“A random question,” he commented, licking a stray drop of glaze off his utensil, and I followed the lap of his tongue with bated breath.
“I—I was just thinking that she seems an odd choice for someone like you. You, who likes everything in perfect order, everything running efficiently and smoothly.”
His eyes lit up in understanding.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” I said hurriedly when I realized how my comment sounded. “Telaana is a talented culinarian. Thewyldenroast she makes? It’s the best I’ve ever tasted. But she’s…”
“Absentminded?” he guessed.
“Yes,” I said, shoulders sagging, a sheepish smile crossing my face. “It’s not usually a trait that you see often in a professional kitchen. So I just wondered if there’s a story there.”
“Yes and no,” he replied. “She’s an old family friend who fell on difficult times. I had an opening in my kitchens, and she had a mother who was well known for herwyldenroast.”
My lips lifted slightly.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he quoted, repeating my words with a gentle quirk of his lips. “I expect everyone to do their assigned duties within the keep and do them well. But for Telaana…I am more lenient than I likely would be on anyone else.”
I…liked that. Most wouldn’t guess that theKyzaireof Erzos with his icy gaze and grim expression had a soft spot. Most wouldn’t guess that it was bigger than they could imagine.
Kythel noticed the goblet on the table and swiftly changed the subject with, “And Drovos wine? You spoil me,sasiral.”
I grinned.
The night continued on, soft and slow. We took our evening meals together often since Kythel was away or working in his office most mornings and afternoons. But tonight’s meal felt different. It felt…significant. In a way that I couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Kythel’s eyes gleamed with every tidbit I told him about my travels, with every course I served where I gave a backstory on its creations, its inspiration, where I’d been living at the time, what my life had looked like then.
We had to take a break between the third and fourth courses because Kythel came up behind me as I was garnishing the plate of spiced Luxirian fillets, his hands gripping my hips as he nibbled along my neck. I gave a breathless moan as his fingers dragged the hem of my dress up, and he found me wet and aching, already turned on by the heady looks he’d cast my way over the rim of his goblet throughout the first half of dinner.
He wordlessly bent me over the prep counter, shoved my dress up until it was bunched around my waist, and took me from behind. His hands dipped into the front of my dress, pinching and tugging at my sensitive nipples as I cried out around his thick, searing cock, stretching me to my limits.
It was fast and raw and quick and uncontrolled, both of us needing a little relief. And when it was done, after I washed his dripping come from between my legs upstairs, we sat back down at the table and I took a long drag of wine to soothe my parched tongue and hoarse throat.
When it came time for dessert, I went to the icebox tucked under the prep counter and took out the final course. The Kylorr didn’t typically have a course reserved solely for dessert, which I thought was a shame.
The tart I’d made was beautiful. The pastry crust was perfectly golden, the lilac-colored cream silky and smooth, flavored with ripesyaanberries from Stellara, and I’d sugared and candied the various New Earth fruits I’d fanned out on the surface. Deep and ripe figs, seeds bursting, the inner fruit as red as blood. Fat jewel-like blackberries the size of old coins. Edible white flowers I’d foraged in Stellara, which I found cut the sweetness perfectly. A smattering of frozen blueberries I’d dipped in a citrus glaze were tucked between the other fruits, like hidden treasures.
It was perfectly beautiful and neat, sweet but sophisticated, deliberate, with a bit of an icy bite. Just like Kythel, I thought.
When I served it to him, I said, “When I visited the New Earth colonies for the first time, it was to New Inverness with my father. While he was prepping the kitchen during the day, I would explore the city, and I came across a little patisseriethat served these beautiful tarts, bursting with fresh fruits. So I made one for you. The base cream is with thesyaanberries in Stellara. The other fruits are from New Earth.”
Kythel shook his head in amazement. “How did you get all these ingredients?”
“I have my ways,” I said with a small smile.
“You also have a talent for making things beautiful,” he said next, dipping his spoon into the tart, breaking off the crumbly crust before sliding it into his mouth.
“That’s because of my father,” I said.
“Ah, because culinarians focus on presentation of their food?”
“No, because he didn’t,” I answered. “My father didn’t like fuss. He believed the beauty of food happened on the palette, in the brain, in the heart. His best creations were also ridiculously ugly. Brilliant but ugly.”
Kythel chuckled around the groan of delight as the flavor of the tart burst on his tongue, and my smile widened, watching him.
“Until I grew older and realized that the wealthy families that brought him into their grand householdswantedbeauty. For their parties. For their friends. Or even the people they hated.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You were the mind behind the beauty.”
