His tongue is everywhere at once—circling my clit, dipping inside me, lapping up the mixture of chocolate and my own wetness. His hands grip my thighs hard enough to bruise, spreading me open for him and refusing to let me beg for a moment of mercy.
“Take it,” he growls against me when I try closing them anyway because it’s all too much. “Take everything I’m giving you.”
One of his hands releases my thigh to slide up my body, finding my breast and pinching my nipple hard enough to make me yelp. The pleasure-pain combination is too much. I’m climbing higher and higher, my whole body tensing, my hands scrambling for purchase on the slick counter and finding nothing to hold onto except the cold steel edge.
Bastian adds his fingers. Two of them push inside me while his mouth focuses on my clit, curling and stroking in a rhythm that matches the relentless pressure of his tongue.
I’m so close. So fucking close. My thighs are shaking. My spine is arching off the counter. Everything is tightening, coiling, building toward?—
This.
It all converges at once: Bastian’s fingers curling inside me to hit the perfect spot, his tongue swishing against my clit, his other hand twisting my nipple, and the absolutely filthy sounds he’s making as he works me over.
“Come for me,” he commands. “Come on my tongue, let me taste it, give me everything.”
I can hear myself making insane sounds. High, desperate, keening noises that I’ve never made before. Bastian doesn’t stop,just keeps working me through it until I’m oversensitive and shaking and begging him to stop, please, it’s too much, I can’t take anymore…
But he doesn’t listen. This is Bastian Hale, and Bastian Hale doesn’t stop until he’s wrung every last drop of pleasure from my body like I’m a dishrag and he’s determined to leave me bone-dry.
“One more,” he growls against my trembling center as I flop around and whimper wordless pleas for him toplease let me breathe. “You’re almost done, darling. But first, you’re going to give me one more.”
Bastian rises to his feet and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. That cocky smirk is shiny with chocolate, cream, honey, and me.
His fingers work at his belt and pull it free. “You’re going to takeeverythingI give you, understand?”
Impossible,I want to say.There’s nothing left in me.
But my center says otherwise. She’s absolutely frothing to be filled and made whole again. With rough hands, Bastian drags me to the edge of the counter, my ass sliding across the remnants of honey and chocolate, and positions himself between my thighs.
He’s still in his boxer briefs, but I can feel him, hard, huge, and ready, pressing against my entrance. The anticipation alone is almost enough to make me come again.
I hear the rasping of fabric as he steps out of his boxers, but my eyes are rolling back in their sockets, so all I see is the ceiling.Between my legs, I feel that first blunt sensation of his cock, the terrifying promise of how huge it is.
“I can’t—” I say. “I can’t, I can’t?—”
But that just pisses him off. Snarling in anger, Bastian loops a hand around the back of my head and forces me up, until our foreheads touch and I’m staring right into the bluest, blackest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Listen to me,” he says as his thumb passes lazily, almost insolently over my clit and the head of his dick teases my folds without entering. “You can. You can and you fucking will. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, Eliana Hunter—and yes, you’re going to break for me, but you’re going to do it because youcan.So I want you to look in my eyes. Look in my eyes and do not ever look away. I’m going to fuck you and I’m going to ruin you, and you’re going to watch me the whole fucking time—and in the end, you’ll know that there is nothing in the world you cannot do. Because you were made for this. For me. Do you understand, Eliana?”
It’s not a rhetorical question. He’s waiting for an answer with an unwatchable intensity. It’s like staring straight into the sun from up close and personal, except this sun has cruel, brutal fingers wound through the roots of your hair and looking away is not an option.
So, as Bastian’s thickness starts to push into my wetness and he has me folded in half on his kitchen counter, sticky with sweet residue, limp and boneless from coming already, legs locked around his waist, hands clinging to his biceps, with strawberry and wintergreen on my tongue and chocolate and cream and honey in my nose and drooling insanity billowing through every inch of my veins, I keep my eyes on his and I give him the onlyanswer I can, the only answer possible, the only one he’d ever accept:
“Yes, Chef.”
Then he breaks me.
I wake myself up with a moan.
My whole body is trembling. There’s a fine sheen of sweat coating every inch of my skin, my underwear issoaked, and my heart is galloping in my chest. For a disorienting moment, I’m still there: among the gleaming countertops, the bowls of fruit, with Bastian’s cock poised at my?—
Then the test kitchen dissolves into nothing but darkness. My blindness crashes back in. The real world follows close behind.
I’m in Bastian’s bed. In the middle of the night.
And my hand is?—
Oh, God.
