His Personal Chef

18

 I should not be in this kitchen flirting with this man.

I should not be in this kitchen cooking with this man.

I should not be in this kitchen having dirty thoughts about this man.

I want Tristan, and I want him badly. So I lied. I'm not a hundred percent drunk. I sobered up just enough once I took that catnap in his car. I didn't want him to take me home just yet; I needed more time with him while under the influence. I'm aware of what is happening and what I'm saying; however, I can't control every little thing coming out of my mouth. I wanted to slap myself for even suggesting marriage or getting pregnant. I'm a career woman with much careering left to do—I don't need a child at the moment.

I place the macaroni in the oven and then see Tristan staring at me. I roll my eyes, walking into the freezer. I need to sober up a little quicker.

"Wow, it's massive in here." Tristan looks around the freezer from the doorway. "Wanna have dessert while we wait?"

"I...umm...I guess." Real smooth, Lena. "Ice cream?" I ask, and he nods. I walk deeper into the freezer, grabbing my personal pint of vanilla ice cream. He moves aside and follows me back into the kitchen. I place the ice cream on the counter and grab two spoons and bowls.

"Do you have chocolate syrup?" He asks, and I nod, heading to grab a bottle. We don't speak as we make our bowls of ice cream, and I watch as he smothers his ice cream in chocolate syrup. Gross. I mean, I love chocolate, but damn that's too much. "Don't screw your face up." He closes the top.

"That's too much chocolate." I shove a spoonful of ice cream in my mouth.

"I do love me some chocolate." He slowly smirks at me with a wink.

"Don't say things like that." I subtly close my thighs. Fuck this man.

"Say what? I do love chocolate. What are you thinking about?" He eats a spoonful of ice cream, and some syrup falls on his chin.

"You wanna get that for me?" he asks, and I shake my head no. Absolutely not. Damn, he isnt playing fair. I'm supposed to be the one with the upper hand here. We're in my territory, for crying out loud. I stand up, moving quickly to the stereo system in the corner. Tristan chuckles, and I hit play. I need to fill the space with something other than our voices. Taking a deep breath, I walk back, taking my seat. The syrup on his chin is gone. Good.

"We have thirty minutes before the mac and cheese is ready."

"Thirty minutes...hmm... I can do a lot in thirty minutes." His voice gets huskier, and I catch myself leaning in. his woodsy cologne wrapping me in a safety blanket—shit shit shit.

"I never had sex in my kitchen." I slap my hand over my mouth. Lena, get your shit together.

Tristan's eyebrow quirks. "I could arrange that. This countertop is big enough for what I have in mind."

Health department.

Health department.

I will get shut down.

"No, thank you," I say breathlessly. I stand up, wanting to put as much space between us as possible. "The health department."

"I'll clean up." He fires back.

Oh, fuck me. I close my eyes, turning my back to him. Get a hold of yourself, Lena, please.

I feel him step behind me, and his hands grip my waist. I turn around, and he slides his arms around me, pulling me to him—my pulse thumps. I lay my hands flat on his sexy and muscular pecs, attempting to push him away. He isnt letting me go.

He pulls me tighter, whispering in my ear. "I'm not letting you go this time."

I close my eyes yet again. What the hell do I do? As long as his hands are on me, I'm a goner. His lips graze my jaw, moving towards my mouth. Man down! Man down! His mouth crashes down on mine, his tongue taking full possession. The chocolate and vanilla taste like heaven coming off his tongue. His tongue trails a heated path to my neck. When he sucks at my pulse, I'm a goner.

"Tristan," I moan.

His hand slips down my back, cupping my ass, and he squeezes hard enough that awakens my inner vixen. Fuck the health department right now. His other hand slips underneath my shirt, moving dangerously close to my bra clasp. Lucky for both of us, I'm not wearing one. His hum lets me know he approves. Both of his hands move to cup my breast.

"I can get used to this." He groans in pleasure.

"Likewise," I whisper. His erection presses against my stomach, and the little vixen is ready to be devoured. I whine as his hands let go of my breast, but I purr in excitement as he works at the button on my pants. He takes a step back and looks at me. Oh, that look is enough to make anyone drop their panties.

"Take your pants off and get on the countertop." He commands. I would be lying if I didn't tell you; I had second thoughts. Once I get on that countertop, everything is free game. Getting on that countertop, I know there is no going back, and I won't be able to run away. "Now,"

I work off my pants and thong in one go, walking over to the countertop. I look over my shoulder. "I'm not that tall. I can't hop up there."

Tristan smirks, helping me on the counter with ease. "Perfect." He says, spreading my legs open. I feel the cool breeze hit my core, and I can feel my wetness dripping. I watch Tristan as he licks his lips, looking at my pussy as if he is starving. Without breaking eye contact with it, he grabs the chocolate syrup. Now, I'm all for food sex, but no, sir, not this. I try to close my legs, and he stops me.

"I'm going to enjoy this." He says, pushing me back gently. I lay on my back, anticipating what would happen next, which I should know already. I jump as he pours the syrup on my pubic bone, which starts to slide down, mixing with my wetness. Not a second goes by, and I feel his tongue licking and sucking it all up. Dear God, please don't let any get inside of me. "Chocolate on chocolate, my favorite." He whispers against my lips before flicking his tongue against my clit.

"Fuck." I cry out. "Tristan." My fingers get tangled in his hair as I ride his face. Needing to let go of this release. He pulls my hands out of his hair, standing up. I open my mouth to protest, but he works at his pants, dropping them along with his boxers. Tristan looks to the right, and I follow his eyes to the oven. "Twenty minutes." I rush out, looking back at him. I will not let my food burn, and I'll be damned.

He pulls me towards the edge of the counter and hovers over me. I feel the head of his erection pushing at my entrance, and I feel myself scooting down more, trying to meet him halfway. When he kisses me, I can taste the chocolate and me—sending another wave of pleasure through my body.

"Arent we a little eager." He teases, pulling back, and then his hips move forward as he slowly slides into me. "You. Are. Mine." He declares as he thrusts harder into me. I work at taking off my shirt; I'm burning up. As if waiting for it, he picked up the chocolate syrup just as my shirt hit the floor. I don't protest as he pours the syrup on my breast. I knew he would clean it up and that he did.

We fucked like tonight was our last night on Earth, our last night seeing each other. I was in heaven as my third orgasm came crashing down. But the kitchen, not so much; it wasn't until I smelled something burning—the food. Tristan wasn't letting me go so quickly. He lifts me, still buried inside of me, as he walks over to the oven, turning it off. Next thing you know, my back is against the wall as he fucks me harder.

Not signing that contract has to be the best thing I've done since opening this restaurant.