and turned those ideas into this.
Three main dishes that were so strong, they could be on any of my restaurants’ menus.
I held the side of her face, my fingers going across her ear and over her hair. “Since we came in here, I didn’t think about walking out once.”
“You didn’t scream either.”
“And I didn’t hate even a second of it.” I nodded toward her. “That’s because of you.”
She took a step closer. “I did what any sous chef would—that’s all.”
“I work with sous chefs every goddamn day, Alivia. I scream at all of them. So, that’s not true.” The blue of her eyes was fucking tugging at me. Goading me. “I don’t know what it is about you … but I want to cook for you.”
“That’s because you’re obsessed with feeding me.”
“That, yes.” I nodded. “But it goes deeper. You brought out something in me tonight. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time.”
“That was my intention.” She leaned her body against mine, linking one of our hands. “What are you going to do about the event? Tonight went fabulously well, but what are you feeling in here.” With her other hand, she touched my chest. “It’s only that feeling that matters. Nothing else.”
