Table of Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 1...
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Table of Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25
Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36
Table of Contents Painting Her Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18
Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Taste Thanks for Reading
Painting Her
A Triumvirate Press Taster By Natalie Knight
Copyright 2017 by Triumvirate Press All rights reserved This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only. Sign up for Natalie’s Nymphos to get new book updates, freebies, bonus stories and more!!
Dedication
To my fantastic readers, thank you for your support.
Chapter 1
Blake
Call it a universal truth. All men want sex, myself included. But why then—with this hot, naked woman in front of me—am I feeling… uninspired? I'm in my studio, mixing paint and brushing it across a canvas in fast strokes. I've even found the perfect pink to brush on a nipple. It's night, and the lights of New York City can be seen just outside of my window. The model—Mia, or Marissa, or Melanie—has one hand shoved down my pants, and she's petting me and parting her legs, and all I can think about is
how pathetic this art is. It feels like something I've done a million times already. "Blake, baby, you feel so good," she purrs. "Give me that one-eyed python." "Don't do that." "Do what, baby?" "Give it a pet name," I say. "But it's so impressive," she purrs again, "that it deserves its own name." She slides her hand down further, and I don't stop her, but I ignore her advances. Why? Because this painting can't wait. When I start a new piece, I'm compelled to finish it, and like a fish on a hook, I have no choice but to be pulled in and see it through. Art is as much a part of me as breathing, or eating. It's my life. I place the long, wooden handle of the paintbrush between my teeth and sit back. Something is missing… It's flat. I decide to bring in white paint, mixing it with my current palette and hoping to add light to the
piece. Maybe give it some depth and dimension. I use a palette knife to scrape on rolls of paint for texture. I use a thin brush for details, and work with the concentration of a greyhound eyeing a rabbit—my focus is singular. I drag the brush against the canvas again, adding color here and there, then finally finishing the last of the model's curves—her legs and the curve of her inner thighs. I just need to get those right. There's something about legs that can be so expressive. "It's perfect," she coos, looking up at the canvas. The truth is, it's far from perfect. Sure, it's good, but it looks like every other piece I've painted. I want something new. I want something more. No, it's more than a want; it's a need—to elevate my art. The media will tell you that what all men only care about are a woman's physical attributes—her scent, what she's wearing, whether or not her pushup bra is bringing her tits front and center. Don't get
me wrong—I'm more than happy to sleep with a hot woman with any of those attributes, but what the media doesn't tell you is that guys also like a woman who is confident and independent. And this model here in front of me? She isn't showing me any of that. I walk away from the canvas, and the model stops me. "Should I stay?" she says, with one hand on my arm. "For what?" I can tell that my answer disappoints her. "I could stay and pose some more," she says, "so you can finish the painting." "It's done. I don't want to look at it any more." "In that case," she says, "we can have a little fun now." Her mouth curves into a suggestive smile. She walks over to me, swaying her hips, and presses her lips to my neck, giving it a playful nibble. Then she brings her mouth to my ear and whispers, "Tell me, baby…what's your biggest
fantasy? Do you like it rough or romantic? Did you dream about me last night?" Those words send a thrill down my body but I resist the urge to react, and when I don't respond, she continues. "Where should I put my mouth next?" Her eyes wait for an answer, but when I don't give one, she returns to my body, both of her hands on my chest. "Here? Or maybe here?" she asks, moving her mouth down my bare chest in slow circles. I still don't respond. "No? Well, how about here?" she says, moving her warm lips down until they are resting at the top of my waistband. My cock is now standing stiffer than any of the tools in this studio, and she smiles. "I think I'm getting warmer," she purrs. She starts to unbutton my pants. "Now let me kiss that big, hard—" But I stop her. I need a woman that inspires me in this studio. Not another nameless model eager to get into my pants. Been there, done that…and more than just a
few times. "Maybe some other time," I say. Her surprise turns to shock, and I watch as she gathers her things, still in disbelief. As soon as she leaves and I hear the door to the studio shut behind her, I walk back over to the painting. It's not a bad portrait, but it's not great either. There's simply no emotion. It doesn't evoke anything in me. The longer I stare at the painting, the angrier I become. I can feel a new sense of irritation wash over me. I can't hold back. I ball my hand into a fist and punch it through the canvas. The material rips open, and where the model should be, there's now a gaping hole. There. Now no one will be able to look at this. Then I grab a can of black paint, along with a wide brush. I dip it into the paint and in big angry strokes I destroy the remaining canvas, painting obscene Xs over my work. I'm destroying the canvas so hard and fast that I feel a bead of sweat zigzag down my face.
I look down at the destroyed art and kick it away in disgust. What the fuck am I doing with my life? I need to be creating great art, not mastering mediocrity. I need a new muse.
Chapter 2
Katherine
Writer’s block. I’ve heard about it. But for all the years I struggled to become a published writer and even after my first book sold, I was never at a loss for words. Until now. They say this happens after you’ve had a bestseller. Well, I’m not only blocked, I’m paralyzed, motionless, incapable of putting one word next to another. My agent called today. Just like every other day for the last two weeks. I’m behind with the first
draft. I’ve sent every call to voice mail. I just can’t face her. “Katherine, I know you’re listening to these. At least send me a text. Let me know you’re alive.” The messages are beginning to sound frantic. But I still can’t respond. What would I tell her? That I feel like Jack Nicholson in The Shining? That I don’t have a first chapter, let alone a first draft. No, it’s better for everyone concerned that I let it go to voice mail. Maybe she’ll get the hint, and tell the publishers I’m dead, or at the very least I’m in a coma. That’s the bad news. The good news is, Dale is coming home tonight and I’m planning on holding on to all six feet, two inches of his deliciousness. His light-green eyes pull me in every time. And tonight will be no exception. Besides, I have writer’s block. And I personally know of no better way to unstick the flows than to, well… sometimes a girl just needs a
good release…or two…or three. My best friend Robin thinks I should leave him. Robin and I have been bffs since forever. Well, actually since we were both kicked out of Mr. Stubbin's ninth grade science class for giggling uncontrollably while he explained the reproductive system of a frog. We just couldn’t image kissing a frog no matter what they say in fairy tales. Anyway, from that day in detention until now, we’ve been besties, and pretty much agreed on everything. Except when it comes to Dale. She called the other day and when I told her he was out of town, she made some cryptic comment about him staying away longer. I didn’t respond so she took it as a sign to launch into one of her infamous diatribes. “Look, girl. I’ve held my tongue for two years. But you’ve gone past my threshold of watching what is surely going to be a future train wreck. He’s not the one. He’s a player. He thinks the world is in love with him. And he’s never going
to ask you to marry him.” Robin was never one to mince words. But I couldn’t agree on this. “Dale is the guy I want to spend my life with,” I said, sounding just a tad too whiney. “I want to be married to him. I want children, the seventhousand-square-foot loft in SoHo. I want the whole thing.” Robin just sighed. Loudly. Yes, I know Dale could be arrogant. But his attributes outweighed his arrogance. As the owner of the hottest gallery in New York, a little haughtiness is sometimes necessary. It's gotten us on everyone’s opening night guest list and the best tables at all the must-be-seen-in restaurants. Okay, so the sex isn’t completely mindblowing. But after two years, you’re likely to hit a bit of a dry spell. Like my writing. But tonight’s going to be different. It’s a surprise. Dinner and a show. Oh, and I’m the show. His plane lands at seven and he’ll be home by eight. Just enough time for me to get to his
apartment, cook his favorite steak dinner, open a bottle of red, get the candles going and slip into that barely-there slip I got at La Perla. A little red-laced thingy that will reignite the spark. And hopefully spur my creative juices. A girl can hope, can’t she? Checking to make sure I have everything, including those three-inch red numbers I couldn't say no to at Manolo Blanik’s last month–yet another ding in my book advance money–I hail a taxi and within 20 minutes I'm at Dale's on Christopher Street. I'm humming in all the right places as I waltz into the loft. Except for the bedroom, the place has no other doors. The floor-to-ceiling windows along the north wall offer a spectacular view of the Hudson. Putting the groceries on the kitchen island, I make my way to the windows to take in the last rays of a most remarkable sunset. I've always thought the one disadvantage to this ridiculously beautiful space is the constant drone of city traffic below. Only tonight, I’m not hearing traffic. I’m hearing…wait, could that be… “Well shit.” I say loud enough to be heard
over the moaning. Stomping over, I fling open the bedroom door. What’s behind it? Dale’s naked butt. It’s not as if I haven’t seen his bare ass before. It’s just that I’ve never seen it from this angle, banging back and forth like a hammer on a stubborn nail. “What the fuck!” I yell. Dale looks over his shoulder and I can see he’s searching for something to say. I can’t believe it. His first reaction isn’t to immediately stop what he’s doing with a woman whose every body part has been enhanced. From the dyed platinum hair (top and bottom), to the implanted ginormous breasts. And I will bet large sums of money that flat stomach is the result of a surgeon’s scalpel. “We are sooo done!” I say, in my most outraged voice. In fact, I can’t get out of there fast enough. I’m stunned. Stunned because he’s with another woman. Stunned because Robin was right, he had no plans to marry me. Stunned because he hurt me.
Really hurt me. “Hey, baby. Don’t go,” Dale calls out. I’m moving as fast as I can, gathering up my stuff as I go. There is no way I’m leaving behind a fifty-dollar bottle of wine and a hundred dollars’ worth of steaks for this asshole. As I pack up, Dale is hopping up and down on one foot, trying to get his other leg into his trousers, while attempting to explain that this little romp means nothing. “We met on the plane, baby,” hop, hop, hop. “ It's just sex.” I, of course, ignore all his pleas and force myself to hold back the tears. With my arms full, I head for the front door. “Come on, baby, you’re my world.” “Well then, from now on your world will be empty!” Throwing his keys at him, I walk out.
Chapter 3
Blake
“Of course, ladies, I’d be happy to show you my private collection,” I say with a smile I’ve plastered on for the occasion. “If it’s half as good as what’s hanging on these walls, you’ve got a buyer.” The brunette responds in what has to be the breathiest voice I’ve ever heard. I think she said her name is Monica. Her friend, the redhead, hasn’t let go of my hand since I gave her my card when she walked through the gallery doors. “Blake, what a sexy name.” Monica is
practically purring as she looks me up and down. “It goes with the whole package.” I’m feigning interest, because a sale, after all, is a sale. It’s clear these women don’t have a clue what it takes to be an artist. What do they think? I just throw paint on a canvas? Even Pollock had a plan. I hate being here, up close and personal with prospective buyers. Apart from an opening night, I’m not one to hang around galleries. I’m getting restless and would rather be out on the street with the crowds. My agent, Beth, brushes by and whispers in my ear, “Keep smiling.” “I’m working on it,” I say through a clenched toothed grin. But I’d rather be outside. The Fall air is crisp, the sky crystalline, and the streets full of people. It’s the one week every year when hundreds of New Yorkers go elbow-to-elbow with tourists as they tromp, wide-eyed, up and down the cobblestone streets of the West Village, in search of their next art acquisition.
“You’ve chosen one of my favorites,” I hear Beth say. By the intonation of her voice, I know we’ve made a sale, and I turn and smile in earnest. After all, money is money. I feel I deserve a reward, and decide on a triple espresso. “I’m out for a coffee,” I call over to the Beth and her assistant. “Want anything?” They both decline, so I’m free to take my time. The cobblestone streets and old brick buildings take me back to when I walked this neighborhood, going door to door with my rolled-up canvases, trying to get any gallery owner to show some interest. In some ways, those were the best of times, when ideas flowed freely and I was more fun. Not now. I shake off the melancholy. Pulling up the collar of my blazer, I tuck my hands inside the front pocket of my jeans. There’s a slight breeze, but I can think of nothing better than sitting outdoors with my coffee, watching women
go by. Maybe I’ll find my muse. I grab a small table outside Maxwell’s Coffee Bar when the inside of my jacket begins to vibrate. A text. “Damn.” I thought I could have a moment. Looking at the screen, I see there are several messages and I begin thumbing through. Hey baby so much fun in that elevator, wanna try my escalator. “Nope,” I mutter under my breath and swipe left. Blakey where have you been xxoo I’m hot and ready. “Blakey has left the building,” I say and swipe left. Now this is interesting. Somehow the woman who just bought my painting is inviting me to her place. “Oh, hell no.” Hard swipe left. What are you doing, Blake? In frustration, I put my phone away. This is my time. My coffee. The world is going to have to be put on hold. I’m recharging.
Two triple espressos later, I’m slightly wired and ready to walk off the caffeine. That’s when I see her. “Damn.” This time I say it out loud. I know this because the woman with the two-year-old next to me gives me a raised eyebrow. She thinks I’m crass, or crazy. Either way, I don’t care. The dark-haired woman with the blue eyes, alabaster skin, and sexiest pixie cut I’ve ever seen is getting away, and I need to find out who she is. I throw ten dollars on the table. “Excuse me, excuse me,” I say as I squeeze my way around the baby stroller and diaper bag. When I’m finally out on the street, my legs begin moving faster than they do when I’m on the treadmill at the gym. This woman has definitely caught my attention. I come up short as I round the avenue, because she and a friend have stopped at a gallery window and they’re chatting. Now’s my chance. “Interesting color palette,” I say as a conversation starter, but all I get are quizzical looks from both of them. “I mean, the choice isn’t what
you’d expect. It’s a bit angry, don’t you think?” Miss Pixie isn’t talking, it’s her friend who speaks up. “Yeah, there’s a definite disconnect in the color structure,” she says. If I’m not mistaken, she’s batting her eyelashes at me. Could that be right? In my most nonchalant, non-committal tone I look at her and say, “You think?” I don’t really care what she thinks, I just want to keep the conversation going in the hopes that ‘pixie dust girl’ will say something, and I can get her number. Instead, her friend whose- eyes are now busy taking a grand tour of my body keeps talking. But I -want her to shut up. I re-pose my question to pixie girl, “And what do you think?” She looks at the painting, reflective as she purses her valentine-shaped, deep red, lips. Kissable lips. “Hmmm…I’m not sure,” she says, “this one doesn’t speak to me at all.” I’m instantly enamored. She’s right. This is a pile of shit masquerading as a painting. I look her in the eyes and try to engage her.
“I suppose art is personal,” I say. She gives me that quizzical look again. It’s clear I haven’t got her completely into my orbit, so I continue, “I mean, what we see, and what the artist intended for us to see, can be two different things.” “I suppose you’re right,” Pixie says. “For example, you,” I say smiling by best Ihave-to-have-you smile. “You are someone who should be painted.” She blushes, and then she steps back. It’s clear she’s offended, and that’s a first for me. I always have women eating out of my hand, and other parts too. This one's not buying it, and for the first time, I’m on 'virgin' territory. When she turns to walk into the photo gallery next door, all I can do is follow.
Chapter 4
Katherine
I've never taken a photography class in my life, and I'm not well-versed in the art of it all—if you don't count taking pictures with my cell phone —but I do know what I like. And this photo exhibit is…interesting. It's a photographer's portrait collection called Red Hot. The theme that binds each and every one of these pictures is that the models in these photos are all redheads. "I've always thought gingers were sexy,"
Robin says, secretly giving me a wink as we walk through the gallery. "If this doesn't inspire you with your writing, I don't know what will." In one photo, a man is flexing, and seemingly deep in thought with his gaze somewhere in the distance. The background is blue, matching his eyes. In another portrait, a man stares down the lens of the camera, his red beard and chiseled chest acting as focal points. "Like what you see?" The guy following us asks, walking up behind me and nudging me playfully. “The name’s Blake, by the way.” "Katherine,” I say as I try to think of a reply. “You could say that," I smile. Two can play this game. "Just so you know," he says, pointing and looking straight at my neck, "that freckle is more beautiful than anything I'm seeing on these gingers." "Nice try, but I don't have freckles." "You do," he says, stepping closer and brushing his fingers just below my ear. "It's right
there." The second he touches me, a thrill runs down my body. I find myself blushing against my will. How did he notice that freckle? I completely forgot about it. It's such a small detail…but I have to admit, he's right. I do have a small freckle on my neck. It's there all right, and always has been. I look him up and down for a moment. If I'm being honest, there's something hot about Blake. Sure, he's a great looking guy—built and charming, with piercing eyes, the intensity of a blowtorch. But there's also a poetic confidence about him that is unusual. He seems to view the world through the lens of art—looking through color, symmetry, and shape—and he isn't apologetic about it. I can respect that. But…and this is a serious but—he has some major personality flaws. He's arrogant, and probably goes through women faster than he changes outfits. And I'm not about to get played by another man again—not after Dale. And something tells me that getting involved with Blake is like holding a
match to a gas tank. Total chaos and drama. Robin walks ahead us, scrutinizing the walls of photos, and Blake takes the opportunity to walk beside me. "I have a question and need a woman's advice," he says, changing the subject. "Sure," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "Let's say—hypothetically speaking—I see an attractive woman," he says. "Do I approach her, or is that too direct?" "Why are you asking me?" I say. "I'm the last person you should ask." "Humor me, will you?" "Fine," I say. "I think you should approach her. Honesty is the best policy." With that, Blake's lips turn up into a smile. "I'm glad you said that. Because in that case," he says, stopping and turning to me. "I'm Blake. It's nice to meet you." He reaches his hand out to mine and shakes it. I laugh. "Does that work on women?" He ignores my question and gives me one of
his own. "Have you ever considered modeling?" he says. "Me? You're joking, right?" "Serious as a heart attack." "No," I say, shaking my head. "That's not what I do." "I think you should model for me." I can't help but laugh out loud. "You have the wrong girl," I say. "I'm not the type to give you a private show in your apartment, romping around naked for your sole pleasure." "Not so fast," he says, resting a hand on my arm. "That's not what I mean. I'm a painter, and I'm looking for a new model to paint. Fresh inspiration, if you will." I shake my head. "Of course you are," I say, laughing. "And I'm a secret princess. Nice try, but I call bullshit. I'm not buying it." "You seriously don't believe me, do you?" I shake my head and then watch as he pulls out his phone. "Here," he says. "I'll prove it to you."
He scrolls through his phone, bringing up various websites that have done interviews with him—the Huffington Post art column, Juxtapose magazine, and more. The list is impressive. Then he brings up his Instagram profile. "And this is some of my work," he says, scrolling through pictures of his art." "I had no idea," I say, feeling slightly embarrassed. It's bad enough I'd never heard of him before, and according to his Instagram account, he has close to 750k followers, but I just called him a liar. "So what do you say? Want to model for me?" "Even though you're an artist and Instagramfamous, I'm still not interested in posing for you," I say. "Come on," he says, smiling. "I don't bite." Instead of answering, I just shake my head. "I have an idea," he says. "How about you come to my apartment and look at my work." Just then, Robin walks over to us. She's apparently been eavesdropping because she says, "You should totally go Katherine! This could inspire
your writing." "I don't know, I–" But before I can finish, Robin cuts me off. "Oh wow, look at the time," she says, pulling her cell phone from her purse. "I've gotta go. I uh – I have some plans this evening," she says, in a tone that's not totally convincing. I watch as she gives me a quick hug and kiss on the cheek and leaves the gallery. I watch her until I can't see her anymore. Now that she's gone, it hits me. I realize that I'm standing here, alone with Instagram-famoussuperstar-artist Blake. And he's wearing a grin wider than Texas.
Chapter 5
Katherine
Agreeing to come to the gallery is one thing, but actually making my way there is proving a point. I’m not going to become another Blake statistic. That’s right, after I met him I did a little digging on him…Blake has a serious reputation (fast cars and women), and he isn’t just Instagramfamous. He’s a heavyweight in the world of art – and he has the bank account and lifestyle to prove it. But I’m still getting over having my heart
broken by that two or three timing prick Dale, and I’m not about to stumble right into the next disastrous relationship. No, thank you. When Blake asked me to show up at his exhibition, I was getting ready to say ‘no’ when I remembered Robin’s words – this might be the inspiration I need. If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t have come at all. But I promise – I’m not going to fall for any of the usual one-liners from men like Blake, particularly the ‘please model for me, you inspire me.’ As if. It might work on the blonde, big busted, cleavage-revealing models Blake seems to be typically photographed with, but not on me. Besides, I have to focus on getting my creative juices flowing and to write my next bestseller. The unfortunate reminder of my unfinished work unleashes thousands of butterflies in my stomach and little beads of sweat form in the palm of my hands. “Someone got dressed up,” a familiar voice
from behind interrupts my thoughts. I pivot and smile at my friend, hoping I haven’t turned red like a tomato. “Just because I’m not interested doesn’t mean I can’t look my best.”’ I defend myself, pleased to push thoughts of current failings aside. To feel good you should look good, I’ve read somewhere. “What are you not interested in?” Blake has materialized next to me. He’s so close to me that I can’t help but be acutely aware of his maleness. Broad shoulders, rugged features, a partly open shirt to reveal a body honed to the point of perfection, and well-fitting pants. Despite my best endeavors, my eyes take in the full package and betray me. To regain my composure I take a step back, only to have my heel find a crack in the pavement of the footpath. I lose my balance and instinctively reach for something to hold onto so as not to fall. A strong hand steadies me. Each and everyone one of my nerve cells starts to tingle. He pulls me toward him. My heart
races a million miles an hour and I have to fight a sudden desire to melt in his arms. Images of two naked bodies entwined flash through my mind. “Shall we go in?” Robin’s voice penetrates my foggy brain. “Thank you,”’ I mutter and pull my little black dress down a little, desperate to regain composure. Blake links arms with me, pulling me in close, in a possessive manner. “I think I better hang on to you.” He smiles brightly at me. My skin is burning where he’s touching me and I curse the weakness of my flesh. Inside Out Art is not the small gallery I was expecting, the grey bland concrete exterior betraying the vast, expansive treasure hidden inside. As soon as we enter, I catch my breath. Waiters in black suits and white shirts balance trays of champagne, weaving their way expertly through the large crowd of attendees. I notice all the envious stares most of the women aged eighteen to eighty shoot in my
direction as we try make our way to a less busy part of the exhibition. Of course the stares are because at Blake, not me. “Wow,”’ Robin exclaims and stops in front of a smaller painting. I am swept away by the beauty of the young woman in the work of art. I tilt my head to the side and glance at Blake, acutely aware of his intense gaze on me. “You should model for him,” Robin says loud enough for everyone to hear before she moves onto the next painting. I would have liked to hit her, best friend or not. It is as if all eyes are suddenly upon me. The women shoot poison arrows in my direction and if looks could kill I’m sure I would be a pile of ashes on the floor beside playboy Blake, who ‘s clearly enjoying the spectacle. I decide not to reply and instead follow my exbest friend. Oh, I’ll have some words for her next time we were alone. I feel conscious of the sound of my stiletto heels echoing on the concrete floor and I wish I had chosen different footwear,
something less attention-drawing. As I walk from painting to painting I cannot help but be impressed. Art isn’t exactly my forte, but I know enough to appreciate good paintings when I see one. Most of the subjects are women, of course. But they’re not the nudes I had expected. There are nudes apparently, but they’re not in your face. Most are surprisingly discreet. “I still want you to model for me. You’re the perfect combination of beauty and sex appeal.” I can hear Blake speaking softly in my ear and those butterflies have come back in millions. My knees wobble a little and I hope they won’t give way. I can’t remember the last time Dale said I was pretty, sexy or beautiful. “I bet you say that to all the women you want to have your way with.” The words are out before I can stop them. Moving on to the next painting my eyes feast on a young woman who is leaning on a windowsill. She has a faraway look in her eyes. Blake has captured the longing of the woman perfectly.
I focus on the finer details. Her arms folded. Pink lace of a bra is just visible with her white blouse unbuttoned to just above the gap between her breasts. It is suggestive, but not offensive. “You’re jumping to conclusions.” His voice brings me back to reality, as does the gesture of his left index finger stroking my cheek. “Um,” I’m lost for words. “Will you at least have dinner with me?” I feel my resistance crumble and desire sweep through me. Before I can stop myself I nod.
Chapter 6
Blake
"You know what's sexier than chocolate?" I say, looking over my shoulder at Katherine from the stove. "Nothing is sexier than chocolate," she says with a smile. "Chocolate and chili." "I don't know," she says, scrunching her nose. "That sounds strange as a combo if you ask me." "Try this," I say, motioning for her to join me in the kitchen. I spoon some of the sauce from the pan and hold it out to her. "I think you'll like it."
She leans in, parting her mouth. I place the spoon on her tongue. "Good, right?" "Oh wow, there's some heat to that, but it's… amazing," she says. "Fun fact – chilis are an aphrodisiac." She seems interested in that, but also hesitant to believe anything I say. I don't know if it's from the heat of the peppers, or talking about aphrodisiacs, but I notice that her face suddenly looks flush. "How do you know so much about food?" she asks. "I had no idea you have culinary skills." "I know my way around the kitchen," I smile. I watch as she steps away from the kitchen and looks around the apartment. "Nice place you've got here," she says. "It's my own private oasis in the middle of the city." "You do have a lot of privacy here." "So," I say with a grin, "what do you do for a living besides making men excited?" That catches her attention.
"You can try to butter me up all you want, but that's not why I'm here," she says. I can tell this isn't going to be easy. She has her guard up higher than the Empire State building. "What? I can't give you a compliment?" She considers this for a moment. "I came here to have dinner, not to be pet like some lost pussy cat." "A lost pussy," I say, smiling at the pun. "Now that's an interesting thing to think about." "Can you get your head out of the gutter for even five minutes?" she says. But as she turns her head away, I detect the hint of a smile forming on her lips. It's working. She's slowly letting her guard down. "I can't help it," I say. "You're so hot, even my zipper is falling for you." I reach down and pretend to pull my zipper up. This causes her to laugh. "So, you're an artist, chef, and comedian." "Sometimes," I say with a smile.
"I'll give that one to you," she says. "That was pretty funny." I finish cooking dinner, and carry it to the dining table. The entire table is set atop a checkered tablecloth and I made sure to add a bouquet of flowers from the farmer's market. Because who doesn't love flowers? "You outdid yourself," she smiles. "This looks incredible." "Never miss an opportunity to see something beautiful," I say. She considers this and nods. "Beauty is such a strange combination of things." "It's so hard to qualify, isn't it?" I ask. "I mean, what pleases one person may not please the next. It's sort of like this giant, fascinating puzzle that we're all trying to figure out. But do you know what I think the best part about beauty is?" Katherine shakes her head. "No, what's that?" "The best part is that no art can truly and fully express it," I say. "As an artist, that's the goal. You chase it, and try to re-create it, and you can come very close, but it's never the exact thing in your
mind's eye. I find it fascinating." "How many layers do you have?" she smiles. "You can paint, cook, make me laugh, and you're also a philosopher." "Is that a good thing?" I ask. "A very good thing," she says, and she seems to be blushing all over again. "Consider me charmed." "You know, I have a confession to make," I say, pouring her a glass of red wine. She looks from the wine to me, and arches an eyebrow. "Oh?" "I've read your book." "Wait," she says, surprised. "You have?" "It's really good. You have so much talent as an artist." "Look who's talking?" she says, her grin widening. There's a new sparkle in her eyes when she turns to face me. "I think you're one of the best painters I've ever seen." "You're just saying that," I chuckle. She places a hand on my arm. "It's true! I mean it. The way you capture a person's personality
in their portrait is incredible." I lean forward in my chair, moving closer to her. My heart seems to be kicking in my chest now. Here I am, sitting across a woman who is not only incredibly hot, but who is also an artist. She understands it. "Being a creative person is hard," I say. "For the most part, the world doesn't understand it. It's frowned upon in many circles, and every painting I do is a passion project." "Yes, exactly" she says. "But only because it has to be fuelled by passion. The most beautiful and creative art in the world isn't seen or touched — it's felt with the heart." As soon as she says the word 'heart' I'm acutely aware that mine is already close to bursting. This woman is driving me crazy, and in the best possible way. My pulse feels as if I've just climbed a few flights of stairs. I want to touch her. Hold her. "I want to show you something," I say, extending my arm across the table and taking her hand in mine. "Come with me."
We both get up from the table and I lead her into my studio. "These are my private works," I say, turning to her. "That's incredible Blake," she says, just above a whisper, her eyes scanning each of the paintings. "And what are those?" She points to a group of paintings at the other side of the studio. "These pieces are a little more… sensual." "I can see that," she says. "Actually, I can feel it." I step toward her. I lift my hand, slowly moving it from her face to her hair. I place my hand on the nape of her neck, my fingers tangled in the soft strands of her hair. Our gazes lock, and I lean in, pressing my lips to hers. She moans, softly and faintly, and her breaths come in hot little pants. I move my other hand down and wrap it around her waist, pulling her even closer. She reaches up, one of her hands caressing my hair now, and the other one softly cupping my neck.
She parts her lips, and her warm tongue brushes mine. Time officially stops, and for the first time in a long time, I know I'm in trouble. Fuck, she just gave a whole new meaning to the word ‘hot’.
Chapter 7
Katherine
Kissing. It’s a simple physical act, but sometimes it can be so much more. Just like putting down words on a page, or slowly moving a brush over a blank canvas…it can be an art form. How it is expressed really depends on the artist. And this kiss… Blake’s mouth fits perfectly on mine like our lips are matching pieces of the same puzzle, and I just close my eyes and surrender to him. His hands are on my waist as he pulls me into him, our bodies
pressed tightly as I use my tongue to part his lips and explore his mouth. He tastes differently from all the other men I’ve kissed; his kiss is brimming with desire, but there’s also a certain softness to it as well. The two blend together into something wonderful and pleasurable. Like two contrasting colors mixed beautifully together to create something new, something unique. Our tongues dance around one another softly, and I feel myself getting wetter with each passing second. The fabric of my thong is already sticking to my skin, my fluids drenching it as desire takes over me. I’ve never been a naive woman – I’m a writer, after all –but I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a man this much in my entire life. It’s as if there’s something special about Blake, something that tells me he’s so much more than meets the eye. There’s an aura about him, one that envelops and subjugates me without a word passing between us. “Katherine,” he says, my name hanging heavy in the air around us. I stare into his eyes, my mouth
slightly ajar as my heart starts drumming a wild song of lust and sin. “Take me,” I find myself saying, the sound of my voice coming out of my lips sweet as honey. I don’t think I’ve ever been this direct with a man but, with Blake, I just know small talk isn’t necessary. We merely exchange a glance and we already know everything there is to know. He doesn’t reply –he just smiles, his lips curling into a satisfying grin, and then kisses me again. His hands go around my waist and then down, over the curve of my ass cheeks, and he pulls me into him harshly. I thrust against him without even thinking, needing to feel my crotch against his; there’s something big there, something long and thick. I can feel it pulsing with a raw hunger that makes my insides clench. I place one hand on his chest and slowly slide it down his shirt, only stopping when I find the hem of his pants. I feel his leather belt under my fingertips, and I bite my lower lip as I open my hand wide and prepare to go for his crotch.
He responds silently, grabbing my hand and, all the while looking into my eyes, places it over the hard shape pushing back against his pants. I bite harder on my lower lip, realizing that his cock is far bigger than I thought it’d be. I try to curl my fingers around its thick shape, but I can barely hold it with just one hand. “It’s so…” I start to say, lowering my voice until it becomes just a whisper, but I don’t know how to finish my sentence. It’s so what? Big, huge, enormous? For a writer, I’m suddenly at a loss for words. He’s all that and some more, and I can’t wait to really feel it. My heart is beating so fast now that I can barely think straight, but my unconscious mind is still working; letting go of his cock, I go for his belt and unbuckle it. Then, taking a deep breath to steady my hands, I undo the top button on his pants and pull the zipper down. His cock is making an impressive tent in his boxer briefs, and I can’t help but look at it. With one finger, I trace its contour, going from its root to the tip. Oh, Jesus, he’s really big.
I grit my teeth and, moving fast, slide my hand under his boxer briefs and, turning my wrist, I grab his thick shaft. The warmth of his cock spreads to the palm of my hand, and that’s all it takes for me to become a truly wet mess. It won’t be long before my fluids start dripping down my legs. “Enjoying yourself?” He asks me, grinning, and the look in his eyes tells me he already knows the answer. I just nod, running my tongue between my lips. Holding my breath, I start moving my hand up and down, stroking him softly as the hunger in eyes keeps on growing. “Yes…yes, I am,” I admit, suddenly feeling dizzy as I imagine his thick cock trying to push its way past my pussy lips. Is that even physically possible? How will it feel? I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell willing to find out. You know, maybe it’ll inspire me. And God knows I need some good inspiration. “I’m right here,” he says, leaning into me and brushing his lips against my ear. A shiver climbs up my spine as his deep rugged voice caresses my
eardrums. I stop stroking him and just tighten my fingers around his shaft, feeling it pulse against the palm of my hand. With one hand on my waist, he pushes me until my back’s against the wall, and then he takes one hand right to between my thighs. He flattens the palm of his hand against my pussy, bunching up my dress in the process. I gasp as he does it, but then I moan as he takes his hand off and slides it under the hemline of my dress, his fingers finding their way to my drenched thong. “Fuck, I need to have you,” he says, rubbing his fingers back and forth over the wet fabric, fondling my pussy lips. My muscles tense up under his touch, and it feels like his fingers are made of fire and electricity. There’s something magical to his touch, that’s for sure. “You seem tight,” he whispers, that grin of his widening until it becomes devilish, “are you tight, Katherine?” “I…I…” I mutter, but I don’t even know what to tell him. “Don’t worry, I’ll see that for myself soon
enough,” he says, and that image of his cock pushing its way past my drenched folds bubbles up to the surface of my mind once more. He presses harder on my pussy and I gasp again, my insides clenching with anticipation. Clasping his hand on the fabric, he pulls on it, and I close my eyes as I feel my thong leaving my wet pussy. He pushes it down my legs and, once it falls in a bunch at my feet, I just kick it off. His hand is back between my thighs in a heartbeat, and this time it’s a moan that leaves my lips, feeling my naked pussy burning at the touch of his fingers. He finds my clit quickly enough and, rubbing on it, he forces my brain to go on overdrive. But he doesn’t linger there for too long –no, his fingers start caressing the length of my pussy, going up and down my wet folds with a maddening slowness. Before I know it, I’m moving my hips, thrusting against his hand in pure desperation. I’m not in control of my body anymore –I’m just like a puppet, pleasure pulling the strings and assuming all control. And I don’t care, I don’t care one little bit.
Using his middle finger, he presses it right on my pussy and starts sliding it in, feeding it into me with that frustrating patience of his. He curls it upward, only stopping when his fingertip feels that hidden spot of pure delight tucked away inside of me. “Yes, you’re really tight,” he whispers, pressing so hard on my G-spot that bright lights explode behind my shut eyelids. He doesn’t move his hand –he just holds it there, his finger pressed tight on my G-spot as he rests his thumb over my clit. Pressing on these two spots at the same time, he waits while that high voltage current builds under my skin, electrifying every inch of my aching body. Then, he starts fingering me at a furious pace, all that patience thrown to the curb. “I can’t wait to be inside of you, Katherine,” he continues, fingering me so hard that I can’t even speak. Even if I could somehow force my mouth to make a sound, I doubt my brain would be able to produce a coherent sentence. “Oh…God,” I groan, grabbing at his shirt so
hard that my knuckles turn white. I’m gritting my teeth, every muscle in my body tensing up as if concrete was being poured inside them. The electricity crackling inside of me turns into an electric storm, and it rages through my brain so suddenly that I can’t help but to scream. Or, well, at least try to, because the moment I open my mouth to do it, the only sound that comes out is a whispered moan of pure ecstasy. “So good,” I manage to say, forcing my eyelids open and staring at him as if I’ve just woken up from a thousand years of deep sleep. “You call that good? There’s more to come,” he grins, narrowing his eyes in such a seductive way that I almost melt. He just shrugged off my words as if I had no idea what I was talking about…As if there’s a lot more –and a lot better at that –to come. And somehow, I know that’s exactly what’s going to happen. And rightfully so. “I’m going to make you come so hard you’ll forget your name,” he promises me.He doesn’t wait for my reply to that, as he proceed to go down to
his knees in front of me, both his hands on my waist. Grabbing at the hemline of my dress, he pushes it up and holds it around my waist. I feel exposed, knowing that his eyes are now focused on my pussy, but that just makes me even wetter than before –and, really, I don’t know how’s that even possible. With his lips on my right knee, he starts kissing me up my leg, going straight to my inner thigh. I throw my head back, pressing it against the wall, and sigh loudly. He keeps on teasing me with his mouth, taking it as far as my groins but never further. He does it until the desperation inside me becomes a burning need, and I reach for him and tangle my fingers on his hair, trying to pull him into me while I thrust. He doesn’t budge, though, and just keeps on kissing and licking until I’m ready to beg. “Blake…please, please,” I repeat over and over again, my whispers brimming with lustful desperation.
I’ve never wanted a man’s mouth on me as much as I want it now. And that’s saying something –the way I see it, a man going down on you can be a lot more intimate than just fucking. But, hell, right now all that I want is to get intimate with Blake – and in every possible way. Finally putting an end to my torture, he reaches for my clit with his tongue and presses down on it. It feels like I’ve stepped on a live wire –thunder erupts inside my body. I almost scream as he starts circling my clit at a steady and growing pace. My fingers are still on his hair, but I’m no longer trying to force him –no, Blake isn’t the kind of man with whom you can dictate a pace. He does what he wants, when he wants, and there’s no way around it. If I ever get to take the lead, that’ll be because he wants me to, not because he has submitted. And that’s exactly how I like my men. “Oh, God,” I moan as he takes his tongue out of my clit and slides it down, running it between my pussy lips. He does it all the way, and then goes
back, repeating his coming and going motion until I can barely think straight. God, where has he been all of my life? He’s a good kisser, he’s good with his fingers, and he’s even better with his mouth…It’s almost unbelievable how good he is. Oh, sweet mercy, I can barely wait to push his pants down his legs, curl my fingers around his cock and guide it home. But, right now, that’s on hold. He licks me until my legs start growing weak, my knees buckling under my weight. Leaning back against the wall, I somehow manage to remain standing up; and that’s exactly when he chooses to open his mouth wide and press it harshly against my wetness. My muscles burn, my skin boils; there’s fire in my mind, and poison in my bones. Forget about all the other men I’ve been with –not one of them has been able to make me feel what I’m feeling right now. And Blake is only using his mouth. Taking one hand around my waist, he places it under my right ass cheek and forces my leg up. I let
him do it willingly, lifting my leg and resting it over his shoulder. Now with the perfect angle, he buries his mouth against my pussy and starts devouring me as if my wetness is the most delicious thing on Earth. He jabs inside of my pussy with his tongue, running it up and down my length and circling my clit at exactly the right times. He works me like he knows my body even better than I do, and it’s almost hard to believe that this is really happening. Is he even real? I think of pinching myself, just to make sure that I’m not dreaming, but I give up on the idea fast enough. This feels like a dream…the most perfect dream I’ve ever had. But, ah, even if this is a dream, I don’t care –just let me sleep forever. I’m yanking on his hair hard enough to almost rip it out from his scalp, but he doesn’t even seem to mind. In fact, that just makes him eat me out more eagerly, his lips and tongue hungrily sucking in my fluids and ravaging my pussy. “Don’t…Stop…Don’t stop…” I say, my head thrown back against the wall. My muscles are
already tensing up again, and I feel that electric tension building inside of me once more. It feels like I’m a dam about to burst, tiny cracks showing on the surface right before all hell breaks loose. “Don’t stop,” I moan again, but he doesn’t need my instructions. Still, I need to say something, to moan, to scream to release…I want to do it all at the same time. “OH GOD!” I shout, and then grit my teeth as the dam finally bursts. Yanking on his hair, I trust at the same time, pressing my pussy against his mouth as hard as I can. His mouth his wide open, his tongue inside of me, just makes my orgasm even more delicious. I sway my hips from side to side, smearing his face with my fluids, and then I finally let go of him. I’m breathing hard, my eyes closed, and leaning back against the wall. He stands up then, and takes one hand to my face. I open my eyes as I feel his touch, and I can’t hide my smile as I see his chin glistening from the fluids coating his skin. “Perfect,” I say, and then he’s on me. He crushes his mouth against mine, pushing
his tongue inside my mouth, and I can do nothing but to savor the taste of my own pussy on his lips. “Perfect,” he repeats back at me, his hands once more on my waist. He grins and then, a heartbeat later, he makes me turn on my heels and face the wall. I place my hands there for support, and jut my ass back at him by instinct. Taking one hand behind me, I find the hem of his boxers and tug them down as viciously as I can. His cock springs free immediately, and he’s so close to me that his huge shaft slaps my ass cheeks with a maddening sound. He pushes my dress back up to my waist. He then takes one hand around my body and squeezes one breast under his long fingers. I thrust my ass back at the same time, resting my forehead against the wall and closing my eyes as I feel his shaft right between my ass cheeks. My body acts on its own, I find me moving in a flowing motion, grinding against his cock as hard as I can. I feel it pulse against my ass, hungry and eager, and it doesn’t take long for Blake to take one step back and grab his huge cock.
Looking back at him over my shoulder, I choke down a gasp as I see his cock for the first time. He’s holding it in his hand, but it looks so huge that it’s almost unbelievable. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” he tells me, as if reading my thoughts. I face the wall again, my heart feeling as tight as a closed fist, and prepare for what’s coming. “Or at least I’ll try…” He continues, coming up to me and whispering these words into my ear. Oh, God, this is going to be interesting. Angling his cock down, he pushes it between my inner thighs, his thick shaft forcing me to spread my legs wide. I bend over at the same time and, as I do it, he positions the tip of his cock against my pussy lips. I take one deep breath. “Do it,” I breath out, and then all hell breaks loose. He enters me with one sudden thrust, his shaft sliding inside my pussy and straining against my inner walls on the way in. I feel my insides stretching to accommodate him, but he’s so big that I can’t help but feel that my pussy is gripping his
cock like a vice. This time I scream, unable to stop myself, my brain almost exploding as it tries to process the fact that something as big as Blake’s cock is inside of me. It’s almost too much for me to take, but the key word in here is almost. You don’t think I’m going to waste such as this, do you? Oh, no, I’m going to take this chance. I hold my breath as Blake slides his cock, stopping when only his tip is inside of me. I only start breathing again when he trusts, sheathing his shaft to the hilt. Building up the rhythm, he rocks his hips at a gentle pace, but it only takes a few seconds for his pace to reach new heights. Soon enough, the sound of his thighs slapping my ass echoes around us, and it sounds like the most amazing symphony I’ve ever heard. “Fuck, you’re really tight,” he exhales sharply, hooking his fingers deeper on my thighs. I can’t help but wonder if I’m as tight as he says –his cock is so huge that every pussy must feel tight as hell for him. Pistoning into me like a madman, he stabs me
with his cock so hard that locks of hair are already plastered to my forehead, beads of sweat making their way down my face. And still he keeps on growing his rhythm, fucking me so fast I don’t even know how he’s doing it. “Blake…This is…So good…” I pant, his name leaving a sweet taste on my tongue as I say it. Gritting my teeth, I try and match his rhythm, thrusting my ass back at him. The sound of flesh on flesh grows even louder, and I can feel my mind dangling over the edge of pleasure’s cliff. It won’t take long, that’s for sure. Feeling me close, he takes one hand around my waist and presses two fingers over my clit. That’s it –he doesn’t even start rubbing it. He just presses down on it, and it’s as if a bomb has gone off inside my skull. My arms grow so weak that I take my hands off of the wall and just support myself with my forearms, my pussy tightening so hard around Blake’s shaft. The fact that he still keeps on thrusting is a small miracle. My muscles are twitching, and I’m trembling
so hard that my teeth are chattering. Blake starts taking his cock out of me then, and I moan as I feel his long inches making their way out. It pops out of me with a wet sound, and I turn on my heels right away, pressing my back against the wall and looking into his eyes. “We’re not done,” he says, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat. Placing his hands under my ass cheeks, he lifts me up and pulls me into him. I react by instinct, crossing my legs on his lower back and placing my arms over his shoulder. “Then fuck me,” I tell him, “as hard as you can.” I don’t need to say more. Grabbing his cock with one hand, he angles it down and presses its tip against my wet pussy. One thrust and he’s in me again, his cock stretching me so wide I doubt my body will ever be the same. And what the hell, if that happens. It’ll be completely worth it. This is the experience of a lifetime. He fucks me hard and merciless, obliterating my rational mind with each thrust of his. I’m
clawing at his back, feeling his rugged hard muscles under his shirt. I close my eyes, imagining how he must look naked. I wish I had ripped his shirt out before we started fucking, but oh well. I hiss through my gritted teeth as he keeps on thrusting, my pussy gripping his shaft viciously. I already feel on the verge of coming again, and that means I’m about come for the –oh, I’ve lost count already! This is the first time something like this is happening to me. “I’m about to –” I start, but the words die in my throat as he thrusts harder than before, burying his cock so deep inside my pussy that I’m actually surprised I’m still conscious. My muscles start spasming as if I’m having a seizure, my eyes rolling in their orbits. I’ve lost all control of my body and if he wasn’t holding me I’d just fall to the floor like a ragdoll. “Come, come for me,” I tell him, resting my head on his shoulder. Maybe it’s because I told him to, or maybe it was already going to happen anyway, but the moment my words reach him his cock pulses almost
too violently inside my pussy. I moan as that happens, ripples of pleasure spreading from my loins to the rest of my body, and then he starts coming with a groan. “Fuck,” he hisses, his cum gushing a river of warm cum inside of me. I press my mouth against his shoulder, a shiver going up my spine each time his cock pulses and shoots his seed inside of me. He keeps on coming for what seems like forever, his cum dripping out of my pussy and making its way down my thighs and legs. Groaning again, he takes his cock out of me slowly and then puts me down. I lean back against the wall once more, taking a deep breath as I feel strands of cum sliding down my legs. I slide down to the floor, sitting down on it while I try to catch my breath. My lungs feel as if they’re on fire, and my heart is beating so fast I wouldn’t be surprised if it rips a hole through my chest and simply jump out. I hear Blake sitting down next to me, and without knowing what I’m doing I reach for his hand. I softly place my fingers on top of his, and
simply hold his hand. When I open my eyes, he’s looking straight at me. There’s something about his gaze that I can’t really describe, and so I just smile at him while squeezing his hand in mine. “I was right,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re different.” “Different? How?” “I exactly don’t know yet…I’m just sure of it,” he tells me, smiling warmly back at me, and his words make me feel…I don’t even know. God, why am I suddenly at a loss for words? Why do I even call myself a writer? That’s beside the point anyway. Thing is, all this should be nothing but a fun romp…but I’m finding that there’s more to all this than just ‘fun’.
Chapter 8
Blake
There’s a buzzing…or maybe it’s a low hum. Either way it’s pulsing through my body and I’m wide awake at 4 a.m. What I feel is nearly impossible to describe, except to say it’s the complete absence of the dullness that’s filled me for months. Call it boredom, call it a lack of inspiration. Whatever name you give it, the gigantic red stop sign that's been sitting in front of my face, the one with the words, “The struggle is real”, is finally gone. Can I get an amen?
Yeah, yeah, I know, what am I whining about? From the outside looking in, my life is one long conga line of fabulous. I’ve got a dope apartment, serious cash, women whenever I want them, and my career is…well…who wouldn’t want it.? Everyone thinks I’m living the dream. Well, fuck ‘em, because until right this minute, something was definitely missing – and now, for some inexplicable reason, I feel energized. Maybe it’s her. Next to me, Katherine stirs and the sheet slips just enough so that I can see the sensual curve of her hip and her long legs. Her bare back is exposed and my fingers recall the softness of her skin. I lie on my side propping my head up with my hand, and stare at her. I can’t help it. I’m not used to women spending the night, but Katherine is… different. Beautiful. Sexy. Alluring. She's all those things…and something else. I just can’t give it a name yet. But I’m not making a move, which is unusual for me. There’s something going on here. Between the buzz I feel, and naked Katherine
a few inches away, I’m actually torn about what to do. Unmoving, I watch as her chest rises and falls with each breath, and in my mind’s eye I imagine her against the warm golden tones of an evening sunset as I sketch the outlines of her body on a canvas. It’s clear, I’m bewitched and I chuckle to myself thinking she’s somehow put a spell on me. There’s no other way to explain the gravitational pull I feel for her, because women don’t usually affect me like this. It’s always been the other way around. But this one… I chastise myself. Okay, don’t get stupid. The only powers she has she used last night. They may have felt supernatural, but it was just flesh on flesh. Don’t put too much into this. I raise my hand to touch her luscious skin but stop short. I can’t believe I’m restraining myself from reaching over and taking her because this is not how I play this game. I want her, but at the same time there’s an equally powerful sensation tugging me away. It’s that feeling I’ve been trying to grasp since I woke
up. With each deep breath I take, I’m working on settling this restlessness that has me by the neck. A few minutes pass and it all finally coalesces. I know what this unsettling feeling is and I need to handle it right now. With only a momentary feeling of regret, I quietly leave the bed, because my desire to paint is back with an indescribable urgency. My pulse is racing and my hands are itching to feel the brush as it strokes the canvas. Dressing quietly, I scribble a note, K – Had a great time. Call you later. B I stop for a minute knowing it's too cursory. What I really want to tell her is that she seems to have opened me up in some way, because inspiration has been hard to come by and suddenly I’m full of it. But I don’t bother with a re-write. I place the note on the pillow beside her so she doesn’t wake up confused to find me gone. I head to the studio. I know I will be there for a while. I get so consumed by my art when I am
inspired, that time passes indefinitely for me. Taking a last glance at the direction of the bedroom, I tell myself I really will call her. Feeling assured by that thought, I close the door of the studio behind me. Once inside, I don’t have to stop and think, because I’m possessed with ideas. It’s the only way I can describe what’s happening to me. Grabbing the biggest canvas, I drag it to the center of the room where the morning light is brightest. There are dozens of images floating through my mind, but they're all images of her. Of Katherine. With the canvas in front of me, I take only a moment before I make the first bold stroke. There’s no confusion about what this piece will be. She’s in my head with each brush stroke, as if I’m painting a sensual symphony of colors. I feel like I'm on fire and that hasn’t happened in too long. Much too long. Katherine is my inspiration now, and I’m not going to question it. She’s my muse and I must have her sit for me. I don’t know how, but I’m not gonna
work myself into a state about right now. I’m here in my studio and it’s where I need to be. I’ll call her. Later.
Chapter 9
Katherine
“What time is it?” I whisper these words in the darkness of the room I’m in, stretching my arms as I say it. I feel the soft fabric of the sheets brushing against my naked body, and I realize that these aren’t my sheets. Nor is this my bed. And why the hell am I naked? It all comes to me then. Blake. Moving quickly, but carefully so as not to
wake him up, I roll to the side and blink twice, trying to get my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. I half-expect to see the outline of his naked body, but all I find is emptiness. For half-a-second I think he must have bolted on me, but that doesn’t make any sense – I’m in his apartment, after all. Kicking the sheets back, I swing my legs off the bed and run one hand through my tangled hair. Thank God Blake isn’t around – I wouldn’t like him to see me with puffy eyes, morning breath, and messy hair. Still, he probably saw me drooling on my pillow right before he left, so there’s that. I stay there for a while, just sitting on the edge of the bed as I remember what happened last night. I came in here decided to just have dinner with Blake, and then…I just succumbed to him. I have no idea how that happened. I just know it did, and that it was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. Sure, I’m no virgin, but with Blake…it felt as if I had never been with a man before. He knows my body better than I do, and he predicts exactly what I want (or need) him to do.
It’s surreal. No wonder he has a legion of women throwing themselves at his feet. Handsome, charming, wealthy, and an artist between the sheets (or up against the wall, for that matter)? Yeah, he sure earned his reputation. Okay, this was fun, sure. But it was nothing more than a fling, I need to remind myself of that. I know my writer’s mind enjoys weaving little love stories out of everything, but I need to stop myself before it’s too late. Blake isn’t the kind of a guy that loves a woman – for more than a few hours at least. Casual. I’ll keep things casual. “Right, casual,” I whisper to myself as I get up from the bed. I move toward the wall and hit the light switch, squinting as the bright light floods the room. I see my clothes neatly folded at the foot of the bed, and I can’t remember if I folded them myself or if Blake did it. It was probably me, as I can’t imagine him taking care of that. God, I was so exhausted from last night that I
barely remember anything. I kinda remember him picking me up from the floor and carriying me to the bedroom, but it’s all a blur. The moment I felt the soft mattress under my back, I was out. I’m reaching for my clothes when I notice a folded piece of paper on top of Blake’s pillow. Climbing on top of the bed, I reach for it and open it. K – Had a great time. Call you later. B, the note reads. Well, at least he left a note. Still…his words seem so cold and distant. And the call you later part…I want to believe he’ll really call me, but deep down I know that men like Blake don’t do the phone call thing. I’ll probably never hear from him again. Jesus, why does that make me sad? I get dressed in a hurry, and then I grab my purse and tiptoe my way out of the bedroom. I know Blake isn’t around, but I can’t help being as silent as possible. The moment I’m out on the street, I hail a cab and make my way home. Right now, I need a
shower more than anything. I need to clear my head – and try to stop thoughts of Blake from taking over my mind. Easier said than done, of course. The moment I step one foot inside my apartment, I feel my phone ringing inside my purse. I reach for it in a hurry, almost expecting to see Blake’s name plastered on the screen, but Robin’s the one calling me. Of course – she must be dying to hear about last night. She knows something happened. If it hadn’t happened, I’d just have called her after dinner. “Tell me everything,” she chirps happily as soon as I pick up the phone. “Every single detail.” “C’mon, Robin,” I sigh, throwing my purse on the small coffee table I have in the middle of the living room and sinking down onto my couch. “There’s nothing to–” “Uh-uh. No way. Don’t you lie to me, girl,” she laughs. “My spider-sense is tingling, and you know what that means. I can hear the I-just-got-laid tone on your voice. And by the sound of it, it must be gooood.”
“Okay, okay,” I sigh, and then I just end up laughing. “Yeah, it was good.” “Oh my God! I knew it!” “Of course you knew it. It’s not like I can keep anything from you,” I sigh, propping my feet up on the coffee table and throwing my head back against the headrest. I close my eyes for a second and just enjoy the silence, waiting for Robin to start speaking again. “What now? You’re going to see him again, right?” “Robin, I…I don’t know. You know how guys like Blake are,” I tell her, and I feel my heart tightening up inside my chest. “To be honest, I doubt he’ll ever call me again. He had what he wanted, and now he’ll just disappear into thin air.” “You’re wrong,” she says matter-of-factly, almost as if she knows something I don’t. “I noticed the way he looks at you.” “I don’t think that –” “You think too much, and that has always been your problem, Kat. Trust me, he’ll call you again.”
I sigh heavily, not replying as I ponder on her words. My brain tells me that no, I won’t hear from Blake again, but my heart insists on believing what Robin’s telling me. But it was just a fling, right?
Chapter 10
Katherine
My fingers fly across the keyboard. Words pour out of me. There is no doubt about it; inspiration is flowing through me like a raging river. At this rate my next novel will be finished within the month. I pause to take a sip of my coffee. I savor the taste of the strong dark liquid. To say I’m a coffee addict is an understatement. I love a good cup of coffee. As I sip the delicious hot drink I re-read the last paragraph.
“Emily watches the artist at work. The way he holds his paintbrush, his brow furrowed, his eyes totally focused on his canvas. His right hand moves deftly across the white space, filling it with life. Like pure poetry in motion.” My lips curl into a smile. I know where the inspiration has come from. There is no point denying the obvious. Perhaps it had not been such a bad idea giving into my animal instincts and having wild passionate sex with bad boy Blake. I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. Images of our hot sweaty bodies flash through my mind. I am reminding myself not to get too attached, when I am annoyed byt a sudden knock on the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and my heart performs little somersaults as I wonder if it’s Blake knocking. A longing creeps through me and I try not to sprint. I don’t want to appear desperate. With my most nonchalant look, I open the door. I have my left hand on my hip and smile brightly. I hope there’s not a hint of lust in my eyes. The second my eyes register who is standing
in front of me, I deflate like a balloon. I am about to slam the door, but Dale puts his foot in the way. “We need to talk.” I huff. Talk? What a dick. “Piss off.” I snarl and fold both arms. Someone once told me to ward off negative energy other people give off, you should fold your arms in front of your body. It’s worth a shot. “Kath, please. Babe.” I hate the way he shortens my name. And he has the nerve to call me babe. Argh. How dare he? “What do you want Dale?” I realize I won’t get rid of him unless I talk to him. Un-friending him from social media sites and erasing his number was obviously not enough. He follows me into my apartment. “Writing again?” I want to tell him it’s none of his fucking business, but I don’t. Instead, I shrug because I really shouldn’t be so angry, and in fact, I should be thankful. If it had not been for Dale screwing someone else I would never have met Blake, nor would I have had the best sex ever.
At the thought of sex with Blake, a wave of desire washes over me. “Babe, look,” Dale takes two or three steps toward me. He puts his left hand on my shoulder. With his right hand he strokes my cheek. His scent of cheap aftershave is almost overpowering. Had I really wanted to spend the rest of my life with him? I must have been deluded. I cringe at the touch and push his hand away. It simply does not compare to the way Blake touched me. My mind threatens to go off on a frolic of its own. I force myself to focus. “Get to the point Dale. I’m busy.” Dale’s expression changes to the hurt puppy look. “Babe I just want us to give it another go.” Again his hand reaches for me. This time he pulls me close and before I really know what is happening his lips are on top of mine. I feel his tongue forcing its way into my mouth. He holds me tight with both of his hands now. I can’t escape the forcefulness of his kiss. He pushes me against the wall of my apartment. My
breathing increases. I feel his right hand reach for my breast, squeeze it and then move downward. In no time his hand is under my skirt, pushing my slip aside. A noise escapes my lips. Dale now presses hard into me and there is no mistaking what he wants. I can feel his erection. With one hand between my legs, Dale uses his other one to reach for my breast. This is my moment. I use all my will power to push Dale away. He stumbles. With lightening speed I put distance between the two of us. I reach for the closest object, a pair of scissors. “Don’t do that again,” I hiss and pull my skirt down. I’m surprised at my own reaction. I felt nothing but disgust when Dale groped me. To think a few weeks ago I was dreaming of having children with this man. “Bitch.” Dale is breathing hard. “I think you should leave.” Dale glares. He does not move.
“You know why I had to have all those affairs?” I feel his spit land on my cheek. Pain shoots through me. Had he just admitted to multiple affairs? How stupid and naïve I had been. I had thought the peroxide bimbo had been the only one. “I don’t care.” And I really don’t. He cheated on me. Would knowing why really make any it better? I don’t think so. “I had all those other women because you’re frigid. You don’t know how to have great sex.” Now tears do well up and I clench my fists. Arrogant prick. “I pity the next man you date.” It takes all my effort not to scream at Dale’s face what a loser he is, and throw the closest thing within my reach, the only one of any real value in my apartment, my great grandmother’s porcelain vase. “Well, for your information I think you were the problem. You don’t know how to satisfy a woman. I pity the women who have sex with you.” I pause. “You probably pay them so they have no
choice but to oblige and suffer through your grunting and pathetic attempt at getting a woman to have an orgasm.” Without another word I walk to the front door, scissors still in hand. “I think you better go and never come back,” I tell Dale, and then open the door for him to leave. When I open it I cannot believe my eyes. I know the man standing there about to knock. I wasn’t expecting him. Pushing Blake out of the way Dale storms past me. His parting words of ‘you won’t last long’ stay with me.
Chapter 11
Blake
What the…? Am I hearing right? Is there an asshole inside Katherine’s apartment right now? It sure seems so. I can’t say I was expecting that. I drove all the way here to show her the sketch I did of her, and now there’s some random jackass to deal with it. Ah, fuck it. Raising my fist, I’m about to rap my knuckles against her door when it suddenly swings open. My eyes meet Katherine’s right away, and I can’t help but enjoy the surprise on her face. She wasn’t
expecting to see me here. “You won’t last long,” the guy standing next to her mutters, stepping out the door and pushing me out of the way. I take one step back to let him through, but something in his tone of voice strikes a chord inside me. Before he can leave, I reach for him and grab him by the scruff of his shirt. “Play nice, asshole,” I tell him, turning on my heels to meet his gaze. Judging by the way his eyes widen as I grab him, I’d say he wasn’t expecting me to do that. No, he wasn’t. This is the kind of guy who’s used to having everything he wants at a drop of a hat. “I know you,” he says, looking at me with a disgusted expression on his face. “Blake,” he continues, my name leaving his mouth like a curse. “Well, I know you too,” I find myself saying, suddenly recognizing his smug face. This guy is the owner of some bullshit gallery where I once held an exposition. I remember the arrogant prick and the way he looked at my paintings. “So you’re the one fucking her, aren’t you?”
he asks me, his eyes never leaving mine. I react without thinking. I close the distance between us, grab him by the collar of his shirt, and push him back against the wall. “Listen here, you fuckin’ asshole,” I growl, trying to resist the urge to introduce him to my fist. “I don’t give two shits about you, got that? But you’ll respect her,” I continue, slightly nodding toward Katherine. She’s standing by the doorway, looking at us both with an expression that tells me she has no idea on what to say or do. “You can’t—” I don’t even let him finish his sentence. I tighten my grip on his shirt and lean toward him. “I know how little shits like you enjoy treating women,” I tell him, making sure I take my time with each and every word. “But you’ve heard the lady—leave and never come back.” He stops for a moment, almost as if he’s trying to process the meaning behind my words, and then he finally lowers his gaze. Submission.
I finally let go of his shirt and take a step back, although my gaze never leaves him. I don’t know why, but coming here and finding a man (and one like this fuckin’ asshole) inside Katherine’s apartment has my blood boiling. Besides, it doesn’t help that I overheard most of their argument. “Well, I guess you finally got your knight in shining armor, haven’t you?” he says, looking over my shoulder at Katherine, his beady eyes glinting with malice. “Just so you know, you’re probably just the flavor of the month for this guy. If you think I’m bad, you’re in for a surprise with him.” That does it for me. I can hear Katherine saying something, but I can’t even register her words. Flavor of the month? Who does this asshole think he is? Taking one step toward him, I ball my right hand into a fist. I cock my arm back, and everything around me starts moving slowly. I can see it happening before it happens—my fingers meeting his nose and that asshole tumbling back as he clutches his bloody nose. That’ll probably cost me, since he’s well
connected in the gallery business. But fuck it. “No!” I hear Katherine say, and I feel her delicate hands grabbing me by the arm. I stop the moment I hear her voice, my fist just a fraction of a second from breaking Dale’s nose. “Saved by the bell,” I whisper at him, and this time there’s no smart comeback. His beady eyes can’t hide the fear he’s feeling (and he should be afraid of me), and so he just turns on his heels and disappears from sight as fast as he possibly can without running. “Are you okay?” I ask Katherine the moment Dale leaves, turning around to meet her. My eyes meet her velvety lips at once, and my heart picks up the pace faster than I can take in her beauty. Fuck, I just want to grab her by the waist, pin her against the wall, and kiss her. “I am now,” she breathes out softly, and that makes me relax. “What are you doing here, Blake?” “I came to give you something,” I reply, suddenly realizing that I’m not sure about what I’m doing.
I never chased someone like this. And I’m not just talking about the fact that I want Katherine; I’m saying that I never went after anyone because my art demanded it. But that has changed. Because everything in me calls for her. I need to kiss her, to hold her close against me… And, more than that, I need to paint her.
Chapter 12
Katherine
I step to the side, allowing Blake in. I close the door behind us. Just moments ago, it was Dale in here, and now it’s just Blake and I. Honestly, I have no idea what kind of game the universe is playing with me, but I really can’t complain about this turn of events. “I wasn’t expecting you,” I tell him, trying to think of what he could possibly want to give me. Maybe I forgot something back at his apartment? But no, that can’t be it; I’ve brought everything
with me. “I just had to come.” He shrugs, smiling at me. I have to look away from him as he does it—the way his lips slightly curl into that damned smile, awakening the sleeping butterflies inside my stomach. Robin was right—Blake isn’t going to disappear. I can’t believe I actually thought he wouldn’t call me again. Well, he didn’t call, to be honest…he just showed up at my doorstep, ready to save the day. “And here you are,” I whisper, not really sure on what I should say. God, why do I always feel like an idiot who doesn’t know my way around words whenever I’m this close to Blake? “Listen… I’m sorry for Dale.” “You don’t have to apologize for that asshole,” Blake tells me casually, tucking one hand inside his pocket. “He’s just lucky you stopped me before I taught him some manners.” Now I’ve always hated violence. I can’t stand the sight of blood, and I hate when men act like peacocks and stick their chests out, ready to butt
heads. But this…this was different. Blake didn’t want to impress him (at least I don’t think so). He just wanted to protect me. What a weird thought. I saw Blake as nothing more than an arrogant rich playboy. And now here he is, showing me that sometimes first impressions don’t really matter. “You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him meekly, but he just flashes me that heart-melting smile again, and I feel sweet thorns of despair wrapping themselves around my heart. What the hell’s happening to me? “I had to. And Dale should be the one apologizing to you,” he replies. I stand there in silence, shifting my weight from one foot to the other while I think of something smart to say. Of course, words fail me again. “What the hell are you doing with someone like him?” Blake continues. I run my tongue over my bottom lip, feeling it dry, and then I finally look into his eyes. “The guy’s a complete jerk.” “I know,” I manage to say, suddenly feeling
embarrassed. Blake’s right (just as Robin was right about my relationship). What the hell was I doing with a guy like Dale? I can’t believe how stupid I was. I wanted to marry, have kids, and buy a house. I wanted to go the distance with Dale, a man I now despise more than anyone. Sometimes you get too comfortable in a longterm relationship. Too comfortable. “I don’t know how it happened, but I dated Dale for a long time,” I continue, allowing the words to pour out of me. “I always had this notion of building a family and having a man by my side… You know, stupid girl dreams.” “These don’t sound like stupid dreams,” he says gently, and I feel warm blood rushing to my cheeks. “Maybe. But I guess I wanted that so much that I didn’t even realize the man I was with. I only realized it when…when…” I have to take a deep breath to steady myself, but then I finally manage to push the words out. Even though I don’t care for Dale, it still pains
to realize I’ve been backstabbed like that. “He cheated on me. And I caught him right in the act,” I continue. “Jesus,” Blake whispers. “I’m sorry.” At that, he reaches for me and tucks a stray lock of hair over my ear. I feel my skin prickling at his touch, and my heart starts beating faster and faster. “Any guy that’d cheat on you is a complete fool,” he continues, looking straight into my eyes. “A complete fool,” he repeats, his words soft and warm. My eyes slowly go to his lips, and I find myself needing to feel his mouth on mine. It’s more than physical, though. The pull I feel toward him goes beyond having our lips locked together or our naked bodies pressed against each other. More than just my body, my heart and soul need to experience Blake. Oh, I can’t fall for him. I know that men like Blake aren’t designed for romance. They just can’t do it. I can’t allow this to become more than just a fling, and I can’t allow
myself down this slippery slope. “I’m happy you’re here,” I find myself saying, my eyes still on his lips. Oh god, why am I saying this? It’s almost as if I’m not in control of my actions and that I’ve thrown all rationality out of the window. “I’m happy I’m here too,” he whispers, brushing his long fingers against my cheeks. Smiling gently, he leans into me, and my eyelids slowly start to droop. I breath in his perfume—it reminds me of pine trees and the wintery ocean—and I realize that there’s no way I’ll ever be able to control myself around Blake. I part my lips slowly, and then we kiss.
Chapter 13
Katherine
He stares at me for a long second, before leaning in and finally kissing me again. I open my mouth in an instant, allowing our tongues to wrestle against one another hungrily, as if we have been craving that for too long. He laces my back with his arms, pulling my body closer. I can’t believe I’m doing this again. I tried to convince myself that what happened between Blake and I was just a one-time thing, but I was wrong. A one-time thing? How can that be after how wonderful he was? After how wonderful it was
between the two of us. And more than that, the way he handled Dale just now…and the things he said. There’s this air of arrogance around Blake, yes, but there’s more to him than meets the eye. Under his bad boy looks, there’s a gentle heart somewhere in there. And it’s that combination, his gentleness and bad boy looks, that has me hooked. "Come with me,” I whisper at him, running my tongue between my lips. He lets me guide him, no questions asked. Grabbing his hand, I take him across the living room and into my bedroom, pushing the door open with the tip of my foot. Blake leans into me, pressing his mouth against mine once again, his tongue darting hungrily inside my mouth. Then, I grab him by the hand and pull him to the edge of the bed. Slowly, I place my hands on his chest and give him a push, forcing him to lay down on the mattress as I climb over him. I tilt my head, my lips begging for his. Once more, he kisses me frantically. Our lips fight and
embrace each other, my shaky fingers wrestling with the buttons on his shirt, clumsily undressing him. I place the palms of my hands on his chest, feeling his thick ropey muscles and the cadence of his heart. I unbutton the rest of his shirt and, in a desperate motion, take it off him. My head nestles against his chest, my hungry lips kissing him all over. I can feel the pulse of his heart against my lips, the warmth of his skin as my kisses go down from his pectorals to his hard abs, softly descending over his belly. Right now, there’s only one thing I’m sure of: I’m as wet as I’ve ever been and my pussy is aching with blinding desire. He pulls me against him by the hips, our bodies pressed against each other. He tangles his fingers in my hair, tilting my head in a way that makes our lips a perfect match, the eagerness of both our bodies impossible to deny. I suck on his tongue, my parted lips hungry for him. Without allowing my gaze to wander from his eyes, I take my fingers to my shoulders and slide
down the straps of my top. Blake swallows in hard as the black lace bra that cup my breasts tightly comes into view. I don´t even blink. He finishes taking my top as I’m on top of him, my knees resting on the mattress. Both my hands are on his face, our eyes locked as my thighs squeeze him. I can feel him hardening even more, my wetness pressing against his crotch. He rests his hands under my skirt, on my thighs, the warmth on my skin spreading through his fingers. He´s so hard right now. There´s a massive erection raging againt his pants and his desire is almost palpable, so heavy I can feel it in the atmosphere around us. His eyes are darting up and down my body, going down from my neck to the valley between my breasts, quickly descending over my tight black skirt and then slowing down as they reach my legs. I can’t help it. My tongue runs over my lips as my hands slide down from his shoulder blades to the hem of his pants. I move them around his waist and, finally
finding his belt buckle, I open it up, then pull it off smoothly through the loops of his jeans in a single motion. Anxiety making my heart beat faster, I let it fall from my fingers. I go back to his pants and undo the top button, my trembling fingers then taking care of his zipper; the moment I start pulling it down, ever so slowly, his cock pushes back against my fingers from under his boxer briefs, making my heart beat even faster. I trace the outline of his shaft, slowly, from top to bottom and then back up. God, I’m so wet – right now, I’m just fighting against the urge to simply lie back on the bed and make him take me. Turning my wrist around, I grab his cock, feeling it pulse against my curled fingers. I start moving my hand up and down, stroking him over his boxers, and I let out a gentle moan against his ear. He reacts by tangling his fingers in my hair and yanking, forcing me to throw my head back. “You’re so beautiful, Katherine,” he says. “I’m just an average girl,” I try and tell him, but my words come out as a soft whisper.
There’s something in the way he’s looking at me that makes me believe protests are futile. It doesn’t matter what I believe, his gaze tells me – he thinks I’m beautiful, and that’s the end of it. And what I can say? I love it. He dives straight into me again, taking his mouth to my cleavage and kissing the naked patch of skin there. At the same time, he allows his hands to roam up the side of my body, and then he takes them to my back. There, he finds the clasp of my bra and he frees it with a quick flick of his fingers. My lace cups fall away from my breasts, revealing my rosy tips, and Blake reacts to the sight of my naked tits with an almost savage growl. Grabbing at my bra, he throws it to the side and then grabs my left breast, squeezing it. Taking his mouth to it, he starts devouring my left nipple, sucking hard on it while he traces vicious circles around it with his tongue. I let moan after moan tumble out of my lips as he does it, the sound of my aching voice filling the room…oh, I can barely believe that this is happening.
Moving quickly, he takes his parted lips to my other nipple. He wraps his lips around my rosy tip, sucking it inside his mouth, and then pressing down with his tongue. I let go of his cock as pleasure flutters inside of me. His hand then goes straight to the hemline of my skirt, and he slides his fingers underneath it. Slowly, he brushes his fingertips against my inner thights and I hold my breath as he does it, becoming even wetter than before. I don’t know even know how that’s possible. “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers against my ear while, at the same time, he cups my wet pussy with the palm of his hand, applying just the right amount of pressure. I arch my back and moan slightly as he starts pressing harder on my pussy, eager for more. Almost as if he could read my mind, he then grabs my thong and pushes it to the side. Now with my pussy free for the taking, he slides his index finger over its length, drawing another lengthy moan from between my lips. He stops on my clit, his fingertip hovering over it, and then he traces his way back down.
Slowly parting my inner lips, he then slides his index finger inside my pussy, taking his time with it. He takes it all the way in, curling it upward and pressing his fingertip against my G-spot. The moment I feel his touch there, I close my eyes and feel my eyes roll in their orbits. My God, how the hell does he know my body even better than I do? It’s almost as if he can read my mind, and knows exactly what I need and when I need it. He keeps his finger there for a long time, just teasing me and building up the tension between us, and then he starts flicking his wrist. As he does it, he slides one more finger inside of me, stretching me wide as if he’s trying to prepare me for something…larger. Fingering me harder, he drives me to the edge of oblivion, pulling at my strings as if I am his puppet. Bucking my hips against his hand, I start rocking my body back and forth, feeling that electric fire taking over me. “Oh God, oh God, oh –” I trail off as I feel my pussy tightening around his fingers, my inner walls
squeezing him tight. I grit my teeth and moan through them as I feel a sudden orgasm shoot up my spine, taking over my mind like a shower of fireworks. Christ, Blake has only used his fingers, and it was better than anything I’ve ever had with Dale. How is it possible for him to be this good? “My turn,” I find myself saying, a wicked grin on my lips. Before I can think of what I’m doing, I pull off his boxers, position myself between his legs, reach for his cock and grab it harshly. I need his cock, and I need it now. Looking into his eyes one last time, I lean into him as I angle its tip, pointing it straight at my mouth. I part my lips and wrap them around his cock, slowly lowering myself and allowing his shaft to slide over my tongue. He groans, gently placing his hands on the top of my head and pushing me down. I let him do it willingly, and I only stop when my lips are at the base of his cock, its tip pressed tight against the back of my throat. I hold that position for a few
seconds, using my tongue to press on his shaft, and only then do I allow him to slide out. I then start to suck his tip gently. I open my mouth slowly and soon enough, his cock is rolling over my full lips. I press my tongue against his cock and pull my head back, allowing his whole length to slide back out once again. I lick it then, my hand starting to stroke him as I wrap my lips over his pulsing erection again. I’m teasing him, and loving every second of it. My lips move slowly over his tip, my tongue lapping at it and making him completely insane with lust. I smack my lips as I pull out again, the sound of it making him throb against my curled fingers. He can´t take it anymore and grabs a handful of my hair, and then starts to push my mouth down his cock, the anxiety of flaming desire lashing it out all over his body. I suck and lick him as my hand keeps busy stroking him, his thick cock completely ravaging my mouth. As I look up at him, his cock going in and out at full speed, he takes a deep breath in order to stop
himself from coming. After a few seconds, he starts thrusting his hips at me again. I keep still as he ravages my mouth, halfexpecting him to simply let go and come inside my mouth, but that’s not what he does. Instead, he pulls his cock out of my mouth, and pulls me up to my feet. Moving fast, he slides his hands down the side of my body and hooks his thumbs on my skirt; two hards tugs and the whole thing goes flying down my legs. I wiggle my hips from side to side, helping it on the way down, and that’s when he throws me on top of the bed. He follows after me fast, moving like a caged wild animal that has just been released, and I almost expect him to go straight for the kill. “Fuck me, Blake,” I find myself saying. I can’t believe that I’m saying it like that. Did I ever ask Dale to fuck me? Did I ever feel the need to tell him with those two words how much I wanted him? No, and that’s because I never really wanted him to fuck him. But now it’s different.
“Someone’s impatient,” he teases me, taking his hand straight to my pussy. I arch my back as I feel the pressure of his hand in there once more. He then starts pressing hard, rubbing my pussy over my thong, flicking his wrist at a steady rhythm as he keeps his eyes trained on me. “Say it…one more time,” he asks me, his voice heavy and brimming with pent-up desire. “I want you to fuck me,” I whisper back at him, the devilish tone in my voice making his eyes shine. Gritting his teeth, he cups my wet pussy with the palm of his hand, his thumb falling over my clit and he starts rubbing on it. At the same time, he parts my drenched folds with his fingers and then, swiftly, he slides is index finger all the way in, curling it upward like a hook, sending it straight to my g-spot once more. The moment he hits that spot inside of me, I let out a moan so sudden and loud that I swear he can feel the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Flicking his wrist at a steady pace, he lets a
smile creep on his lips as he looks at me. I have my head thrown back against the mattress, my hair already slightly disheveled and my eyes closed. As for my lips, they´re slightly parted, just enough for me to breathe out heavily and let Blake know all about the pleasure he´s inflicting on my body. He continues, pressing hard on my G-spot as he rubs my clit fiercely, and then I let out a scream as I come. I breathe out fast, the tension in my body slowly crumbling as slight spasms take over my muscles, and a shiver goes up my spine as I realize I’m doing this. Did he just make me come twice with nothing but his fingers? That’s a feat Dale couldn’t do even with his cock! “Ready for the main course?” He asks me as he slides the fingers out of my pussy, my creamy juices coating them. He then cups my ass, finally feeling it wholly in his hands. He pushes and pulls at the flesh, the sweet valley between my ass cheeks almost making
his skin prickle in excitement. He pulls at my thong viciously and rips it apart, the fabric tearing easily in his strong hands. “More than ready,” I tell him, seductively narrowing my eyes as he reaches for my hand and grabs it. With that, he pulls me on top of him. Before I can even react, he grabs his cock and starts brushing it against my soaked pussy. He rubs its tip up and down the length of my pussy and then feeds one inch of it into me. I let out one wild scream, and I’m only reacting to his thickness. “I’m right here,” he whispers, taking me as if he were doing it for the first time. His shaft strains against my insides, pushing my inner walls back and, slowly, he starts sliding his whole length inside of me, only stopping when all of it is buried deep. “Oh, God,” I moan, my insides burning so fiercely that it feels my whole body is made out of flames. I can’t even open my eyes, and breathing feels like a chore. When he starts to thrust…oh, when he starts to thrust, that fire grows. Each stroke of his cock makes me feel as if there’s electricity running
through my veins instead of blood. When my mind finally starts working again, I start swaying my hips, trying to match his rhythm. It doesn’t take long for him to stop thrusting and allow me to take the lead. And that’s exactly what I do; with both arms thrown over his shoulders, I ride him as if my life depends on it. I go as fast as I can, and beads of sweat are already forming on my forehead, a stray lock of hair plastered to my skin. That fire inside of me spreads from between my thighs to every extremity in my body, consuming everything in its wake. It feels like a sharp needle is stabbing every single one of my nerve endings. I never felt something like this. There’s something to be said about his prowess, that’s for sure. “Tired already?” he asks me, tucking that stray lock of hair over my ear. I make the effort to open up my eyes and, with a sly grin, I just roll to the side and lay down on the bed, spreading my legs wide. I tease him, sliding one hand down from
between my tits and moving it straight to my clit. Using only two fingers, I start rubbing it as I bite on my lower lip, inviting him in. He lies on top of my body and, grabbing his cock with one hand, he guides it home once more. This time he doesn’t tease me; no, he goes straight for the kill, sheathing his cock in me up to the hilt. I gasp as he does it, crossing my legs behind his lower back and my arms around his neck. My fingers are digging into his shoulder blades, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s inside of me in one sudden thrust, one hand holding my head while the other one runs through my hair. Slowly he starts kissing my right ear, breathing heavily into my hair, gently moving his cock in and out of me, as I rest my hands on his back. I let my fingers lay there as I feel his muscles moving, every inch of Blake’s body focused with a sole intent in mind: pleasure. He keeps on thrusting at that gentle pace until time seems to melt away around us. This moment is perfection itself.
He keeps on going until I’m more than ready to explode. That sweet pressure has grown inside of me once more, making every single muscle in my body tense up. My blood’s boiling, and every single thought inside my head feels like a bomb going off. I can’t see, breathe, or think. I’m nothing but pleasure made flesh, and it feels absolutely perfect. “OH GOD!” I scream at the top of my lungs, feeling as if my soul has just checked out. And he wasn’t even going hard at it; he was being gentle and kind, taking his time as ecstasy consumed. “There’s more,” I hear him say, but his voice seems to come to me from the other side of the universe. He pulls his cock out of my pussy and climbs off of me. Lying on his side, he places one hand on my waist. Making me roll to the side, my back turned to him, he presses his body against mine and guides his cock between my thighs. He’s inside me just like that, almost as if his cock never left my pussy, and his thrusts resume that soft rhythm. He takes his hand to my neck, his fingers
curling around it, and holds me steady. His movements become faster as he starts to fuck me savagely. With both hands I grab his wrist as if to steady myself, moving my hips back and forth, unable to wait for his strokes. He goes at it hard, his shaft going in and out, glistening with my juices. I arch my back against the mattress and let out a high pitched scream, my whole body shaking and trembling as if a high voltage current is running through me. And, still, Blake keeps on pounding me, the burning desire inside him forbidding him to stop. “Don’t…don’t stop!” I beg of him, and that’s exactly what he does: he doesn’t stop. Instead, he redoubles his efforts, fucking me with such intensity that I can’t even seem to remember who or where I am. All I know is that my body is being consumed by the holy fire of pleasure, and I’m loving every single minute of it. “Fuck!” I moan, another orgasm blanketing both my soul and body at the same time. I don’t even know how many times I’ve came already. This is pure madness…and it’s exactly the
kind of madness I needed in my life. I can’t believe I’ve lived all my life without experiencing this kind of sex. Sweet mercy, Blake has made me feel like a virgin once more. And he isn’t done. Changing positions, he goes behind me and, grabbing his cock with one hand, nudges the tip between my pussy lips as he rubs it up and down. He presses into me, sliding slowly inside my pussy, as I bite down hard on my lip. Grabbing me by the hips with his wide hands, he pulls me, easing himself into my drenched pussy. He slaps my ass hard enough to leave a red mark over the spot where his palm landed and, as if taken over by frenzy, he starts thrusting wildly inside me, his erratic and jerky movements discharging bolts of lightning and pleasure all over my body. “Harder!” I scream, my voice sounding raspy and high pitched, its tone nothing more than wild abandonment. He takes note of my instructions and, in an instant, my screaming is completely out of control as his thrusts grow stronger and vicious, his thighs
hitting my ass cheeks over and over again, the sound of flesh on flesh making him keep that vicious tempo. I just want to let myself explode with the intensity of a raging wilfire. My shouts become cries of pleasure - high and low, high and low. I feel my whole body shake as the delicious clench of a hard hitting orgasm starts to grow inside me. I grab and pull at the sheets, my hands curled into fists, and rock my hips back and forth violently, his unrelenting cock sliding in and out of me. He goes as fast and as hard as he can until my screaming makes my throat go sore. Even so, I let out a harsh moan that makes my skin prickle, my body convulsing as an out-of-control climax is taking hold of my body. The sound of my moaning drives sparks of electricity down my entire body, and I feel a pleasant tightness taking hold of his body. His cock jerks deep inside me and, grabbing me by the hips, so hard that it feels like he can’t control himself, he joins me in absolute paradise. He closes his eyes as his cock explodes inside
of me, his cum filling my pussy and dripping down onto the sheets. He breathes out, long and hard, as if he’s breathing out all the tension that had accumulated in his body. He rolls to the side, allowing his body to rest right next to mine. I’m breathing hard too, as if I’ve run a marathon – not that he is in a much better condition, mind you. Judging by the way he’s breathing, I’d say he ran the same marathon I did. God, my lungs are working hard, my heart working overtime, all of my muscles feeling sore from the effort. I close my eyes for a second, just so I can catch my breath. Then I roll to the side and just look at him. He has his eyes closed, just like I had, and there’s an expression of pure delight on his face. My eyes are drawn to the smile on his lips, and I feel my heart tightening inside my chest. God, what’s happening to me?
Chapter 14
Blake
“What’s that look?” Katherine asks as she turns to me. “What look?” We've barely moved after this latest romp, and I’m slowly beginning to catch my breath. I should feel spent. But oddly, I seem to still be full of life – in more ways than one. “You’ve got that Cheshire cat smile,” she says. “You know, the one that says you’re just too pleased with yourself. Either that or you've won an obscene amount of money in the last thirty minutes.
Which is it?” I laugh, because she’s caught me. I am pleased with myself. Being with her makes me feel good, but I’m not about to tell her what I’m feeling. Instead I look out the window and say, “Nothing. Really, it’s nothing.” It’s easier for me to act like what just happened between us is no big deal. My typical M.O. is to have sex, lay next to the woman for exactly one minute and fifteen seconds (which I am very good at counting silently to myself), and then make my excuses and leave. But both times with Katherine, last night, and just now, I’m not preparing my exit remarks and surprise, surprise, I’m in no hurry to get out her apartment. I’m want to show her what I brought. “Whatever you say,” she interrupts my thoughts, “I’m not going to hold it against you. But admit it, you were thinking of something. Was it about your next appointment…after me that is?” It’s obvious my lack of communication is making her have second thoughts about how utterly sexy and desirable she is, and that’s not what I
intended. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her and I need to stomp on this line of questioning quick. “If you must know,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant, “I’m smiling because of you.” There, I did it. Feelings out in the open, like a pair of perfectly ripped jeans on display in the main window at Saks Fifth Avenue. “Me?” she asks in a way that’s devoid of any pretention, and then she reaches over and gives me a soft kiss. “Hmm…” The woman’s got me purring, for fuck’s sakes. I am what’s typically known as a romantic dilettante and a serial dater, but this woman has got me by the balls. That’s why I want her to see what I’ve brought. I want her to understand what’s going on. That is if I can explain it, because I for one am baffled as shit. It’s better if I just cut to the chase. “I’ve got something to show you,” I say, and move from the bed. Pulling the sketch out of my shoulder bag, I
hold it close as I sit back on the bed. I can tell I’ve piqued her curiosity. “What's that?” she asks, sitting up. “Listen, about this morning, I know I left in a hurry—” “I’ll say you did. In fact, I was kind of surprised when I saw you at my door today. I thought your hasty exit was a way of saying, ‘see you later, bye.’ “No, that’s not it,” I say. Katherine looks vulnerable, and a little hurt. It’s the last thing I want because I need her to understand what’s happened to me since I met her. “You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings. I’m a big girl. I know what I’m getting into with you.” “It’s really not like that...I mean…awww, hell…” How do I explain to her what I’m feeling when I don’t even know what I’m feeling? This is so completely new to me I’m at a loss for words, a rarity in my life. I need to move this thing along before it gets any more uncomfortable for us.
“Here,” I say, handing her the sketch. I'm expecting a reaction from her, some form of expression, anything. A moan, a grunt, a sigh, but all I’m getting is silence. Ten seconds…twenty seconds…a minute… “Say something,” I finally blurt out, with a hint of exasperation in my voice. “I’m…I…I’m not sure what to say.” “Well, do you like it?” “When did you draw this, when I was sleeping?” she asks. And I can’t tell if she’s annoyed or elated because neither her voice nor her face register any emotion. “Yes but, actually, it’s from memory. See, that’s why I didn’t wait for you to wake up. I was in the studio all morning.” Katherine purses her lips and looks out the window and I feel as if I’m losing her. I reach out for her, putting my hand on her thigh because I want to keep this connection between us. I want Katherine, I want this, I want the painting to come to life, I want all of it. So I tell her the truth. “You’ve sparked something inside of me that I
thought was dead.” She raises an eyebrow and stares at me. “What?” I ask. “This sketch…” I can see she’s searching for what to say. “…it’s so personal.” For a moment I don't know how to respond. “It's what I see,” I finally offer. "You’re a beautiful woman. And I know that's like, the oldest cliché of all time, but it's true. “So here’s the thing,” I look into her chocolate-brown eyes and I'm momentarily lost. “I've got to have you.” Now she laughs in earnest. “You just did, and I’m not quite ready for another go.” Smiling, I shake my head, “No, I mean I need you to pose for me.” Katherine gives me a concerned look. “Hello, have we not met? Let me introduce myself, I’m Katherine. I’m a writer. Not a model.” “Look at this,” I say pointing to my sketch of her, “I did that from memory, and we both know it’s damn good. But it’s just a start.” I run my
fingers through my hair. “How can I put this? You’re a writer, and I’m sure you’ve written dozens and dozens of outlines, but those outlines aren’t a completed manuscript. Well, this drawing isn’t a painting. It’s just an outline and I want – no…I need to bring it to life. Please, you've got to sit for me while I paint you.”
Chapter 15
Katherine
My lips mechanically move to the mug, and my brain only kicks in when the liquid touches my lips. I cringe. I hate lukewarm or cold coffee, but it’s the only thing within reach. I feel his eyes on me. They caress my face, my lips, hover at my v-neck tight fitting blouse and keep going. It’s as if he is slowly undressing me from head to toe. Not now, I tell myself, but lust is creeping through me like weeds creep through the garden. How can he do this to me?
Part of me wants to rip my own clothes off before doing the same to him. But we can’t be having sex all the time, can we? “You don’t like it?” Was that worry in his voice? I smile. “Don’t be silly. I love it.” Words, I’m an expert with words, and here I’m struggling to come up with the right ones. Maybe I should write to him. The idea is so silly I laugh. I catch his eyes and see he is not sure what to make of my reaction. I put my coffee down and walk over to him. A dangerous move, I know, but I feel like reassuring him the only way I really know how. When my lips move off his, his hands stay on my hips. “I know I’m a writer and words should come easy to me,” I hesitate. “I just don’t know what to say.” Something moves across his face. Hurt? Anger? Disappointment? I’m not sure. “The way you have captured me on paper,”
another hesitation as the genius in me gropes for something to say to make him feel how I feel when I look at the artwork, “No one, and I mean no one has ever looked at me like this.” I take the picture and move away from him. It takes great effort to resist his physical charm, but I must let him know how I feel about his work before things get out of hand. “Look at the tiniest of a hint of a dimple in my right cheek. Only someone who had looked at me really closely would be able to reproduce it.” I continue to stare at myself on the paper. For some reason, tears well up and I quickly bite my bottom lip. Tears are the last thing Blake will want to see. I feel him beside me again and I glance at him. “I think I almost look beautiful the way you have captured me.” I pause again. “I look serene. You’re an amazing artist.” My emotions tell me to stop talking and get on with kissing him and ripping his clothes off so my hands can get creative with his body. His left hand reaches under my chin and lifts
my head, so I have to look at him. His touch is so gentle. A wave of desire engulfs me. As I struggle with my emotions, he leans in toward me and kisses me ever so lightly on the tip of my nose. “Did you see I even captured the lonely freckle on the right side of your nose?” His hand is stopping me from turning my head. I have to take his word for it. I had not noticed it. “And,” Blake continues, his hand still holding my chin and his index finger caressing my cheek. “You are one of the most beautiful women I have seen.” His words, spoken with utter sincerity, release millions of butterflies in my stomach and leave my heart galloping wildly in my chest. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” I manage to whisper and I wonder how much longer before my legs will simply give way underneath my own weight. Blake chortles. His other hand now cups half of my face. “Katherine. Kath.” The way he says my name
melts the last of my resistance from me. “I mean every word I just said.” This time his lips come for my mouth. His kiss is soft. Slowly, his tongue pushes past my lips to find mine. A groan builds deep down in my throat. Fling. It’s a fling, I try and remind myself. When he pulls back, I want to protest. “Every time I look at you, inspiration washes over me in great big waves.” He points at the picture. “This is just one of a few I’ve drawn of you,” he confesses. “I don’t know what to say.” It’s true; Katherine the author is suffering from some form of communication block. It’s almost funny. “From the first time I saw you I knew I needed to draw you.” Blake continues. My eyes move from the painting to Blake and back again. Something is still stopping me from giving in. Posing nude is such a personal thing. I cannot imagine myself parading around in front of Blake without any clothes on as he is standing, fully
clothed, in front of easel and canvas, paintbrush in hand. “Since I have met you,” Blake’s words bring me back to the here and now, “I’ve felt so inspired. I’m filled with ideas. I can’t stop painting.” I feel the heat and color rise to my cheeks. “Katherine,” he has taken hold of my hands. “You are my inspiration; you are my muse.” “I don’t think Dale ever said I was beautiful or pretty.” The words are out before I can stop them. To my surprise, Blake laughs. “Dale’s an asshole and a prick who doesn’t know when he has possession of a real diamond.” Blake plants another kiss on my mouth. “He does not deserve what he does not value. He does not deserve you.” I’m not sure exactly what has my wall of resistance crumble, but crumble it does. “Okay,” I say and this time I give him a little kiss on the cheek. “I will pose for you. Nude.” Blake smiles then, his whole expression changing. “You won’t regret it.” He promises.
“Make sure you make me look good.” I say only to say something. Now he pulls me into his arms and whispers into my ear. “I can’t fix perfection.”
Chapter 16
Blake
Before Katherine arrived this afternoon, I put a bed into the studio and covered it with white Egyptian cotton sheets—a thousand thread count. They’re expensive and they feel damn luxurious. My mind’s eye has been working overtime, imagining Katherine on that bed. My muse. She’s finally here, and now all I need is for her to lie quietly as I take care of the rest. “I’m ready,” Katherine says, and she comes out of the dressing room.
She’s smiling but I can see the death grip she's got on the towel that’s covering her. Katherine’s nervous and I have no idea why; it’s not as if I haven’t already seen and touched every square inch of her. “Just get comfortable,” I say as reassuringly as possible. I need her to relax, so I pour a glass of champagne and hand it to her. “Here.” There’s a slight tremble in her hand as she takes the glass. “Take your time, and when you’re ready, just lie on the bed.” “Thanks.” She smiles and walks over to it. “Nice sheets.” “You might want experience them up close. Why not have a lie down?” “Yeah, I’m getting there,” she says, and takes a deep breath, throwing back the champagne in one swallow. “There. Much better. What’s to be nervous about?” she says, smiling. She drops the towel to the floor, and crawls onto the bed, lithe as a lioness. “You know me, I
know you. Let’s do this.” “Damn, you’re gorgeous.” Katherine throws her head back and gives a throaty laugh. “Come on Blake, you’re making me self-conscious again.” “All evidence to the contrary,” I say, because there’s nothing shy about her pose. This is a woman who is meant to be naked. All the time. I gotta get my mind on work. I’m here to paint. Period, I say to myself. Because right now, what I see in front of me is the perfect picture. The bed seems to be floating in the center of the room, as the late afternoon sunlight filters in from the tall windows behind her. I like that she’s backlit. It gives the scene an almost dream-like quality. Katherine’s back is arched, her knees are bent, and her feet are planted on the bed. She looks so damn sexy, I’m almost coming…undone. I take a breath and say, “That pose is onehundred percent working for me, but I’m afraid you may not be able to hold it for as long as I need you
to.” “Oh, no?” she says licking her lips, “then how about this?” She turns her body towards me and puts her hand between her legs. I’m a little surprised at how uninhibited she is. Just a moment ago she seemed tense and fragile. Now she’s showing me a side of her I haven't seen before, and I’m definitely digging it. But I’m torn. While it’s obvious she’s signaling an all-out invitation to take her right this minute, I have work to do. Shit, when did I become the guy who’s too busy for sex? I shake my head and walk toward the container holding my brushes, “Just get comfortable,” I call out, “you’ll need to stay in the pose for a while. If there are any adjustments that need to be made, I’ll let you know.” “I could use a little adjustment right about now,” she says in hoarse whisper. “I heard that.” “You were meant to,” she says laughing.
She’s playing with me, but I need to concentrate. “Katherine, there’ll be time for that later on. But I need to get something down on this canvas.” My tone has taken on a mock annoyance, but she’s not buying it. “Well, if you want to get down…” she says leaving the sentence hanging. “Katherine…” and this time I am a touch annoyed, “the colors are waiting.” When I turn to face her, my muse is perfectly posed, the light is where I want it, and my fingers have the creative itch. Since that itch has been missing of late, I intend to scratch it, regardless of the fact that a sexy, beautiful and obviously aroused woman—who I am immensely attracted to —is lying on a bed screaming to be messed up. Yes, despite all that, I’m going to get down to business and paint. I make a conscious decision to concentrate on my palette, and it calms me as I begin. “I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass,” Katherine interrupts, “but there’s something missing.” She pouts.
“The only thing that’s missing is the absence of any paint on this canvas,” I say in an effort to just get on with it. “Nope, I’m sure there’s something missing. We need a little something-something.” I have no clue what this something is that she’s referring to. “Blake, you get to have all the fun, while I just lie here.” She brushes her hand across her breast. “I rather thought you’d enjoy lying around since you seem to do it so well,” I counter. She gives me a ‘come hither’ look with hooded eyes and in a low voice says, “How ‘bout some music. Then I won’t be bored while you’re busy playing with your...canvas.” And there it is again, that pout. The way those luscious lips press together sends blood from my brain to my…Damn, I need to get on with this. “If it’s music you want, then it’s music I’ll play. What’s your pleasure?” I ask. “Are you asking me what music I want to hear? Or are you asking me what’s my pleasure? Because those are two distinctly different
questions.” Katherine is really working me. From every angle. But I can’t let myself be dissuaded. I need to focus. “How about a classic?” she asks. “Fine, Beethoven, Brahm?” I ask. “No, silly,” she’s now genuinely laughing at me. “I’m talking a classic, like Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing,’ I love that song and I have no doubt it’s on your phone. So plug it in and play. Please.” She’s right. It is on my playlist. I set it up and it's slow suggestive beat flows out of the speakers. “Satisfied?” “Not yet,” she teases. She’s staring at me; her naked body is glorious. She’s slowly moving her hips to the beat of the music and I’m mesmerized. Katherine is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. I’m not that strong. I can’t help but stop and watch. “Hey,” she says, “I thought you needed to paint. I don’t see any strokes happening. Stop
gawking and work. I don’t have all day.” There’s no doubt, she’s working me. The entire time she’s talking she continues to slowly move those hips, making it almost impossible for me to do anything else but watch. Oh, hell, blood is definitely rushing south. “Katherine…” I reprimand, “You’re bad. Very bad." Her pout turns into a lascivious smile as I put down my brushes. "It seems I have no choice.” And I really don’t. I want to be inside her right this minute and these paints, well, hell, they’ll be here when we’re done.
Chapter 17
Katherine
Slowly, I go up to my feet and make my way toward Blake. He wanted me to be still, to keep my pose while his brush moved over the canvas…but how can I do that when I feel his eyes on me, taking in every curve of my body? Talk about an impossible task. Besides, I know he wants me and I know that he can’t wait for it. I can see it in his eyes, in his grin, and I can see it in the hard shape pushing back against the fabric of his jeans.
Maybe I shouldn’t be distracting him from his work, but what can I do? I need him, and I need him right now. There’s just something about being here in the nude, under his artist’s gaze, that sets off something inside me. As I walk toward Blake, he closes the distance between us, placing his hands on my hips and pushing me back until my legs are against the edge of the bed. I fall on the mattress, looking expectantly as he smiles at me and climbs on top of the bed, his movements fluid and dangerous. “Blake,” I whisper, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him into me. He crushes my mouth with his, his hands finding their way to my waist. I close my eyes as we kiss, our tongues wrestling against one another as he explores my naked body with nothing but his touch. For a painter, Blake sure as hell knows how to appreciate his subjects with only his fingertips… and, sweet mercy, could there be anything more perfect than his touch? Soft and firm at the same time, his hands roam over my body, their warmth making my mind buzz with excitement.
“I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Blake…” I murmur, pulling away from his kiss and looking into his eyes. “I really don’t…” With that, and needing to feel his hard muscles under my fingertips, I take both my hands to the collar of his shirt, undressing him as fast as I possibly can. I start unbuttoning his shirt, my fingers moving from button to button at a hurried pace. Then, I run my fingertips over the contour of his chiseled abs, and I let my fingers fall to his waistline. I untuck his open shirt and push it down his arms, sighing as I watch him move, ropes of muscle moving under his arms. Who could say an artist would look like this? His pectorals look like they were designed to be part of the perfect human being, and his abs are six perfect squares of raw muscle separated by deep lines carved straight into his flesh. I was wet before, but now…Christ! I’ve already been with Blake more than once, but his body never fails to get this reaction out of me. “You know I can say the same thing about
you, don’t you?” He replies softly, and my gaze is drawn to his lips again. “Your smile’s perfect,” he whispers, brushing his thumb over my parted lips. “Your nose, your ears, your eyes,” he stops for a second, allowing his gaze to roam over my naked curves. “Your body.” “You’re one to talk,” I reply with a shy laugh, craning my neck and pressing my mouth on his naked skin. Moving fast, he tangles his fingers on my hair and then yanks on it, forcing my my head back. Moving fast, he presses his lips against my neck, gently nibbling at my skin. I moan slightly as I feel his mouth on my skin, and I close my eyes and simply surrender to him. “You really don’t understand how perfect you are, Kath…” He whispers, and I smile as I notice his eyes roaming down from my breasts to my flat stomach...and then further down. “But I want to do more than just look, and you’re the one to blame for that,” he adds in, leaning into me. His lips find their way into mine once more, and we kiss in complete abandonment.
I feel the naked skin of his chest against mine, and it feels so amazing it almost hurts – oh, we’re close to crossing the line that separates a fling from…something else. “I need you so bad,” he whispers, pulling back from me and looking into my eyes. “Every piece of you.” His lips go down to my neck, and then he takes them to the valley between my breasts. Using both his hands, he squeezes my breasts eagerly, my flesh molding to his fingers as he does it. “Why do you have to taste this good?” He asks me with a grin, leaning in and brushing his lips against my right nipple. He sucks it in, and I feel hardening against his tongue, a long moan tumbling out from my mouth as he does it. Replacing his mouth with his hand, he pinches my right nipple between his thumb and index finger. I arch my back and let out another moan, the pressure he’s applying on my nipple sending a message of pain straight to my brain – except, by the time it gets there, it has already turned into raw pleasure. Blake can’t be a man – he must be a God.
I can honestly say I don’t believe I’ve ever been this wet in my entire life. Thing is, I think of this every time I’m with him. It never gets boring, and that magic is always there. I know I shouldn’t be talking about magic, but what can I do? When I’m in his arms, I’m hopeless. “You can taste all of me,” I tease him, biting on my lower lip and looking into his eyes. He doesn’t reply –he just leans into me with parted lips, and wraps them around the nipple he was pinching. He sucks it inside his mouth, using his tongue to lap it, and I become so wet that I can almost feel my juices dripping down my thighs. Oh, I think I need to feel his mouth somewhere else… Reading my mind, Blake takes one hand and flattens it between my thighs, his other palm pressed tight against my inner lips. Pressing and rubbing, he works my pussy until I’m lifting my hips from the mattress, swaying them from side to side as electric sparks fly from my pussy and travel up my spine.
Finally letting go of my nipples, he starts kissing me in a downward line, going over my stomach. But, when he gets to the patch of skin where an untanned line shows, he stops. He lifts his head, looks up at me with a sly grin, and then goes to his knees on the mattress. He brushes his lips down my naked skin, moving as slowly as he can, and he only stops when his white teeth are dangerously close to my wetness. “Fuck, I need this,” he tells me, positioning himself between my legs and lying on his stomach. He starts by kissing my inner thighs, but this time he doesn’t fool around –he goes straight for the kill. Wrapping his lips around my clit, he nibbles at it softly, tracing the contour of my aching pussy with his index finger. I’m moaning now, arching my back as my body burns with anticipation. I need him to keep going, I need him to keep this up until I succumb, until I – OH GOD! He slides his finger inside my pussy with one sudden movement, driving it straight to my G-spot.
He leaves it for a few seconds, just pressing hard against that sweet spot inside me, and then slides one more finger inside my pussy. Still lapping at my clit with his tongue, he starts fingering me hard, his rhythm a feverish one right from the start. I want to grab his hair, to force his head down and thrust my pussy against his mouth; but all I do is grab at the sheets, clutching them so hard my knuckles turn white. Blake’s in control right now, and all I can do is submit. But he knows what I need and when I need it. So, wasting no time, he opens his mouth wide and starts sucking and licking while he fingers me, ravaging me with his fingers and his mouth. He does it mercilessly, licking my fluids and hitting my G-spot each time he buries his fingers deep inside of me. It doesn’t take more than a minute –my body tenses up, a pleasant sensation climbing from my pussy to my brain, and I just explode. I grit my teeth so harshly I might break my jaw, breathing hard as spasms of utter ecstasy take over every
single muscle in my body. He keeps on licking and fingering me while I come, and he does it until another orgasm starts showing up on the crest of the first one. I explode again, two orgasms raging inside of me almost at the same time. Sighing loudly, I open my eyes as Blake slides his fingers out of me, lifting his head at the same time. I look into his eyes as he goes up to his knees, my fluids glistening on the skin around his mouth. He swings his legs out of the bed and, going up to his feet, grins. “Come here, Kat,” he orders me, and I somehow manage to roll out of the bed. I’m standing up when he places his hands on my shoulders. “No, on your knees.” The sound of his voice acts like a spell, and that’s all it takes for my knees to buckle. They touch the ground quickly, and I just kneel there, looking up at him while my heart pounds against my ribcage. Mischievousness all over his face, he undoes the top button on his pants, and then pulls his
zipper down. My heart tightens up as I see that huge shape straining against his boxer briefs, and I even forget to keep breathing as he pushes his boxers down his legs. He steps out of his clothes and, standing there, towers over me like a God. He doesn’t need to tell me what he wants me to do. Because I want the same thing. I lean toward him with slightly parted lips, and all he does is angle his cock down, its tip pointing straight at my mouth. I stop one inch away from it, and just reach for the tip with my tongue, running it in circles and feeling his salty flavor overwhelm me. Instead of taking him in my mouth, I tilt my head sideways and slide my tongue down his shaft. I only stop when I’m close to his balls and, lost in a whirlwind of lust, I open my mouth as wide as I can and suck one of his balls in. I flick my tongue at it, feeling its weight in my mouth, and only then do I pull back. Going back up his shaft, this time I wrap my lips around the tip of his cock. I lower myself over
his huge member, allowing his length to slide into my mouth until its tip is pressed tight against the back of my throat. I open my eyes just to realize that even though the tip of his cock is touching the back of my throat, there’s still some of his cock outside my mouth. I make one extra effort and push myself down, somehow fitting all of his length inside of me, my lips brushing against the skin at the base of his cock. “Fuck, that’s good,” he breaths out, and that’s when I slide back out. Bobbing my head back and forth, I start ravaging his monstrous cock as hard as I can. I place my hands on his ass cheeks as I do it, using it as leverage as my mouth flies back and forth over his cock. I go so fast the muscles in my neck start to hurt, but I don’t let that stop him. I use the pain as fuel to go even harder, the wet sound of my lips going up and down his shaft filling my whole bedroom. Then, suddenly, Blake grabs me by the hair
and forces me to stop. I turn my eyes up to him, and the lustful smile on his face makes my insides clench. Holding my head in place, both his hands on my hair, he starts to thrust. Sliding his cock in and out of me at a furious pace, there’s no other way to describe what he’s doing: he’s fucking my mouth as if he were fucking my pussy and, by God, it feels amazing. He ravages my mouth for God knows how long, and only stops when a violent spasm takes over his cock. Groaning, he grits his teeth and then pulls back, sliding his cock out of my mouth. “The things you can do with your mouth…” He breathes out, and his deep voice makes my pussy flare up with a burning need. I need him inside of me, and I need it now. “I can do so much more with something else,” I tease him, my words like an open invitation. “I know,” he whispers quietly, going down to his knees right in front of me. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he forces me to turn around and then pushes my head down; still on my knees, I lay my
face down on the mattress. Closing in on me, he keeps me bent over while he guides his cock to the wet spot between my thighs. Instead of thrusting right away, he just brushes the tip of his cock up and down the length of my pussy, teasing me. He still isn’t thrusting but I’m already moaning, electric anticipation making me feel lightheaded. “Please, Blake…I…I need it,” I tell him, turning my head to the side so that the mattress doesn’t muffle my words. “Please,” I repeat one more time, and that does it. My moans turn into a wild scream as he thrusts, his cock flying deep inside my pussy until all of his inches are in me. “You’re so…fucking tight,” he says, thrusting at a hard pace and making my body burn with pleasure. His thighs slap my ass cheeks rhythmically, and I let the sound lull me into a trance. Grabbing me by the hips, he rides me hard – one hard thrust and I open my mouth wide, gasping as the tip of his cock hits my G-spot. He does it
over and over again and, like a ticking bomb, my body starts the short countdown to a mind-bending orgasm. I don’t how many mores thrusts does it take – all I know is that when the orgasm hits, it hits with full force. Thunder and lightning rage under my skin, a storm of ecstasy lashing at my rational mind and choking it down. I don’t even know if I’m moaning or screaming, although I can feel my vocal chords stretched to the limit, my throat growing raw with each passing second. Instead of stopping, Blake just keeps on fucking me through my orgasm, pistoning into me in perfect timing. His cock goes back and forth like clockwork, and it doesn’t take long for my insides to start flaring up once again. I come once more, and this in a matter of seconds. Seriously, how does he even does it? He can’t be a regular human being. I’m breathing so hard that my lungs might collapse any second now. Somehow, though, that doesn’t happen –and that’s good, since I want to
keep going. I simply can’t grow tired of his cock. “I want you,” I find myself saying as I go up to my feet and turn on my heels, looking down at Blake. I place one foot on his chest and I push him down onto the floor; he goes down willingly and, before he can do a thing, I’m on of him. I straddle him like a wild cat, clawing at his hard pectorals with my fingernails, and he grabs my ass. “Now I’m the one in control,” I tell him with a chuckle, grabbing his cock by the root and pointing it up. I raise myself slightly, just enough to place the tip of his cock against my pussy, and then I start lowering my body over his hard cock. I groan as, very slowly, I allow him to slide inside of me. When his shaft is halfway inside my pussy, I just lower myself in one sudden movement and scream. Wasting no time, I rock my hips back and forth, working his cock with a fury I didn’t even know I was capable of. I go so fast that, in a matter of a few seconds, large beads of sweat start making their way down my forehead and into my face,
going over my lips and inundating me. “Fuck, that’s good,” he exhales, reaching for my tits and squeezing them eagerly. He pinches both my nipples at the same time, and that just makes me go even harder. Needing an extra edge, I stop for a few seconds – and that just to plant my feet by the side of his thighs. Squatting over his cock, I start bouncing up and down so fast that, if I miscalculate my movements, I might just end up breaking his cock in half. That or he’ll split me in two. I fuck him until my muscles start giving up on me but, thankfully, before that happens I feel a thunderstorm building inside of me. By the time I collapse on top of him, that thunderstorm has already reached its zenith. Clenching my teeth, I choke down a scream and press my forehead against his chest, trying to survive the avalanche of pleasure that’s blanketing my mind. I roll to the side, completely spent, and sprawl my limbs while trying to catch my breath. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this exhausted. Well, at least it’s for a good reason. I wouldn’t mind being
exhausted like this every single day for the rest of my life if it meant I could have Blake by my side. Oh, God, what the hell am I saying? “Already givin’ up?” He teases me, turning to the side so that he’s facing me. He squeezes my right breast softly, and the moves his hand down and over my stomach, placing it over my pussy. He caresses my folds and, when I don’t say anything, he just grins. “I think you still need more,” he says, and then forces me to roll to the side, my back turned to him. His body fits on mine like a piece from a puzzle, and he doesn’t waste any time – grabbing his cock, he guides it home, placing it against my soaked pussy and thrusting. This time I can’t choke down my scream, and so I just do it at the top of my lungs, his cock scorching the nerve endings on my inner walls as it goes in. “As hard as you can,” I find myself saying, not even knowing why I do it. I know how hard I can go – at least I think so – and I’m not sure if I can handle all that right now.
I mean, how many orgasms have I already been through so far? Too many too count, that’s for sure. So, yeah, I’m not sure if I can handle one more. Or can I? No idea, all I know is that I want it. And, reading my mind again, Blake is the right man to make my wishes turn into reality. “I told you before…What you ask for, you get,” he tells me. Digging his fingers into my hips, he starts slamming his cock into me so hard that I even stop breathing for a few seconds. The way he’s fucking me right makes all the other times we were together pale in comparison to the sheer fury with which he’s using my body right now. He’s moving like a man possessed, the fires of hell burning under his skin and powering every thrust of his. I scream and I moan, forcing my throat to keep working past its exhausted state, and he just keeps on fucking me as if I was as quiet as a ghost. I don’t even know if he can hear me, to be honest – he’s probably in a world of his own right now, his conscious mind completely adrift. Blake might seem like a poised man, always
cool and in control…But get him hot and he becomes a different man altogether, one impossible to tame. Screaming my way into a climax, I come undone the moment his thrusts become so hard I stop thinking at all, completely surrendering to the way he’s ravaging me. I claw at the floor, completely mad and not knowing what to do with my body as an orgasm unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before bursts inside of me. My muscles twitch so hard that it feels like I’m having a seizure and, by the time these spasms subside, I can barely move. My eyes are closed, and the silence in the room makes it seem like I’m floating in outer space. I’m dizzy and lightheaded but, when Blake slides his cock out of me, a tiny voice inside my mind tells me that it still isn’t over. There’s something I still need to do. I sit up on the floor and force my eyelids open. I go to my knees and then look at Blake with my mouth slightly ajar. A grin lights up his face as he realizes what I want him to do, and he goes up to
his feet in no time, towering over me. I don’t even need to think about what I have to do – my body already knows it. Reaching for his cock with both hands, I start stroking him right away. My rhythm builds up fast, but then I break it by leaning in and wrapping my lips around the tip of his cock. He groans as I do it, and then he groans some more as I push my mouth down the length of his shaft at a breakneck speed. Bobbing my head as fast as I can, this time I don’t stop when I feel his cock pulsing hard inside of my mouth – I just keep on doing what I’m doing. In a matter of seconds, he places both his hands on my head and comes. Gushing a river of cum into my mouth, he fills it up to the brim with two quick spasms of his cock. I remain still for a few seconds, and when Blake’s finished I start rolling my lips back. His cock pops out of my mouth with a wet sound and, before I can even think about what I’m doing, I simply swallow. “Fuck, you’re amazing,” Blake tells me, reaching for me and grabbing me by the hand. He pulls me up to my feet and then makes me lay
down on the bed, joining me a second later. “You’re the one who’s amazing,” I tell him, rolling to the side and resting one arm over his chest. We stay like that for a long time, the shadows growing around us and tumbling over our naked bodies. Surrounded by canvas, old brushes, and the smell of new paint, I close my eyes and surrender to the moment. This is a memory I’m sure I won’t forget anytime soon.
Chapter 18
Katherine
The rays of the sun caress the back of my neck as I make a cup of coffee in Blake’s kitchen. At first, I only stare at the glistening beast of a coffee machine. I am nearly dizzy from the number of buttons on the silver appliance, but I persist, and it does not take too long before I hold a steaming mug of hot black liquid. I take a sip and close my eyes, enjoying the hot liquid caress my tongue before I swallow. This is excellent coffee. Coffee is one of my weaknesses. I probably
drink too much of it. And I like the good stuff, exactly like the one I am holding in my hands right now. I am a coffee connoisseur. Life, I believe, is too short to drink bad coffee. And there’s nothing better than good coffee after a little nap, is there? After what happened inside the studio, I simply nodded off. I must have slept for a couple of hours before I finally woke up. Blake was nowhere to be seen, so I just made my way toward the kitchen. Dressed in nothing but one of Blake’s t-shirts, and with bare feet, I now meander through the apartment and back to the studio. I make my way through the living room, remembering how it felt to be with Blake. A little color rises to my cheeks as I recall the wild animalistic passion I had felt when Blake and I were having sex. Dale had never been so near Neanderthal in his approach to sex, at least not with me. I push thoughts of the ex-boyfriend aside. He is well and truly history. Curiosity arouses I continue my exploration of
this oversized apartment. I seem to still be floating on clouds, the after-effect of sex lingering. I keep reminding myself that this is just a fling, not a long-lasting attachment, to the point where I’ve nearly convinced myself. I have to admit, up until I stood in his workspace, I hadn’t been entirely convinced of Blake being an serious painter. Sure, I had seen his work on exhibit the other night, but it was no proof he was an artist. A real artist. And now I stand in his workspace, and an explosion of color and feeling emanate from each and every piece of art scattered through the vast area stretched out before me. It is not neat and tidy. I spot two, no, three working easel with canvasses on them. One of them appears to be blank, but the other two have been started, although it is unclear exactly what they are paintings of. Some of the finished pieces are leaning against the wall, while others are hanging up. More of them are lying on the floor. He sure is prolific. Slowly, I move from painting to painting.
It is as if a giant has taken me into his cave and laid his soul bare in front of me. Open-mouthed, I stare at a large canvass filled with dark blues, grays and blacks. The storm raging within the artist is unmistakable. It must have been a dark day for Blake the day he painted this one. I move on. I’m intrigued. As a writer I understand all too well how your emotions can rule your creative side. A canvass covered in every red and orange on the color spectrum has me reel back. I fear if I stand too close, the heat will burn my skin. I wonder if it is a raging fire he is portraying or something else. I keep staring at the blast of reds, and as I do, I can see the destruction of what appear to have been buildings. I sense anger. I keep walking. Blues, whites and turquoises draw me in. Puzzled, I stop and stare. Was this supposed to be the sky, the ocean or something so abstract I cannot work it out? Despite my inability to see a definite design, it has a serene feeling. I recall having read somewhere that blue is a
calming color. I smile. So there was a calm and balanced side to Blake after all. Further along the back wall are some nudes. I’m relieved to find I don’t recognize any of his models. As I stare at them, a sense of insecurity creeps through me. These girls are gorgeous. There is not a flaw on them. Big boobs, slim waist, flat stomach, nice ass, and slender legs on each and every one of them. Some seem a little vacant in the facial expression, but as far as their bodies went, they were perfect. Aware of my own nakedness under the large tshirt, I glance downward. Suddenly I get the distinct impression Blake had only told me he wanted to paint me so he could get me to have sex with him. Must have been a slow day for him. I notice another feature these girls have and I don’t. I don’t have long blonde curls to drape over my shoulder, half my face, or half way down my back. A half-finished sketch catches my attention. I
hold my breath as I instantly recognize the face, the shoulders and the rest of the body. In the sketch I’m lying on my side. I’m asleep. Just by looking at it, I feel how peaceful I am. My hair, which I had only moments before wished to be long, looks just right. It accentuates my cheekbones. My lips are slightly drawn up, as if I’m smiling. The longer I stare at myself, the more I sense the eroticism oozing from me. I’m lying on my side, hiding some of my nakedness, and that somehow just makes it more erotic. Suddenly, my throat feels dry, and I’m a little dizzy. He must have painted this while I slept. Hands wrap around my waist. Warm, moist lips caress my neck, instantly setting off emotional shock waves all through my body. “Like it?” No sound escapes my lips. His touch threatens to drag me into the thralls of ecstasy once more. I nod. “What do you think…?” His hands are
drawing little circles on my back. I can’t think properly. “About what?” I croak. I barely recognize my own voice. It sounds frog-like. “About the painting, Kat. Do you like it?” I open my mouth to speak, but I quickly realize that I don’t know what to say.
Chapter 19
Blake
Standing in the doorway of the studio I see Katherine across the room staring at the painting, and she’s not smiling. I can’t quite read her expression, and I think surely, she’d have some sort of reaction by now. Silly me, I was actually expecting euphoria, or at least pleasant surprise. Anything but this seemingly blank look. “So…?” I nearly spit out the word as I amble over to where she’s standing, “What do you think?” Katherine is silent. She’s doing a slow pace in front of the canvas. Her arms folded in front of her
chest in an almost protective stance. She’s wearing a pout, and it’s a far cry from the sexy one she gave when she was posing. I don't know what to think. "So…?” I repeat, this time with an edge to my voice, “Come on Katherine, even doctors don’t take this long to give an opinion.” She doesn’t look away from the canvas and her voice is a monotone when she finally utters, “I’m thinking.” There’s more silence, and after a few minutes she finally speaks. “Honestly, I’m not quite sure what to say.” “Seriously? You’re the writer, why not try by putting one word after the next? That might work.” Katherine gives me a sharp look and it’s clear she doesn’t appreciate the sarcasm, and her response is just as biting. “Yes, I know what I am, but nowhere in my CV does it state that I’m an art critic.” “Phfft…critics. I’ve never given one solitary fuck about critics. They’re dilettantes, the lot of them. They have no skills of their own. They’re all cowards, just sitting on the sidelines watching and
waiting to pounce on someone’s work. What's that old saying, 'Those who can, do, those who can't, teach, and those who can't do either become critics!” “I couldn’t have said it better. And that’s precisely why I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to make hasty judgments.” “Katherine, you’re not one of them. You never could be. I just want to know what you think. What you feel when you look at it.” “Why?” “Because, I’ve never painted anything like this.” “Oh, please. You’ve probably painted dozens and dozens of women. I’m no different.” “You think that? You can look at it and believe it’s like anything else I’ve ever done?” She doesn’t nod yes or no. She doesn’t move, she simply stares at the canvas. Rubbing my forehead with the palm of my hand, I turn away. At this moment, her opinion means everything. And everything I feel for her is on that canvas.
“Katherine, you understand it isn’t finished,” I say. “There’s more work to be done, but the bones, the emotion, the essence of it is there.” I’m begging for a reaction, but she seems frozen, with no words or movement. And after what seems like an eternity, she nods her head. It’s almost imperceptible, but I’m noticing everything about her, including the dust motes against the sunlight that surround her frame. “Hmm…” she muses, and begins to turn away. I grab her wrist and pull her toward me. She doesn’t protest, but when she looks at me, her eyes are sad. “Listen, this is the best thing I’ve ever done.” “But…it’s…raw…it’s so personal.” “Of course it is. This is personal,” I say pointing to her and me, and the painting. “You are personal” I stop and take a breath, but I don’t loosen my grip on her wrist, and I don’t move away. I’m waiting for her to look me in the eye. “This is personal,” I repeat it as a whisper, “and your opinion matters.”
“I feel as if you’re hounding me,” she says, her words laced with anger, “I am not hounding. I just painted what I believe is my best work. You are the subject. You brought that out in me. You are my muse, for God’s sake! Is it too much to ask what you fucking think?” I am yelling, and I feel her pull away emotionally. That’s something I can’t afford to happen. I need her because she is my source of inspiration. So, I make one last ditch effort. “Katherine, I know…you feel something. Good, bad, or indifferent…just, please, tell me.” “You cannot show this painting to anyone,” she finally says. But there’s a catch in her voice, tears in her eyes. “Are you crying? What’s happening?” She shakes my hand off her wrist and wipes at the tears. “I don’t know how you did it. I knew you were talented, but that doesn’t describe what you’ve created here.” She is speaking so slowly, I want to reach in
and grab the words from her throat, but I know if I rush her, I’ll lose her. So I stand, fists clenched, in anticipation for her next words. “Blake, you don’t need me to tell you that this is beautiful, because it is. But it is so much more than that. It’s alive. It’s real. It’s many, many things. But I’m embarrassed when I look at it. And before you say anything, it’s not because I’m naked. No, that’s not it. It’s because you’ve captured something inside me that no one else has ever seen, and you've managed to paint that. My vulnerability. My fears. My...innocence.” Now I’m the one with tears in my eyes, because she’s put into words what I could not express. “I can’t let you show this to anyone,” she says. I almost don’t believe what I’m hearing. “What? Why? You’ve just told me in so many words this is my masterpiece. Why would I not want others to see it?” “Blake, please, I’m begging you. I can’t be on display like this. It’s too personal and I do not want
anyone but you to see me this way.”
Chapter 20
Katherine
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Blake tells me, his words filled with frustration. I cannot deny it, the painting, even unfinished is amazing. The detail sends shivers down my spine. My nipples, I’ve never really studied my nipples as closely as Blake obviously has. I’m not sure if it is just me but the longer I look at myself, images of our sexual escapades flash through my mind. Will other people see the sex we’ve had?
I can almost see Blake caressing gently between my legs, his tongue on my clit and hands on my breasts. Sexual desire oozes from the canvass. “It’s just too personal,” I turn to Blake who is casually leaning on his workbench, his piercing gaze set on me. He tilts his head to the left. “Nudes are personal.” Blake says. I see the glint in his eyes and I feel naked even though I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt. ‘You know what I mean.’ I roll my eyes. I walk to the canvass and point to my neck. “See the way you’ve darkened my skin there ever so slightly?” Blake pretends to squint and study the spot I’m pointing to. “And?” He looks so innocent, like he truly has no idea what I’m talking about. “Well,” I try and work out how to explain this so he understands where I’m coming from. “It’s really personal. A private thing. Only someone who gets really close to me would notice the subtle
change in my skin.” I fold my arms. “What can I say, Kat: you inspire me. You bring out the artist in me. This is you. I’m just the painter.” I sigh. “No.” I shake my head. “It’s so much more than this.” Should I go out on a limb and tell him all? The painting reveals so much about me, about who I really am, but at the same time… “It looks like we have had sex. It looks like the artist, you, wants to jump my bones.” Blake laughs. “So what? I’m not ashamed to admit we are sleeping together.” Unable to stand still, I start to pace the length of the studio. I need to move. I need to walk to be able to clearly express my emotions. I walk up and down, back and forth. Blake simply watches. He seems confused. He cannot understand where I’m coming from. “It’s too personal.” I blurt out again. “I think
it’s way too personal to be out on exhibition for the world to see me. I…” I trail off for a moment, and I sigh before continuing. “I know the whole world won’t be looking at me, but you know what I mean.” Blake still says nothing. He is looking at me and then back at the painting. Eventually he shrugs. “I don’t get it. It’s you. All of you. You come through the painting just the way you are.” “Exactly.” I’ve stopped pacing. Hands on hips I look at him. “Exactly what?” The little smile around his lips leaves me confused. Is he trying not to understand or does he really not understand? “Anyone that looks at me will see all this sex aura around me.” I try again. “What’s wrong with that? You’re perfect.” He comes toward me. Next minute I’m in his arms. He kisses my face, neck and arms. “You’re delicious. You’re sexy.” I push away from him. It’s not that I don’t
want him, it’s just my brain shuts down the minute there’s close personal contact between us. If I want him to understand how important this is to me I must keep a clear head. “But it’s just that the world will see me that way. Complete strangers will drool over me, maybe.” Again Blake shrugs. “What’s wrong with that?” Obviously I’m not getting my point across. “I’ve told you before. You inspire me. You inspire this painting. It’s you.” “Yeah. But it’s too intimate.” I can see Blake study the artwork again, as if being a critique. “You write?” His gaze returns to me. Since I’m not sure if this is a rhetorical question or not I nod. “And isn’t your writing inspired by personal matters, by intimate occasions and maybe even people you meet and fuck?” His crudeness surprises me. “It does.” I hesitate. “But it’s only words.
Words on paper, words people read and reinterpret. Sometimes my experiences and what inspires me is left out so the reader can imagine it using their own experiences and put their own interpretation on it.” As Blake seems to ponder my words I try and remember what one of my lecturers said during my studies. “Writing is not really original. Everything has been written before.” I pause. There was something about writing being the clashing of words, but I’m not sure if this will add anything. “Every writer is shaped by what has been written by someone else. Writers are readers. When I write, I reinterpret what has been written by someone else.” I can see in Blake’s facial expression that he is trying to understand what I’m saying. He isn’t simply dismissing me. Dale used to dismiss me, and what I had to say all the time. Suddenly, it seems a lifetime ago that Dale had been my partner. And I cannot recall what I ever saw in the man to make me even want to be with him.
“And so when people read, they interpret what I’ve written in their own way. It doesn’t have anything to do with what my inspiration and experiences are during the time I am writing it.” Blake seems to chew over my words. “I still don’t see what’s your problem with the painting. Don’t people also interpret what they see?” I laugh and point at myself in the nude, my heart tightening up as my eyes meet my naked curves again. “Blake…it’s too personal. It’s intimate,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time. “I don’t want everyone to see the true me. You caught a glimpse of that, and you’ve captured it…isn’t that enough?” We both say nothing for a few minutes. I can hear the ticking of the clock in the kitchen. Eventually it is Blake who breaks the silence first. “What are you trying to say, Kat…?” He has closed the distance between us and I snuggle into his arms.
“I don’t want you to put me on display. By ‘me’, I mean the painting.” After I utter the last few words, I nuzzle my face into his chest. He smells so delicious. Will he be angry? I can feel his lips on the top of my head. He is kissing me. “If you don’t want me to display your beauty to the world, so be it.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Promise?” Now he pulls my face toward his. “Promise.” He whispers before his lips meet mine.
Chapter 21
Katherine
As expected, the Old Pearl has a queue out the front door. If it wasn’t for the fact that I knew one of the owners, Nicole, I would be right outside with about other fifty or so patrons wanting to have lunch here. In a matter of weeks, it has become the restaurant in town to be seen at. The food is amazing. I check my watch. Five minutes late. Robin was rarely late. She better have a good excuse. I don’t like to impose on others and I know a table is
being kept for us. To distract myself, I focus on the artwork near the entrance. Instantly I compare it to Blake’s work. Whoever this artist was, he or she was not a patch on my Blake. Oh dear, now I am already thinking of him as mine. He is not mine. Repeat after me, Katherine, I think to myself, he isn’t yours. I decide the blues look too artificial. No ocean is that blue. It’s neither pale nor dark. And then there’s the boat. There’s something wrong with the boat. I think it’s out of proportion. Maybe the artist was still learning, a relative of one of the employees. Someone elbows me in the ribs and I check my watch again. Seven minutes late. Robin better have a good excuse. My eyes go back to the painting. Perspective. I suddenly realize the perspective is what’s wrong with the painting. Just as I formulate the specific problem, my thoughts are interrupted by an extremely unwelcome incident.
This time someone knocks me so hard in the back I stumble forward a few steps, nearly knocking into one of the waitresses carrying three plates of mouthwatering food. Instead of a sorry I hear an ‘oh it’s you.’ Slowly I turn toward the offender. My heart plummets right into my little toe. What the fuck is Dale doing here and who is the slim, big-busted blonde hanging off his arm? For a few seconds we stare at each other. I wish for some event to occur that would have me disappear from this space right now. Of course I know this is silly, but it doesn’t stop me from wishing for it to occur. We all sometimes wish for impossible things. Where on earth was Robin? What was the point of a best friend when she was not there when you really needed her? I needed her right here, right now. “What have we here?” Dale’s unpleasant voice interrupts my thoughts. “Hello, Dale,” I say through tight lips. Don’t stoop to his level.
I notice that the blonde says nothing. Like a well-trained poodle, she keeps her right arm through Dale’s and pretends she notices nothing, eyes directed at something or someone in the restaurant. “Already been dumped?” The taunt in his voice doesn’t escape me. Despite my best effort not to show any emotion at this tactless remark, my heart feels as if it’s been stabbed by a pointy dagger. Instead of giving a reply, I raise my eyebrows so as to convey I don’t know what he is talking about. Dale does one of those fake laughs I always hated. “You can’t seriously be thinking Blake will stick with you.” He emphasizes the ‘you’ in a way that leaves me cringing. I know what he’s going to say, like a captain knows his ship is sinking, or a chef knows his meal is ruined, and yet there’s nothing that can be done about it. Again, I curse my bestie for her tardiness.
Then I curse myself for having agreed to come to this restaurant of all restaurants. “I don’t recall asking you for an opinion.” I finally answer just to say something. Another fake laugh from Dale. The poodle glances at me and then goes back to staring straight ahead. “Really, Kath. Everyone knows Blake discards his models like other men discard their underwear.” I think the analogy is a poor one. I try and remain some kind of composure. I don’t want to lose self-control in public. Not here. Not now. “What makes you think I’m sleeping with Blake?” I try and sound casual. In reality my heart is beating so wild in my chest I’m surprised others can’t see it. Despite my attempts to protect myself against Dale’s words, they do hit their mark. This time Dale leans forward so his face is really close to mine. For the first time I realize how his breath smells like a deceased cat. Had I really once stuck my tongue into that mouth for a kiss?
Goosebumps travel up my arms. “Come on.. Don’t pretend. Everyone knows Blake fucks all his models.” I feel my cheeks redden at his emphasis. I resist the temptation to slap him. I force myself to remember how he was having sex with the peroxide woman only a few months ago and here he is with someone different again. Desperate. He’s desperate and trying to hurt you, I remind myself. “I don’t know where you get your information.” I say as calmly as I can, my insides a battlefield of world war three. I need to keep my emotions under control. “How do you know I’m posing for Blake?” As far as I know, no one knows about the painting, particularly since Blake gave me his word it would never be on display. “I told you,” Dale has straightened up again. “Blake fucks all his models.” I feel a ringing in my ears and the world goes a little out of focus. Don’t take the bait, I remind myself.
To distract myself I make a fist and dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands until it hurts. Searching for something suitable to say, I’m distracted by a commotion behind me. The poodle, Dale, and I turn around at the same time. No words can express how relieved I am to see my salvation has just arrived.
Chapter 22
Katherine
“Sorry, sorry!” Robin apologies after almost knocking a waiter down. With her cheeks flushed, she makes her way toward me, and I notice the expression on her face. To say it is dark as storm clouds is an understatement. “What are you doing?” She demands, her attention entirely on Dale. He raises an eyebrow in pretend shock. “I though this is a free country and anyone could eat here. Am I mistaken?”’ Robin hates pretentious assholes and that is
exactly how Dale sounds. I also know she hasn’t forgiven him for cheating on me. What’s worse than a best friend out for vengeance? I pity Dale, and my thoughts are racing to come up with a way to diffuse the situation. “And I thought assholes were not served at this fine establishment.” Dale curls his hand into a fist and takes a step toward Robin. “Try it, sunshine, and you’ll be sorry.” I’m desperate to come up with something. I hate a scene in public and I don’t want my friend to get hurt. I draw a blank. “What are you going to do, shorty? Bite my knee caps?” Dale makes one of his smug smiles that makes you want to punch him right between the eyes. Robin straightens her shoulders and stands on her tippy toes. “Don’t tempt me.” She hisses at him and Dale laughs a metallic laugh. “You’re so short you’ll probably not even reach those.”
I see Robin take a step toward Dale and it only makes him laugh harder. “You know what Dale? I’m just the right height to grab your dick and balls and slice them right off. Your scrotum would make a great accessory for one of those gay guys over on Seventh Avenue.” Obviously some of Robin’s words have an impact. Dale has taken a step backward. Someone taps me on the shoulder. “Your table is ready, Katherine.” Relieved, I drag Robin away from the seething Dale. As we make our way to our table, I hear Dale say something about no longer wanting to eat at a restaurant that gave their best table to a feral woman and her sidekick. No one takes any notice of him. Out of the corner of my eyes I see him leave, the poodle following obediently. After I take a sip of the complementary champagne, Robin bombards me with questions. “What did Dale say to you? How are things
between you and Blake? How’s the painting coming along? Is he really as good in bed as they say he is?” As the bubbles dance across my tongue before sliding down my throat, I relax and feel a little better. I managed a chuckle. Words, Katherine, they are only words he used, I try and tell myself. It’s not working. “Which question do you want me to answer first?” Robin rests her head in her hands, elbows on the table. “Tell me all about you and that hunk of a man Blake.” I’m not sure where to start. It’s a bit public to tell all about the sex we’ve been having. And generally, we don’t really discuss the sex we’ve been having. “Why were you late?” I ask to buy a little time. I notice how my best friend goes a little red in the face. This is unusual.
“I lost track of time,” she mumbles and picks up her own glass to take a sip of the cool liquid. Ever punctual Robin lost track of time? I can’t believe it. “You never,” I start, but she interrupts me. “Just tell me about you and Blake.” I make a mental note to interrogate her further about this allegation of losing track of time, but oblige her request and start talking about Blake. “You know,” I take another sip of my drink. “He’s really a brilliant artist. He captures his subjects in the perfect way. Colors perform the way he wants them to.” Robin is grinning. I stop talking. “What?” I don’t recall having said anything amusing. “You’re in love.” “Am not.” I protest and am pleased a waiter is bringing our entre. I take a forkful of steamed fish, which melts in my mouth. Delicious. “Do you make the same sound when he kisses
you?” “Stop it.” I growl at my best friend. “Oh Blake don’t stop, please give me more.” Robin coos and we both laugh. “Stop it. You’re so cruel. We’re just–” I stop midsentence. I realize I’m not sure exactly what we are. “You’re in love with Blake.” Robin shrugs. – And who can blame you. I mean he looks the complete package. God-like. Unlike Dale, who is a poor excuse for a man.” I’m tempted to defend Dale out of habit, but then I recall his words from earlier and stop myself. “What’s wrong?” Robin asks. “Nothing.” “Come now Kath, it’s me Robin, your best friend not some stranger.” I sigh. She has a point. “It’s just Dale said Blake discards his models like other men discard their underwear. And,” I hesitated; “and I think I do really like him.” There I’ve said it. It is out in the open. “For starters, what does it matter what loser
Dale has to say? Second you’re in love with Blake. And third, how do you know he does not feel the same way about you?’ “I don’t.” She points her fork at me. “See what I mean? From the way you’ve described the painting, he’s done it for you as a work of love. Not to mention, he gave a promise he not to display it. I’d say he’s got feelings for you. I’d say Blake’s in love with you.” I shake my head. I wish I could be that confident. Dale’s words bounce around my head like an out of control basketball: everyone knows he fucks all his models and discards them once he’s painted them. “Kath. Earth to Katherine.” Robin’s voice brings me back to the present. “Sorry. I just can’t help thinking about what Dale said. Maybe I should run before I get hurt, again.” “Stop it. Stop thinking about what Dale said. He’s a loser. Of course he’s trying to rattle your cage.”
I nod. “I just don’t know what to do.” Robin looks me straight in the eyes. “Look, baby cakes. You just have to trust. Trust that this is the right one. Falling in love is like jumping off a cliff and hoping you don’t crash land.” Robin raises her glass and I do the same. “To love.”
Chapter 23
Blake
I’m whistling as I’m mixing reds, blues, greens and yellows. I love this time of the day best, particularly on a sunny day like today. Some of my best work was created on days like this. Although the critiques have been kind to me, I’ve e been less than satisfied with my creations of late. I can’t put my finger on it, but as far as I’m concerned they lack something, something special in them. Of late, it has become harder and harder to
paint. In fact, it’s been quite soul destroying, to find my muse at such a low. I can’t recall how often I have stood in front of a canvass and be unable to create anything at par with my usual standard. Sure the paintings have been good, better than some of the crap you see in galleries or restaurants, but just not good enough for me. I sigh. Today is different. Today, like the last few days, I’m not struggling to get going. On the contrary, I’m itching to put paint on a fresh canvass, the large white space calling to me to turn it into something special. Before I start, I glance at the sketches to my left. They are of Katherine. My Katherine. I like thinking of her in terms of mine. She is mine. I know it. My lips curl into a smile and tiny butterfly seems to be slowly flying through my innards. Katherine. Eight letters. Just thinking about her drives me insane. I’m not sure what it is about the woman that
I can’t help but have this frenzied desire well up in me every time I think of her. Almost involuntarily, guided by my artistic spirit, white fades into an explosion of colors as I finally start another masterpiece. From time to time I pause, stare at my creation as it takes shape, before I continue. Boy this feels good. After about an hour, I stop. My neck is aching and I need coffee. As I walk into the kitchen I perform a few stretches. Left right, back and forth. I feel the tension release. Sometimes I can get carried away for hours in my work and afterwards find my muscles seize up. Over the years, I have learned to take little breaks from time to time to loosen everything up. Katherine sure knows how to loosen me up. I grin. Everything seems to be about her now. I love painting. I love it nearly more than sex. At least until the other day, before Katherine and I – I try and stop the thought process. If I start thinking about Katherine in the nude
I doubt I will get back to my artwork. As I watch the rich, black liquid spill into my cup, I allow myself a little frolic. The image of Katherine pressed against the kitchen bench is too strong to push away. Her breasts right in my face, her nipples so pink and hard, begging to be sucked and pinched. I almost jump when the machine makes its familiar burping sound to indicate the process of making coffee is over. If I did not know better, I’d say the woman is a witch. Only a witch would have such strong powers over me. Cup in hand, I drift back to my studio. I can’t afford to daydream all day. Besides, what’s the point about of simply dreaming of having sex with Katherine? It would be far better to have her here and actually do it with her. Before I go back to painting, I pick up a couple of the sketches I have made of her. My brow furrows as I examine them. I’m not happy with them, not at all. Sure, they are technically correct. A lot of
other artists would be envious of the near-perfect likeness of my subject; but not I. I know it is Katherine because I have drawn her but at the same time it isn’t her. For some reason I can’t quite capture the little quirky manners she has that make her so special, so deliciously unique. I picture her nose wrinkle ever so slightly when she takes a sip of coffee. I doubt she’s even aware of it. But I love it. Every time I watch her do it, I feel like grabbing her there and then and putting my dick into her. Not to mention the way her eyes widen in total innocence when she looks at my paintings. Her pleasure in what she is looking at is so sincere it hurts right in my gut. Part of me still cannot believe she posed for me, in the nude. I have painted plenty of nudes, some of them of exotic beauty, but I have never had a problem keeping sex out of my work, not until I met Katherine. Painting her in the nude has been my biggest
challenge. The woman oozes sex appeal and does not even know it. And that’s just a tiny fraction of it; it goes beyond the sex. There’s a certain innocent rawness to her, and I somehow managed to capture that while she slept. My face darkens as I recall her shattered expression when that the jerk Dale had been to her apartment. If I see that dick again near Katherine, I think I’ll punch him right between the eyes. I put the sketches back down. Stop daydreaming, I tell myself, and pick up the paintbrush. Unfortunately the flow has been stifled. Thoughts of Katherine have left me yearning for her. I need to see her, touch her, kiss her and do other things with her now. My fine paintbrush adds some blue to my creation. I frown. Have I really just drawn the outline of a cloud in the likeness of Katherine’s ass? I chuckle. This is bad. My passion for this woman, one that isn’t
even here in my apartment today, is unbelievable. I’ve never felt like this about anything or anyone before. Stop procrastinating, Blake, just do it. I put the paintbrush down again and go to find my phone. Only one thing to fix this sudden new addiction I have: I need to call her, I need to call her now and ask her to come over. My heart rate increases and little beads of sweat form in the back of my neck in anticipation as I listen to the dial tone and wait for Katherine to answer the call.
Chapter 24
Katherine
I love the sound of my keyboard as I strike the keys. Letters form words, words form sentences and before I know it I have added another chapter to my novel. Today I’m on fire. The words cascade onto the page. Occasionally I glance at the dozen red roses perched on the desk to my left. The little card that came with them is now occupying a prime position on the shelf just above my workspace. Only the most precious items make it there.
The words are etched into my mind. I’m probably reading too much into them, but Robin had said I should jump off the cliff. The alarm on my clock signals I have been writing for an hour and it’s time to take a break. I lean back in my chair and stretch languidly, like a cat. Time for a caffeine and sugar hit. If I’m to add another two thousand words before the end of the day, I better keep writing. As I walk into the little kitchen of my apartment, I recall the phone call with my agent a day ago. The publisher was itching for a draft. I had promised to deliver soon. Just as I turn on my espresso machine my phone blasts out the tune of ‘You’re so hot.’ “Hello sexy,” I purr into the phone. Laughter. “Hey gorgeous.” His deep melodic voice sets of a longing in every part of my body. I’m definitely floating after having jumped off that cliff. “What’s up?” I had not heard from him all day.
“Just wondering if my angel wants to come over for dinner.” I instantly feel a lusty desire overcome me. Maybe we could start with dessert and skip dinner as soon as I get there. I barley recognize myself in these thoughts and I suppress a giggle. “Where are we going?” I want to know if I need to dress up or if I can just slip on my sandals and head out straight away. “I’m cooking.” Blake says and suddenly I can’t wait to be with him. It’s insane how this man has invaded every part of my life and taken over. In his presence I feel complete. It takes me less than five minutes to check my appearance and I’m out of the door. When Blake opens the door, I smile. He grabs me, pins me to the wall and kisses me. The kiss is demanding, forceful and mind-blowing. My thoughts turn to a molten mass of uselessness. When he releases me, I breathe hard and want more. Already I’m wet between the legs.
I follow Blake to the kitchen. He hands me a glass of red. “Trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me.” I quip and take a sip. Blake throws his head back with laughter. Without warning he’s in front of me, hands on my breast and ass. “I know you’re putty in my hands.” My nerve endings tingle in anticipation. I smile. But evil thoughts try and force their way into my happy state. I can almost hear Dale’s taunts. Everyone knows you will be discarded. “Hungry?” “Sorry?” I didn’t hear the question. Concern registers on Blake’s face. “You okay?” I nod and force myself to smile. Stop those negative thoughts, I tell myself. “Are you hungry?” The low rumble of my stomach is an answer of sorts. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” I confess.
“Excellent.” He leads me out onto the balcony where he has set a table for two with flowers and two tall white candles. I feel as if I’ve walked into a fourchef-hat restaurant. There are pale pink plates, proper silver cutlery and starched white serviettes folded into swans. “Take a seat.” He pulls out a chair. “I’ll be back with our meal.” I feel him kiss the top of my head before he turns. I watch him walk back to the kitchen. How many of his other models have sat here like this? Stop those thoughts, Kat. Briefly I close my eyes. Think about all the positive signs. He did agree not to use the painting. He’s cooking dinner. Yes, but we all know he discards his models like other men discard their underwear. Dale’s voice again. “Voila.” I didn’t hear Blake come back. In front of me waft the delicious smell of
dinner. I cut a piece of steak and am instantly transported to another time. My grandmother had made the best steaks I ever tasted. “Not too rare?” I can hear the concern in his voice. “It’s perfect.” And it is. The meat is still a little pink but ever so tender. There is only one way I know how to push my doubts to one side. “I know you can cook from the first time you invited me over for dinner, but I didn’t know you are this good.” Blake winks at me. “I still have many talents you are yet to discover, babe.” The lump in my throat grows a little. “Really,” I try to sound light-hearted. I must not let Dale’s comments get to me. I must enjoy this time with Blake. “You’ll find out. All in good time.” I relax a little.
I notice the way he is suddenly looking at me as I take a sip of my wine. “Do I have food on my face?” He shakes his head. “I can’t help but you stare at you. You are just so perfect.” He shakes his head. “The way you pick up your glass and wrinkle your nose ever so slightly as you take a sip is so unique about you. There are so many little quirks you have…I wish I could capture them all.” He sighs and smiles at me. My heart is beating a little faster. Does he mean what he is saying? Does he see more in me than simply someone to have sex with? I know I do. I know Blake completes me. But can I trust him? I trusted Dale and look where that took me. “Did I say something?” Blake leans toward me. I smile. Jump and float. “I’m fine, more than fine. I’m happy.” My lips part as they meet his. Instantly, fireworks rip through me. His tongue finds mine and I know what’s for dessert.
Chapter 25
Katherine
“What are we doing, Blake…?” I ask him, the words bubbling up to my lips and escaping them before I can stop myself. I look into his eyes as he pulls back from my kiss, and I feel my heart melt as he opens into a smile. “We’re doing us,” he replies fast, no hesitation to it. I have no idea what he means by that, but somehow I feel more relaxed. Still…I’m afraid. What am I doing with someone like Blake? I always thought that I’d end up with a run-of-the-mill guy, someone that would
be nice to me, treat me right, and…I don’t know! I expected average, but instead I got Blake. Can I trust him? Can I allow myself to open up around him? I want to say no, especially after what happened between Dale and me. I don’t know if I’m ready to trust again, to surrender myself to someone…but it’s Blake we’re talking about, the man that cut through all the bullshit and saw the real me. There’s a painting to prove it. “You okay?” He asks me softly, placing his index finger under my chin and gently making me to look up and into his eyes. I don’t even bother with a reply. I just give him a quick nod and reach for him, grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt and pulling him into me, my mouth hungrily looking for his. We lock lips then, and all thoughts of distrust and fear are carried away by the passion of his embrace. Before I know it, dinner has been forgotten. We’re both standing now, his hands on my waist and my breasts pressed against his chest. “I need you so fucking much,” he tells me,
stopping our kiss just to tell me that. “I’m right here,” I whisper back at him, and he just responds by my picking me up, his strong arms behind my knees. I lace my arms around his neck and look into his eyes, running one hand through his hair as I try to read whatever’s on his mind. What did he see in me the first time? Why did he come after me? The scary thing is, if I want to see through his eyes, all I have to do is look at that painting. It portrays me, yes, but it also portrays the way he sees the world. Carrying me in his arms, he takes me to the living room. Laying me down on his luxurious leather couch, he climbs on top of me and crushes my mouth with his. I kiss him eagerly, pushing my tongue inside his mouth, and surrender to the desire making my heart beating rapidly. How did I end up here? Not long ago my life had a perfect trajectory – there was Dale, and there was a plan. Next thing I know my boyfriend is fucking some random woman, and I’m back to
being single. Then Blake shows up, and the Earth jumps out from its axis. “I want you,” I tell Blake, and then nibble at his lower lip, smiling shyly as he takes me in his embrace. “Not as much as I want you.” He says, smiling back at me and running his large hands down the side of my body. “I’m desperate for you, for your body,” he whispers, and my heart almost explodes with the sudden desire and joy that floods my mind. I don’t know if it’s his tone of voice, or his choice of words, but I feel my pussy growing wetter and wetter. He kisses me hungrily again, sliding one hand under the hemline of my dress. His fingertips go straight to my inner thighs, and then he traces the contour of my drenched thong. I can almost feel the coiled tension that fills his muscles, desire making his heart beat faster. Completely out of control, I take my hand to his crotch and, feeling him hard and ready, I curl my fingers around his cock and give it a squeeze.
“Is this for me?” I ask him, tightening the grip of my fingers. “All yours,” he replies, one hand of his pulling down the straps of my dress. He bares my black bra and, hooking one finger on the right cup, he pulls it down to reveal one hard rosy tip. I swallow hard the anticipation I’m feeling, and he dives into me as if he needed to feel my body in order to survive. I close my eyes as he wraps his lips around my hard nipple, sucking it into his mouth while he uses his tongue to circle it. I run my hands through his hair, disheveling it, and he uses his teeth to pull on my nipple. Gasping, I let him do it, and I start swaying my hips from side to side, trying to make him place the hand he has between my thighs on my pussy. And that’s exactly what he does – the moment I start to squirm, he makes me stop by flattening the palm of his hand against my aching pussy, pinning me down against the couch. “But I want this in return,” he says, flicking my thong to the side and brushing two fingers over my folds. I chomp on my lower lip as he does it,
anxious to feel him inside of me. “It’s all yours…” I tell him, thrusting against his hand. “All yours…” “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” With that, he slides his middle finger inside of me, taking it straight to my G-spot. Holding his fingertip there, he uses his free hand to tug on the front of my dress and pulls it down until it’s bunched up around my waist. His hand then goes to my back and, when he finds the clasp of my bra, he pulls it free - grabbing the strap right between my breasts, he pulls on it harshly and the bra comes off with a tearing sound. Smiling, I crush my lips on his. Pressing both my hands on his chest, I place my fingers on the collar of his shirt and then just pull on it, making all the buttons pop out. They scatter around the floor with a pop-pop sound, and I continue what I’m doing, pushing his shirt down his arms. I take one second to marvel at the perfect muscles of his chest, all of them so ripped and toned that Blake could be a model and not a painter, and then I take my mouth to his nipple.
The moment my mouth touches his skin, he starts flicking his wrist, his finger moving in and out of me at a frantic pace. He fingers me to the point of exhaustion, my fluids dripping down my thighs and pooling on the leather under me. “Fuck me, fuck me now,” I blurt out suddenly, needing him inside of me as much as I need the air to breathe. “You’re in a hurry,” he chuckles, still fingering me so hard that it’s a miracle my brain can process the meaning behind his words. “Oh, you bet I’m in a hurry,” I continue, my hands darting to his belt and unbuckling it. My trembling fingers grab the hem of his pants and I pull, his zipper going down by itself in a flash. Turning my wrist around, I flatten my hand against his hard cock and then grab it, moving my hand up and down and stroking him over the fabric of his boxer briefs. I do it for a few seconds, but then he slides one more finger inside of me and I just stop completely, my insides burning up as a sudden wave of ecstasy crashes against both my mind and
body at the same time. “Well, if you’re in a hurry…” He whispers, leaning into me and dropping the words right against my ear. I moan as he slides his fingers out of my pussy, and then I grit my teeth and summon whatever’s strength there’s in me. Moving quickly, I push his pants and boxers down his legs, and he sits up on the couch afterward. He kicks off his shoes, and then steps out of his pants and boxers, standing up and towering over me in all his nakedness. He bends over, grabbing the bunched up dress, and pulls it down my body in a hurry. He throws it on top of his clothes, and then grabs the string of thong that laces my outer thigh and pulls on it harshly, ripping it out of me. “Much better,” he says, his eyes going straight to the wet patch of skin between my thighs. He offers me his hand and pulls me up to my feet. Then he forces me to turn around, and I place my legs back on the couch, baring my ass to him. I gasp as he smacks me hard, no warning at all. He lays his hand heavily against my ass cheeks,
and then he does it again and again, hard enough to leave a red mark on my skin. A perfect memento of everything we’re doing. He does it until the pain turns into pleasure, my brain melting and dissolving. Then, he trades the violence of his smacks by the gentleness of one finger, brushing it up and down the length of my crack. I close my eyes hard, anxious for what’s going to happen next, and that’s when he grabs his cock and pushes it down, pressing it right against my pussy. This time I don’t even wait for him to thrust – I do it myself, throwing my body back against him and impaling myself on his cock. One loud scream erupts from my mouth as his long inches stab me in a fraction of a second, pushing my inner walls back in such a way that I just know I’ll be sore afterwards. The good kind of sore. Grabbing my hips, he starts ramming his cock into me viciously right from the start. We’re making love, yes, but we’re also straight up fucking. And, God, that feels so
wickedly good. There’s a raw intensity to his movements, and it’s in that intensity that you can peel off all the bullshit and find genuine emotion. Supporting myself with only one hand, I take the other one to my pussy and start rubbing my clit with two fingers. I do it until my fingers are working at the same rhythm of his cock, and it’s a matter of seconds until I explode. Clenching my teeth, I hiss wildly as my pussy tightens up around Blake’s shaft. Feeling me even tighter, he thrusts even harder, and that’s when a violent orgasm simply explodes inside of me. I fall forward, collapsing on top of the couch as his cock pops out of me suddenly. I’m kneeling on the floor, arms and head on the couch in front of me, and all of me is a quivering and trembling mess. My muscles are twitching and spasming as if I’ve just been hit by lightning, and even though my eyes are open I can’t see a thing. My brain is burning, and all of its attention is devoted to processing the barrage of pleasure filling me up. “God, this was – ” “Amazing,” Blake says, finishing my sentence.
The sound of his voice somehow gives me renewed energy, and I force my eyelids open and turn around so that I’m facing him. I find his cock is right in front of me, thick and hard and glistening with my juices. By the time I realize what I’m doing, I’m already grabbing him by the root and leaning into him, my open mouth ready to devour him. I close my eyes the moment I feel the tip of his cock over my tongue. I push my mouth down, allowing his twelve inches to slide all the way inside me, and I only stop when I feel my lips against the smooth skin around the base of his huge shaft. That’s when I open my eyes again, and look up at him. I smile – or, well, I would if I didn’t have his cock between my lips – as I imagine the view he has now: me, on my knees, and his cock filling my mouth. I figure being a man is fun because of stuff like that. The urge to breathe becomes urgent enough for me to take his cock out of my mind; but, while I try and catch my breath, I keep on stroking him.
My hand flies up and down his shaft so fast that my movements become a blur, and I can’t help but grin as I see him close his eyes, an expression of pleasure washing over his face. For a fraction of a second, I think of stroking him until he comes, forcing him to spray his seed all over me…but then I realize that I’m not ready for that – there’s so much more I want to do right now. It’d be a shame if we ended this too soon. I tug on his hand, urging him to go down. He arches one eyebrow, curious, but goes down to his knees all the same. When his knees touch the floor, I let go of his cock and jump up to my feet. Standing over him, I tangle my fingers on his hair and pull him into me. Knowing exactly what I want, he takes his mouth straight to my pussy, grabbing my ass cheeks with both his hands. He licks and sucks at a frenetic pace, digging his fingers into my flesh at the same time. I just stand there, eyes closed and head thrown back, savoring the pleasure he’s giving me. I swear, Blake knows how to use his mouth as much as he knows how to use his cock.
Taking one step back, I lean into him and place my hands on his shoulders. Pushing him back, I force him to lay down on the floor, and then I act fast; I place both my feet on the side of his head, and then lower myself. “Fuck, you’re good,” he says, his voice loaded with hunger. “I am,” I grin, sitting on his face and making it impossible for him to reply. Swaying my hips back and forth, I bend over and reach for his cock, stroking him fast. Wanting to please him as much as he’s pleasing me right now, I take my mouth to his cock and gobble it up once more. We remain like that for what seems like an eternity, devouring each other as if tomorrow doesn’t exist. I suck him so hard that I’m actually surprised he still hasn’t come, but that’s for the best – it means we can still keep going. I can’t say the same for my myself, though. I’m on the verge of exploding again, another orgasm looming on the horizon of my mind. A violent urge to scream takes over me, and I slide his cock out of my mouth and just rest my
hands on his ankles for support. He’s jabbing at me with his tongue, taking my pussy lips inside his mouth and licking them dry; at the same time, he’s spreading my ass cheeks wide, the tip of his fingers right on the edge of my ass crack. Wanting to go further, he starts caressing my ass while he licks me, moving one finger up and down my crack. He finally stops his finger over my ass hole, and my scream becomes more violent as he starts pushing it inside of me, overloading my brain with pleasure in such a way that I wouldn’t be surprised if I passed out anytime now. Somehow, I remain conscious as I finally come, a sudden wave of pleasure washing over me and sending all the thoughts in my mind into disarray. I’m not screaming anymore – my mouth is open, but there isn’t any sound coming out of it. My vocal chords have given up on me, the muscles in my throat so spent that I don’t even know how I’m still breathing. Somehow, I manage to go up to my feet despite my trembling legs. I turn around, all while still on top of him, and then sit back down again –
except this time I do it with his cock under me. “Still want more?” He teases me as I grab his cock. “Always,” I whisper, and then ease myself down, my eyes rolling in their orbits as I feel my insides stretching to accommodate his massive member. When all of his inches are inside of me, he bucks his hips fast and hard, and I do nothing as he fucks me. I just savor his body on mine, my fingers digging into his chest, while I gather the necessary strength to join him. I take a deep breath and, finally, start to rock my hips, moving them back and forth in a flowing motion while he keeps on thrusting. I do it as fast as he is thrusting, and my hands clawing on his chest hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. “That’s…that’s so good,” is all he says with a groan, grabbing my ass cheeks and urging me to go faster. And I do it, going as fast as he wants me to. The muscles in my legs feel like they’re burning, but I push through, bouncing up and down until
both my mind and body simply quit on me. A powerful wave of ecstasy shakes me to my core, travelling from my nerve endings to my brain in the blink of an eye, and hitting me in full force. I scream so hard that I almost rupture my own eardrums, my blood boiling inside my veins. What I’m feeling right now is so intense that the world around me assumes a dreamlike state, making the colors brighter, and the sounds becoming more clear. But I’m not in a dream, and I know that because the pleasure I’m feeling is so raw and intense that it’d be impossible for this to be anything other than reality. “More,” I tell him when the strength returns to my vocal chords. “More,” I repeat, not even knowing what I mean by more. All I know is that I want it, and I want it right now. Climbing out of his body, I go on all fours right on the floor, wiggling my ass at him. He sits up, looking at me with an understanding look on his face. “You want more, you get more,” he whispers,
more to himself than to me, and his hands hook on my hips. I swallow hard as he runs one finger between my ass cheeks, and then takes it down all the way to my pussy. He slides it in, moving it back and forth for a while, and then pushes one more finger inside, preparing me for what I really want in there. “So good,” I moan as he fingers me, but then he just pulls his fingers out. “No…But I’ll show you what’s really good,” he says, grabbing his cock and pressing its tip against my pussy. A shiver goes through me as he does it, and my skin prickles in a fraction of a second. Then, he feeds one inch into my pussy, and I can’t help but to moan. By the time his cock is all inside of my pussy, my moans have turned into a barely audible whisper of pleasure. “Much better, isn’t it?” He asks me; I open my mouth to respond, but no sound comes out of it. Lucky for me, he doesn’t wait for a reply. Holding me by the hips, he starts to thrust, taking his time as he builds up the rhythm. His first
thrusts are soft and gentle, but the fire in his movements starts growing and growing until he’s ravaging my pussy so fiercely that I just know there’ll be no avoiding the soreness. “So…fucking…good…” I moan, my vocal chords working again. My words only make him go harder and, at the same time, he takes one hand around my waist and presses down on my clit, rubbing it as fast as he’s thrusting. That raw violent energy starts to pool on my muscles, and they tense up like wire. My lungs strain against my ribcage, and my heart is pounding inside my chest so fiercely that it might burst any time soon. “Don’t stop, don’t – ” I don’t even have the time to finish what I was saying. I go down from my hands into my elbows, and I press my forehead against the floor as a thermonuclear explosion goes off inside my brain. Every single thought in its wake is destroyed and, for a moment, I don’t even remember where I am or who I am. All I know is that what I’m feeling is so good I’ve probably died and went to heaven.
He’s about to pull his cock out of me when I reach for him, curling my fingers around his wrist. “No,” I tell him, “all the way.” I don’t need to explain it to him. Without a word, he thrusts again, this time even faster than before. His movements are completely unhinged, and I know that right now it’s all about him. I thrust back at him, matching the motion of his body, and then I feel a violent spasm taking over his cock. It pulses viciously for a second or two, and then it simply comes inside of me. “Fuck,” he groans, drawling out the word as he stops moving, his cock buried all the way to the hilt. I stop moving as well, my eyes closed as I feel the spasms of his cock. We remain like that, frozen in time, for what seems like an eternity – but when he finally stops coming and pulls his cock out of me, I’m almost sad that it’s over. “Blake,” I say his name almost as if I wanted to hear the sound of my voice, eager to prove that this isn’t a dream. We sit on the touch together, my head resting on his chest, and I close my eyes as I
try to catch my breath. Softly, he rests one hand on top of my head and laces his free arm on my waist. Holding me close, he keeps me pressed against his naked body as we both enjoy the silence, our bodies still exhausted. There’s no use denying it…I’m falling for Blake, and I’m falling hard. I’m trying to tell myself that’s not the case, but deep down I might be lying to myself. The way I feel right now – this closeness, this security –, it all points to something deeper than just physical attraction. Oh, it’s even silly to be talking about physical attraction now…that’s already a given. But knowing the way Blake sees me, looking through his eyes…that goes beyond the physical. Maybe I should run. After Dale, I can’t give my heart to anyone. Even if it’s to a man like Blake, a man that sees the real me. I just can’t do it. Sure, there’s this connection we have, but that makes this all the more dangerous. When Dale cheated on me, he left
a vacant spot in my life. But if I surrender to Blake and he leaves…there’ll be a hole in my heart that no one will ever mend. But now’s not the time to think of that. Now I just want to…feel close to him.
Chapter 26
Blake
Nothing can dampen my mood today, not even the rain I hear belting against my windows. The wind is grabbing the shutters and rattling them, threatening them, but they don’t give in. Storms have been raging all day. Nothing wrong with a good storm, storms in my opinion leave the world washed and refreshed. The air has a clean smell to it and world does look washed. Except for my windows. Rain tends to leave them looking a little streaked. I make a mental note to organize a window
cleaner in the next few days, along with getting a new cleaner. Much to my disappointment, my cleaning lady informed me yesterday that she’s leaving. Camilla’s great. And I introduced Camilla to Katherine because I know the two will get along really well and most important of all, Katherine would not be jealous of Camilla. It’s not that my housekeeper wasn’t attractive. She is, and probably more so back in her day. At fifty-four, she’s still a stunner, just not someone I would be getting involved with. But now, she’s leaving. She’d said something about her daughter needing her to babysit. I put domestic thoughts aside. Camilla will still be here for another month. Maybe she’ll be able to help me get a replacement. I stroll into my studio to look at my collection of new paintings and I smile. I like them, no, I love them. They are better than anything I have created before. Ever. Part of me wants to call Katherine and get her to come and look at them. I really would want her
to be the first person to see them, but that would go against my plan. I’ve come up with a special way to thank her. I owe her a lot, after all. I know she would not agree and she probably does not even realize how huge a role she’s been playing in my creative genius coming back to life. Before I make the call, I grab a pen and paper to make a list. I walk from painting to painting, jotting down possible titles, background notes and random twirls and doodles. Sometimes I think well in pictures and not so well in words. Words. It strikes me as almost an omen how right we are for each other. Katherine, a writer and me, an artist. We are meant to be together. After I’ve completed my list, I gather the works of art carefully and gingerly. I handle my pictures the way a mother cradles her baby. In a way, they are my babies. I need to make sure Katherine does not see these next time she comes over. It’s a great feeling knowing Katherine can just
come and go as she pleases since I gave her a key to my place the other day. Her face was priceless, a mixture between overwrought, disbelief and pride. It is a big thing for me too. I’ve never given anyone else a key to my apartment. And not just the key, I made sure to select a special key ring to go with it. I wanted her to think of me each and every time the key was within her sight. It took an enormous amount of time. Silly really, but when I get an idea into my head I need to see it through. When I didn’t find anything close enough to what I had in mind at the local shops, I consulted the mighty World Wide Web. I wanted a painter palette and canvass. Eventually, several hours later, I found one in sterling silver. I ordered it instantly. I didn’t even flinch when the order form confirmed I had just paid two hundred and eighty five dollars for a key ring. And of course I had been rewarded several times over when i gave it to her.
Not only was she totally touched by the gesture of the key, when she spotted the key ring, I swear a little tear formed in the corner of her eye. The kiss I got, and the sex, more than made up for the money spent on it. It takes me a few minutes to drape the stained cotton throw over the paintings. Maybe I better make it a little more difficult to get here by placing an easel in front of it. When I’m done I pick up the phone. Time to call my agent. “Hey Mateo, how are things?” I can’t hear a response. I stare at the screen. The clock is ticking so I know I’m connected. “Mateo, you there?” “Blake. Blake. My man, what’s happenin?” Mateo’s voice booms through the phone and I move the mobile a little further off my ear. “Mateo, I’ve been painting.”’ Maybe I should have invited him to come over instead of a phone call? There’s loud laughter. “You’re a painter Blake. What else would you have been doing?”
Good old Mateo, always straight to the point. “No Mateo, this time it’s different. I’ve really been painting. I’ve been creating and…well, the paintings are good. Really fucking good.” “You never were modest, my friend.” Mateo replies dryly. I chuckle. “True. But wait till you see what I’ve been creating.” “Let me guess, nudes. How many of them have you been fucking this time? I hate to think of all the broken hearts.” “Mateo, they’re not nudes and I haven’t been fucking them as you say. I’ve met this woman. Katherine. She’s amazing. She’s gorgeous. She’s sexy.” “And she’s a good root,” completes Mateo. “It’s different with her. I haven’t had another woman since I’ve met her. I can only think of her. I even dream of her. I want her all the time. She’s doing things with me no other woman has ever done before.” “She a witch?”
Another chuckle from me. “Stop it, man. Anyway I want you to organize an exhibition. It’s going to be bigger than anything I’ve ever done before. I want you to spare no money. Invite anyone and everyone that matters. Alcohol, good food…wait, get the chefs from the Old Pearl to cater, they know what they are doing. Spare nothing. Go all out. And Mate…?” “Yes my friend?” “I don’t want Katherine to find out. She can’t know. Under any circumstances.” “Hope you know what you’re doing.” A noise makes me turn around. I see Katherine, her eyes looking hurt and confused.
Chapter 27
Katherine
I love how I can just walk into the studio without an invitation. It’s got that feel of trust between us. I love that I can hear the sound of his voice anytime I want to; I could listen to him all day. I wonder who…oh, he’s talking on the phone. Did he just say – ? I stop to listen. I catch only those last words. “…Katherine’s not to know. Promise me. OK?” I am not to know what? Is this a red flag? Is this the time to back out? Had Dale been right all
along? The fear that’s always just below the surface threatens to overwhelm me. Move, I tell myself. Part of me wonders if this is the time to turn and run. But where will I run to? I take a deep breath. “Hey Blake, I heard you talking to someone just now. What am I not supposed to know?” “Hey baby.” I study his face carefully. There’s not a hint of guilt in it. “It’s a surprise. My lips are sealed.” As if to underline his point he points to his lips, which he has pulled into a thin line. “Look Blake,” I hesitate. “I’m not that big on surprises. I find they are highly overrated.” I try to keep my voice light. I don’t want to make too much of this. But I really don’t like surprises. Surprises are great when you’re a kid, like you got your first bicycle, or when the man in the red suit brought you your favorite Barbie doll. But grown up girls don’t always take to guy surprises, particularly if they are in the form of the exboyfriend in bed with another woman.
“Hey,” he says and comes toward me. He’s looking right at me with a hungry expression, like he really wants me, like he’s almost begging me. I can see right into his eyes. If there was anything hidden surely I would see it there. “Hey, c’mon,” he repeats and strokes my cheek. “How can I surprise you if you already know what I’m talking about?” He advances on me like something wild. How does he do that? I’m just frozen as this wild hunk approaches me like some lethal tiger. That pleading voice and that soft dangerous stride toward me make me melt. “The thing about surprises is, they are a surprise.” He runs his finger down my nose, slowly over my lip and down my chin, his touch light as a whisper. I try not to shudder as he traces his finger along my shoulder and down I feel my skin tingling. I want this touch. I want him to go lower. I feel tight and loose all at once. His finger dances around my hips and I feel his hand stop at my waist.
His other hand goes under my chin and to lift it. He dips in closer and I wait for his kiss. His lip brushes on mine ever so softly. Now I feel the slight pressure of his hand on my back and I fall in against him. I want more of him. I want his mouth open. I want the feel of his tongue. I want his hand lower. I run my hands around his back and feel the taut pillar of his body. He feels firm and warm, smooth and round and I want to let my hands go down to his buttocks and to pull him in tighter to me. I can feel myself melting; all of my worries are slipping away. I want nothing more than for him to takes his hands lower. His upper hand leaves my chin. He runs it slowly luxuriously, over my neck and collarbone until he finds my breasts. He slides it under my arm and drops it suddenly. Both of his hands are now spread over my butt and he draws me in. This is out of control. I’m frantic with desire. We have to stop. “As I recall,”’ I start but his lips shut me up.
This time his tongue finds mine instantly. His hands leave their position and make their back up toward my breasts. “I thought we were going to do some work.” I manage to say but my own voice is lacking conviction. Sure, I came in here to pose for him so that he finishes the painting, but now… “I am working,” he mutters. I throw my head back, giggling. “There’s a distinct lack of paint brush.” I point out. Blake stops. He moves his hands off my breasts. My body aches for his touch. Please don’t stop I want to beg but I don’t. If this painting is to be finished Blake needs to keep painting. “I thought the painting was of a nude.” I know Blake plays havoc with my thoughts but I’m not following. Registering the confusion on my face Blake starts kissing my face and neck, his mouth moving down to my breasts. “I’m just helping you undress and get into the
mood.” He says between bites. It is difficult to form any coherent thought. ‘“I don’t think this is going to work.” I make another attempt at getting Blake to focus on his painting. As much as I want this, I know he wants to finish this artwork too. And I’d very much like to see the finished painting. Blake stops again. My skin burns with desire where his lips had been. I feel him look at me. “I know your body so well, Katherine; I don’t need you to pose. I can finish the painting from the memory. Each and every part of your body is etched into my mind forever.” He kisses me again and his hands resume their wandering. Before I give in I try one last time to be the sensible one. “So you’re not going to paint me today?” His lips are near my ear, nibbling on my ear lobe. “Right now I’ve got more important things to do. Right now, I just want to be inside you.”
Chapter 28
Katherine
My lips become his, and his lips become mine. Our mouth and tongues become one, and I close my eyes and surrender to desire. He grabs harshly on my skirt, tugs on the fabric and pushes it down. I sway my hips from side to side, just enough for the skirt to slide down my legs. The skirt taken care off, his hands dart straight to my blouse and he pulls it over my head, forcing me to raise my arms up in the air. “You look perfect,” he tells me, his eyes roaming all over my naked skin, and I can almost
feel him peeling off my bra and thong with his eyes. He then lets his mouth roam to the valley between my breasts, my skin tracing the rising curve of both my breasts. As he does it, he takes his hands to my shoulder blades; the moment he finds the clasp of my bra, he undoes it. The cups of the bra droop over my breasts, revealing both nipples, and he holds his breath as he watches them fall down. Then, impatience suddenly taking over him, he reaches for one cup with his hand and simply yanks the whole thing off my body. I yelp as he does it, my nipples becoming even harder than before. He leans into me and with his mouth pressed against mine, our tongues dance around one another in a frenzy, and my anxious hands go down from his chest to his belt. I curl my fingers around it, eager to unbuckle it, but he stops me, yanking on my hair. “On your knees,” he tells me, his voice more commanding than ever…yet there’s a grin on his face. His words make my insides clench making me a complete wet mess. I don’t think I have ever
wanted a man this much. “Oh, is that an order?” I ask him, a teasing smile on my lips. He yanks harder on my hair, forcing me to throw my head back and look him straight in the eye. “What do you think?” Just like that, I find myself obeying and going down to my knees, my hands running from his waist to his knees. I position myself between his legs, moving my hands up and down but never really going for his crotch. There’s already a hard shape there, straining against his pants, and even though I’m dying to set it free, I take my time. First, I want to tease him as much as I possibly can. “What shall I do first…?” I whisper, biting on my bottom lip and taking both my hands dangerously close to his crotch. The fabric under my fingers is already tented up, and I have to fight back the urge to simply grab his cock and stroke him over his pants. “I want you to use your mouth…,” he tells me with a grin, easing the pressure of his fingers on my
head. Never taking my eyes out from his, I grab his belt buckle and, moving slowly, start to unbuckle it. It comes undone and I pull the belt out from its loops, letting it fall right on the floor. Using only my index finger, I let it go down to his crotch, tracing the contour of his thickness with my fingertip. I feel it pulse and throb, and my heart tightens inside my chest as I realize that Blake is at my mercy…Or, maybe, the other way around. Slowly, I start to unbuckle his jeans, popping out the top button, as I feel his hardness pressing against the rough fabric. Without bothering to undo the rest of the buttons, I simply press the palm of my hand against his belly and let it slide down under the hem of his jeans, cupping his bulging shape over his boxers. Right after feeling the warmth coming from his crotch, I take my hand off it and start unbuttoning the remaining buttons on his pants, my fingers moving softly. Then, hooking my fingers on his boxers, I pull them down and his cock springs free almost too
violently. As it jumps into sight, I feel the flames of lust dancing behind my eyes and I can no longer resist it – reaching for it, I curl my fingers around his thickness. He exhales sharply as he feels the touch of my fingers, and I hear his breathing grow heavier and heavier with each passing second. Using both my hands, I start massaging the bulging shape between his thighs, using my palms to press down on it. Bending over, I take my breasts to his crotch. Taking my hands out of his cock, I then lower my breasts over it. Squeezing them against one another, I trap his cock between them and start rocking my body back and forth, stroking him with my breasts. “Fuck, that feels so good…” He groans, bucking his hips against me. I grin as I do it, jerking him off with my bare breasts. Then, stopping for a moment, I take off his shoes one by one, and I pull off his pants and boxers both still wrapped around his knees. I slide my hands from his knees to his thighs, leaning in at the same time. I take my mouth dangerously close to his cock and, parting my lips, I
reach for it with the tip of my tongue once again. Gently laying it over the tip, right where beads of pre-cum glisten, I then start running it around the head of his cock in slow circles. He throws his head back as I do it, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. I have to make a conscious effort to stop myself from swallowing his whole cock right away. “Fuck, just do it,” he groans, and his words assure me that I’m doing the right thing by torturing him like this. So, instead of opening my mouth wide and rolling my lips down his shaft, I just continue using the tip of my tongue to tease him. Tilting my head slightly, I run the tip of my tongue down the length of his shaft, bringing it down to his balls. Only there do I open my mouth, pressing my lips against one of his balls and sucking it into my mouth. It’s big and, it feels heavy and warm to the touch – I can’t help but imagine the amount of cum his balls are busy producing right now. Bringing my tongue back up to the tip of his cock, I then pull back from him and look him straight in the eye. Moving my hands toward his
inner thighs, I then wrap my fingers around the root of his cock, gripping it tightly. Without breaking eye contact, I start moving my hand up and down the length of his shaft, doing it as slow as humanly possible. I watch as his chest rises and falls almost erratically, his breathing growing ragged with each stroke of my hand. The muscles on his chest seem to be bulging, straining against his skin and stretching it thin. I stop stroking him all of a sudden and, holding his cock in place, I lean into it once more. This time, I open my mouth and don’t hesitate – I wrap my lips around the tip of his cock, suck on it for a few seconds, and then roll my lips down his shaft so fast that it feels his cock is going to pop out on the other side of my skull. The pressure of his fingers on my head intensifies and I close my eyes, surrendering to the wild desire fluttering inside of me. I open my mouth as wide as I can and gobble up his shaft once more, bobbing my head up and down over his cock until the wet sound of my lips on his flesh fills the whole
apartment. I grab his cock with both my hands and start to suck and stroke at a matching pace, the pendulum motion of mouth and hands an entrancing one. Oh, I never thought that going down on a man could be this fun. My head goes up and down and, then, further down his shaft. I can almost feel myself gagging but, damn, I am enjoying it! His hands are still on my head, feeling and guiding my movements. He grits his teeth, pleasure making his muscles tense up. With my lips tightly wrapped around his cock, I can almost feel his thoughts fading away as lust takes over. He groans, as guides my head deeper down, my mouth sliding down his length slowly until all of him is inside again, my tongue lapping at his cock fiercely. I go back out slowly, my fingers never leaving his shaft. I feel his whole body tensing up but, the moment his cock threatens to start spasming against my tongue, I take it out of my mouth and grip it tight. I don’t want him to come. Not yet. My pussy
clenches as I start to imagine his lenght all inside me and completely ravaging me, and I know I have to make him last. Pulling up to my feet, Blake yanks on my hair; keeping my head thrown back, he dives head first into my neck. Kissing my naked skin, he then starts biting softly, pulling it with his teeth as I allow short but clear moans to echo throughout the room. As he kiss me, he lets his hands wander down to my waist and he hooks his fingers on my thong, pulling it against my thigh until I hear the sound of the fabric ripping apart. “Much better now,” he grins. Pushing me back until my knees meet the couch, Blake yanks down on my hair again, pinning me down to the mattress with one hand. He swallows in his desire and takes both his free hand to my breasts, feeling the soft tan mounds there straining against his hungry fingers. He lets his hands take a life of their own, their downward movement guiding him over my firm belly and down to the untanned line right where my thong used to be.
He makes a claw out of his fingers and pushes it down as I raise my hips. Not wasting time with any teasing, he takes his hand and places it on top of my pussy, the shape of its inner lips making his heart and cock pulse in unison. He cups it, my fluids wettening his hand; he lets his fingers wander up and down and, finding my clit, he gently presses his thumb against it, tracing its outline very slowly with care. With my whole body pulsing with desire, my hips immediately start swaying, pushing my body upwards and into his hand, my pussy tightly pressed against his long fingers. Feeling my eagerness, he places the open palm of his hand over my stomach and, gently pressing down, pins me once more against the couch as, with his other hand, he parts my pussy lips wide and allows one inch of his finger to wander inside me. A moan tumbles out of my lips as he does it. As his finger leave my pussy and go back up my torso, a shiver runs up my spine and makes my skin prickle. Curling his finger upward like a hook, he runs it all the way in, only stopping when his
fingertip is tightly pressed against that inner spot inside of me, the one that has me moaning right now. I throw my head back and I let the moan that’s climbing up my throat explode in the air. He takes that as a good omen and slides his finger out and then in again, fingering me until insanity takes over. He runs his thumb in slow circles around my clit as he moves one more finger inside of my pussy. I throw my head back and start to sway my hips, moving them at a matching pace, and it doesn’t take long for him to drive me to the edge of pleasure. He doens´t stop and drives two fingers as deep as possible inside of me, pressing hard, rubing my clit with quick vicious movements. Just like that, I come into pure ecstasy. Looking straight into his eyes, I take both my hands to his chest. Instead of unbuttoning it, I just grab at the fabric hard and pull it from opposite sides; the buttons pop out in a fraction of a second, scattering around the floor. I just keep on yanking, untucking his shirt. I trace the contour of his pectorals and abs
with my eyes, as my brain overheats. Leaning into him, I start kissing his neck, laying my lips softly against his skin and then pulling it with my teeth. He groans as I do it, his fingers digging deep into my ass cheeks, and then he starts to thrust. As I feel his shaft pressing hard against my pussy, I resume my coming-and-going motion from before, swaying my hips lewdly and grinding against his huge member. He then grabs me by the hips and pushes me down, forcing me to stop moving. He’s taking control, and there’s nothing I can do about that. Not that I want to… Now I just want to submit to him – nothing more, nothing less. As he pushes me down, he thrusts with his hips, forcing his cock to go so deep inside of me that I can’t help but scream. I grin as he runs his hands to my ass and squeezes my cheeks, thrusting me even harder than before. He continues demolishing my insides, letting go of my ass and taking both his hands to my breasts, squeezing them eagerly. With his hands no longer on my hips, I resume
the sway of my hips, riding him as hard as I can. Beads of sweat are already pooling on my forehead, but that only makes me go even harder. “Harder…” I command him as he keeps on thrusting, while slapping my ass hard, his thickness completely demolishing my insides. I grin, rocking my hips so hard that the sweat have already started to trickle down my back. He matches the sway of my hips with a fast sequence of hard thrusts. I open my mouth to say something, but the words die in my throat as my whole body starts to tense up, Blake’s violent thrusts numbing my mind and delivering me into the hands of ecstasy. “OH MY GOD!” I scream out, my mind burning as the violent flames of an orgasm take over me. I’m still coming, all of my muscles twitching, when he places one arm around my waist and pushes me to the side. I roll to the side, his cock popping out of me, but he doesn’t allow me a moment’s rest; pulling on my waist, he forces me to go on all fours and then kneels himself behind me. “I’m going to fuck you so hard…” he starts,
slapping me so hard across my ass cheeks I can’t control myself and let out another high pitched scream. The sound of the palm of his hand hitting me square in the ass caresses my eardrums and, instinct taking the steering wheel, I thrust back at him, eager to feel his cock inside of me once more. He presses against my drenched folds and, with one quick thrust, he slides his thickness all the way inside my pussy. I moan as I feel my inner walls stretching to accommodate his massive shaft, but that doesn’t stop me from swaying my body, rocking it back and forth and thrusting against Blake’s cock. “Harder…Harder! HARDER!” I pant, rocking my body against his. He keeps going and going until my pussy tightens so hard around his cock it’s almost a miracle he still manages to keep on thrusting. He savors my tightness with each stroke, burying himself deep inside me and then retreating until only his tip remains in me. One final and deep stroke and a wild scream scratches the back of my throat, rising up to my lips as a desperate cry of
pleasure. Blake tightens his grip in my hips, keeping me in place as he fucks me into obliviousness with a savage fury, my whole body spasming in a seizure of ecstasy. I twitch and spasm until all strength leaves my limbs, my body collapsing onto the bed completely spent. Following after me, he rests his body on top of mine, his cock still firmly planted inside my pussy, his chest and stomach laying against my back. He rocks his body against mine like that, his cock moving back and forth inside me. I can almost feel the adrenaline raging through his veins, crawling under his skin and making him feel as if he’s about to burst. His muscles tense hard and, for a moment, he even stops breathing, his mind directing all vital functions to the only thing that matters right now – pleasure. He chokes a groan on his throat, and I feel a current going from deep inside of him to his cock. He exhales between gritted teeth as his cock spasms violently inside me, his cum darting out and filling me up.
He buries himself as deep as he can go, and he holds there, feeling the spasms of his cock spread through his whole body. Propping himself up, he summons all his strengths and manages to pull back, his cock slowing sliding out and springing free over my naked ass. Guided by instinct, he takes his hand to the base of his member and starts stroking himself, his cum still gushing out as if it hadn't already done so. I scream. I moan. I cry tears of utter pleasure as he comes over me, my body still burning under the fire of the last orgasm. Someone pinch me, because to feel this much pleasure must mean that I’m dreaming.
Chapter 29
Katherine
There are mornings when the words flow down to the fingers and make them dance over the keyboard. I’m locked in another world. Nothing is sweeter than a white page turning into a field of text. What is that noise? It does not matter, period, space and new sentence. The sentences need to be short for this part. OK so it’s a knock at the door. Darn, just when I nailed that scene. I make a note, sigh and pick up my coffee cup. I’ll answer the door and depending on who it is, I
will be cheerful and short or grumpy and short. Either way, it’s short because once the coffee cup is refilled, I will have my fingers flying all over the keyboard again. I open the door, look up and down, and use every muscle in my arm to throw the door back to its frame so hard it should send both the door and frame flying out into the corridor. Of all the people on earth, the very last person I ever want to see is standing there like he owns the space and still owns me. It’s Dale. I so want the door to smash him to the opposite wall. But the door stops dead. I look at it in disbelief for a second and then look down. The jerk has been too quick and has his foot in the door. I put my whole weight against it and shove it with all my might. The door moves, but against me. Dale is pushing his way in. “What part of ‘I never want to see you again’ can’t you understand?” I near yell at him. “Hey Babe...”’ Smug smile. Prick.
The guy just doesn’t get it. It’s over. At a pinch, he could call me Katherine in a text message maybe from the other side of the world, but I never ever want to hear another word come out of his mouth, let alone the word ‘Babe.’ “You want the good news?” he asks. I notice he is breathing hard. He is such a slob. The little workout at the door has been enough to get him breathing harder than a steam train. Or is he expecting something that’s not there for him anymore? “Good news?” I say in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “You joined the Peace Corps and you’re off to deepest part of Africa until further notice, or you’ve landed a job as a sea captain doing the London to Hong Kong run or, wait, you have the best news I am ever going to hear: you just drew the winning ticket for a one way mission to Mars, leaving tomorrow. Hit me with it. Now that you’re here I could do with some cheering up.” “Oh no, way better than that. You see the good news is for me, but I’m that sort of guy who just loves to share with my very close friends.”
“Good for you,” I say, “If any of them show up I’ll give you a call. Now leave.” “You don’t want to know about Mr. Hot Brush, you know the guy with the eeny weeny charcoal stick. Don’t want to hear about the latest?” “Talent really gets to you doesn’t it? Rest easy Dale. You’ve got talent. You do the best lines in gossip about other people. Guess that’s because not much is happening in your part of the world. No, wait, I’m wrong. There’s lots happening in your life but no one cares.” The truth is, the guy has got me on a string now. Away from the writing, I think of no one or nothing else other than Blake. If the company was even half decent, I could spend all morning talking about him. “He’s got an exhibition coming up.” “Oh, wow. Next thing you’ll be telling me he’s an artist or something.” I hope I sound convincing and there’s not slightest hint of quiver in my voice. I have not heard of any exhibition.
“Not just any exhibit. The word is, the guy is on fire. This is going to be his best so far, and that’s not coming from me. This is coming from his very own agent who says the collection will blow your mind. And I hope that agent is right because I know what this guy does. I can’t wait to go because I know what’s going to be on show. Hey, I don’t get to see it anymore but when this comes on –I can just spend all day, runnig my eyes over all that territory I know so well. “Man, I know what’s coming and you are going to really light up a lot of sick puppies’ best dreams. And it gets better because you won’t be there. If this guy is any good, you better get used to spending time indoors because every guy who sees you on the street will be able to undress you with his eyes.” How could Blake do this to me? He promised. He knows how I feel about that picture. When I look at that picture I feel completely exposed, right down to my soul. And more than that Blake has captured my eyes so well. Even when I look at it I can see passion, hot desire and just a flat out
yearning for him to take me. Any guy who has even one drop of testosterone in him will know what the picture is about and what was on my mind. And now Dale, the worst guy ever is talking like he knows exactly what the painting looks like. “Hey look at that Babe. You’re blushing. Does the blush still go all the way to, you know, that little spot…” “Get out.” “Sure. I’m as good as gone but I’ll be seeing ya.” Once the door is firmly shut, I slide onto the floor and burst into tears. Blake betrayed me.
Chapter 30
Blake
I turn the music up to full blast and dance around the studio. Can life get better than this? According to Mateo, some of the most important gallery owners and critiques are going to be coming to the exhibition. This is fantastic news. I’m all too aware of some of the critiques having written me off over the last few months. Some had said ‘It appears as if the talented young Blake has peaked and is now on the down hill slide. Such a pity, but an all too common occurrence for successful artists.’
I can’t wait to show them. And of course, I can’t wait to show Katherine what she has helped me achieve. The mere thought of the woman fills me with desire. My cock seems to instantly take on a life of its own the minute any of my thoughts stray into her direction. It will be so beautiful to see her face when I surprise her. Occasionally I’m filled with guilt at the thought of deceiving Katherine, but since its for a good cause I push those thoughts aside. The sudden stillness has me stop mid spin. Why had the music stopped? I find Katherine standing in the middle of the studio. Now my dick is practically performing acrobatics at the sight of this goddess. It takes me less than three steps to be near her. To my surprise she reels back when I reach out to touch her. What’s going on? “How dare you!” Her face is a scowl, like a thunderstorm has taken up residence there. “What do you mean?” I’m completely at a
loss on how to explain her behavior. “You promised.” I notice the clenched fists by her side. “You promised,” she repeats, this time her voice is a little higher than before. She’s not quite hysterical but does not seem far from it. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” It’s true, I’m not exactly sure what she’s getting at, although I’m beginning to have an idea what has happened. I try again to pull her into my arms. If I can just kiss her, reassure her, explain to her she will understand. Her fists pummel against my chest. I don’t try to stop her. “You bastard. You prick. You no good, lying scoundrel. I trusted you and this is how you betray me.” I let her take it out on me. I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make her stop. When her fists do drop to her side again I take a step back. “Dale came to my place and told me how you’ve been going around town bragging about
putting on the biggest art show yet. How you’ve painted this amazing piece and how it will be on display for the world to see.” I don’t interrupt her. I let her talk. She’s in such a state by now I think it’s best I keep quiet. Inwardly, I’m seething. Who could have thought Dale would be the bearer of the news? If I had stopped and thought about it, I should have guessed. The guy owns a gallery, after all. Mental note to Mateo, never ever invite that prick to another one of my shows, and don’t send the usual Christmas card and hamper either. Katherine is sobbing. Before I realize what is happening, she’s throwing something at me. It lands with a metallic clang on the floor near my feet. “Here’s your fucking key and key ring. Give it to the next model you pick up and fuck.” And without another word, she turns on her heels and walks out. I’m too numb to follow her. When the door slams shut, I slowly bend down to pick up the key
ring. That’s that then, I think and put the painful memory into the bottom kitchen drawer. It is the drawer with all kinds of useless things in it, the sort one finds in kitchens or laundries. It is the drawer least used in my apartment. I don’t know how long I stand there. It could have been seconds, a few minutes or an hour. In my mind, I replay what has just taken place. A hysterical Katherine barged in and accused me of something I’m not guilty of. The reason behind all of it: Dale. Dickhead Dale. Eventually, I walk back into my studio. I don’t turn the music back on. My day has been ruined. I walk over to my paintings, my babies. I stare at the one of Katherine. Then I find a cover and throw it over the artwork. I will decide the fate of the nude tomorrow, tomorrow is another day after all. I make myself a cup of coffee and convince myself what has just happened is for the better. Who needs an unstable emotional woman in their life? Not me, no thank you. I have been managing
just fine by myself, and I will do so again. It was fun while it lasted and now it’s time to move on. My coffee goes cold. I don’t feel like drinking it. I don’t feel like painting. I don’t feel liked doing much of anything. I slump onto my couch and sigh. Why had she not even wanted to hear my side of the story? Surely, she of all people must understand there are two sides to every story. I never expected Katherine to be the person to jump to conclusions and act before asking some pertinent questions. I put my head back against the couch. Such a pity, she is a real gem. But who needs women? With sudden bout of energy I get off my butt and make my way into the studio. Time to brush into the canvass, time to show her I don’t need her in my life. I painted just fine before I met her and I will be just fine now that she has left my life so abruptly.
Chapter 31
Blake
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. How could you have been so stupid, my reflection screams at me. And I shake my head. My spoon swirls aimlessly in my bowl. Not even my favorite breakfast cereal tastes any good any more. With Katherine gone, it’s as if someone has taken all the oxygen out of my apartment. The ship is sinking and I am the only one left on it. A voice deep down tells me to do something about this.
Mateo had tried to warn me. He said something about the art world being a small community and other things I no longer recall. I toss my half finished bowl into the sink. Silently I apologize to Camilla for the mess I’m leaving. Was it arrogance on my part that had caused this train wreck? I should have known Dale would stick his head in where it doesn’t belong. After all, he had done the same with his dick. I pace my apartment like a caged animal. The walls feel as though they are closing in on me. How could I have been so stupid? Of course dickhead Dale would get into her ear: Dale whose dick had caused so much hurt and upset. I kick my oversized exercise ball and watch it roll across the floor. With a sigh I walk to the studio. Maybe painting will help. It is without any enthusiasm I mix my paints. I have to force myself to pick up a paintbrush. Listless, I move my brush into the red and then make random strokes across the canvass.
A broken heart emerges. My broken heart. I can’t understand what motivated Dale to blab to Katherine, particularly since he doesn’t know the whole story, the entire surprise. I sigh. Then I punch the canvass and see the red on my knuckles. Bastard. Prick. Asshole. Take some responsibility man, my inner voice grumbles. I finish smashing the canvass. I feel no better. Maybe I should start over. I grab another blank canvass and start again. This time I’m using yellow. A giant round face with tears running down its cheek shows up. It kind of looks like an emoji. It brings a smile to my face, briefly. From world-class paintings to fucking emojis – maybe that’s all I’ll be able to do without Katherine in my life. I should have thought things through. If I had given it more thought, I would have realized Katherine is vulnerable. She had been in a relationship with a bloke who had totally betrayed her.
I try to picture what that would feel like. How would I feel if Katherine had been with another guy whilst we were together? The image is like someone kicking me in the gut. Ok. So I have screwed up. I made a complete mess of things. Leaving the painting I have started, I cross the studio and pull the cover off my masterpiece. As soon as my eyes see her, my dick stirs. For once, stop thinking with your dick, I remind myself. I needed to fix this but I’m not sure how. Should I destroy the painting? And then what? At the thought of destroying this amazing piece of art, I feel as if someone is stabbing me right through the heart with a pointy dagger. No I couldn’t destroy it. If I destroyed it I had nothing left. This way I at least have Katherine on canvass. But I if I want to get her back, I have to do something. In total frustration, I pace the length of my studio. Pictures of Katherine doing this after she had seen the painting of herself flash into my mind.
I run both hands through my hair. There must be a way to make amends. I’m not the bad guy. Dale’s to blame. Dale and that shriveled cock of his. I might have fucked some of my models, but I would never cheat on a woman, particularly a woman I love. Love. A four-letter word that has so much meaning. It hits me; I love Katherine. Maybe if I… A plan builds in the back of my mind. Maybe I should try again and this time, do it properly. This time I need to do it thinking about Katherine and not myself. I grab my mobile. I need to make a call. In my haste I drop the darn thing and it falls to the ground. I groan and pick it up. Now the blasted thing has gone totally black. Don’t tell me it’s broken. My finger fumble to find the On button and I press it down. I wait. I count to four, yet the stupid thing’s screen remains black. Surely one fall could
not be responsible for the death of the phone, or could it? What should I do? Suddenly I recall I did not recharge my mobile the night before. Maybe it was just out of battery. I almost run into the bedroom where I keep the recharge. As soon as I plug it into power source, a little red symbol appears. Phew, it only needs a recharge. For some reason it seems to take hours for the phone to have enough battery for the display to come to life. I crouch down next to the bedside table and scroll through recent calls. I’m tempted to call Katherine but I know she won’t answer it. The last hundred or so had gone straight to message bank. Should I try a text? No, this time I’ll have to do something more personal. My fingers scroll through contacts and hit call when Mateo’s name appear on the screen. “What’s up, man?” Mateo shouts into the phone. Judging by the background noise he is somewhere where music is being played too loud.
“The show will go ahead Mateo.” I say and wish I wasn’t restricted to crouching. I’m too worked up to be sitting still. “I can’t hear you Blake.” I shake my head. “That’s better.” Mateo comes through loud and clear. “I was calling to tell you the show will go ahead. I’ll be attending to some changes. But you make sure it goes ahead please.” I end the call before my agent can ask questions. I have work to do. I need to win back the woman I love.
Chapter 32
Katherine
“Do you want the red one or the white one?” Robin calls from the kitchen. I squint as I rummage through the movie choices my best friend has brought with her to cheer me up. None of them will do. They are all romance films with spunky main characters and a happy ending. A churning in my stomach has me almost run to the bathroom to throw up. “Are there any bubbles?” I answer. I want something expensive, preferably French. Since the
publication of my first book I have acquired several bottles of the expensive stuff, and the plan has been to drink them for a special occasion. Well, this is a type of special occasion, I guess. Tears threaten to spill yet again, and I quickly take a deep breath. Robin will kill me if she finds me a blubbering mess on the couch, again. “I’m sure there’s some from the publisher in the door.” I call to her before she can respond. I hope my voice does not betray me. Seconds later, Robin appears with two glasses, puts them down, and disappears again. When she reappears, she’s carrying a large tray of goodies. My heart does a little somersault as I realize the effort my best friend has gone to. On the tray is the most amazing assortment of food. There’s an abundance of salty things, fatty foods and plenty of sugar. Did I mention there was plenty of a fatty food? Robin picks up her glass and holds it out to me. “What shall we toast to?” My hand shakes just a little as I automatically
recall the toast with Blake where he promised. What a lying scumbag he turned out to be. “Let’s toast to friendship,” I manage to whisper. “Friendship.” Robin’s glass touches mine and I listen to the ping the crystal glasses make as they gently collide. I close my eyes as I enjoy the cool bubbles dance across my tongue. When the champagne finally slides down my throat, I quickly take another sip. “You need to try this.” Robin holds out a chunk of chocolate. “Rocky road?” I ask. She shakes her head. “Better.” I lie back into the mountain of cushions I have brought out from the bedroom onto the couch. This is the life. How long has it been since we had a girl’s night? I steal a guilty glance in Robin’s direction. I have neglected our friendship a little since Blake had been on the scene. “So what do you want to start with?” Robin
holds up a couple of movies. “Not sure,” I mumble. The lump in my throat grows again and those darn tears are always just below surface, ready to spill at the most insignificant of things. “There’s Greek god, fine Englishman,” she scans the back cover. I’m not sure if she’s looking for a suitable description for the main male character, or if she cannot work out who is the actor. “Or we could go for dependable but not much to look at.” I grimace. Robin puts down the films, takes another sip of her drink, and then busies herself with food. “You know,” she starts, and I hold up my right hand like a policeman directing traffic. “Don’t.” Robin devours what looks like one of those arancini balls and I’m reminded of the time I had Blake’s balls in my mouth. Those blasted memories stalk me day and night. “What do you mean stop?” She has finished chewing. “You don’t even know what I was going
to say.” Her lips are in a pretend pout. I roll my eyes. “You were going to tell me to call Blake and talk things over with him.” Robin smiles. “And what’s wrong with that?” Her fingers pick up different pieces of the delicacies to examine what’s on offer. I sigh and slump into the cushions. For effect, I pull one over my face. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that idea,” I say and pull the cushion away. “It’s a stupid idea. Just like getting involved with Blake was a mistake in the first place.” “A big fat mistake.” I shake my head. “I should have learned my lesson with Dale.” “Men are useless and only able to think with their dick,” I continue. “I mean, I stumbled right into the next bloke who had a reputation of fucking his models and then discarding them. I knew. I knew and still I went ahead to make a fool of myself.” I stop and look at Robin who is grinning at me. “What’s so funny?” I demand. Robin leaves her seat and comes over to wrap
her arms around me. She squeezes me and then lets go. “You are what I’m laughing at. Listen to yourself. Are you trying to talk yourself into Blake being the bad boy you actually don’t know him to be?” My head hurts, and I’m not sure I understood what Robin just said. Before I can ask her to repeat it, and this time in English, a knock at the front door interrupts our peaceful evening. With my heart beating a little faster than usual, I walk over and open up. Given my track record, I’m a little more cautious about visitors. “Mademoiselle Katherine?” I nod in acknowledgement. He’s not a policeman, but the young man is wearing a uniform of sorts. He hands me a large white envelope, and is gone before I can say anything else. Confused, I head inside and hold up the envelope for Robin to see as I sit back beside her. “Open it, “demands Robin and watches me turn the strange stationary over.
“It doesn’t say who it’s from,” I hesitate. This time, its Robin’s turn to roll her eyes. Slowly, I take a silver knife from the tray and slide the envelope open. I pull out a large white invitation with purple letters on it. Invitation for Katherine is written in the centre with a flourish. Underneath it are the words Art Show of Blake. Below that says Invitation for one. Robin reads the words the same time I do and claps her hands. I’m confused. An art show for one? “He’s going ahead with the art show but only inviting you.” Robin is near delirious with joy, she’s practically bouncing on her seat. “So?” I have mixed feelings and don’t know what to make of it. “He’s trying to make it up to you.” Robin is talking slowly as if I’ve suffered a head injury. I hear the Duh? at the end of the sentence even if she doesn’t say it. “You are going, aren’t you?” Up until she asked, I wasn’t sure. It’s so strange. What if I make another mistake?
I can’t help but notice the writing is in purple, though, not gold or black, the way these things are usually done. Had Blake remembered I told him my favorite color is purple? “Katherine?” Robin prompts. I look at her and make a decision. “I suppose I’ll go.”
Chapter 33
Katherine
I take a deep breath and glance at my reflection on the window of the little antique shop next to the gallery. My knee-length black dress hugs my body and I smile. Someone once told me to feel good, you must look good. And who has not read the book Clothes Maketh the Man? Tonight, with all kinds of insects crawling over my skin and insides, I find it is so true. It has taken me several hours to find the perfect dress. At first I had been tempted to go in a
tracksuit and sneakers. But who was I kidding? I would not feel good if I turned up looking like a tramp. And so I spend an hour trying on different outfits. In the end Robin had chosen this dress. Whilst on the face of it, it looked black, in the light you could see streaks of deep purple reflected in the material. It’s a low-cut dress, so I decide to wear a long silver necklace with a pen pendant on top of it. Accessories are everything. A matching purse was hanging over my shoulder with only my phone and a credit card in it. I had no plans to use the ladies nor touch up my make up. I was pretty sure I would not be staying long. Little diamond studs are my earrings of choice for the night, and black velvet shoes with high heels and little bows on the front of them complete my look of sophistication. It takes all my courage to push the heavy doors of the art gallery open. The bright lights highlight the emptiness of the
space. As I slowly put one foot in front of the other, I realize there is no one else here. Well, no one besides Blake and now me. With my heart beating wildly in my chest I take tentative steps toward the centre of the gallery. I can see paintings along the wall. There are numerous paintings. My eyes wander from one to the other but I cannot see the painting I’m looking for. I feel Blake’s eyes on me. His gaze travelling slowly from my head to my toes. My nerve endings instantly start to tingle. I’m not here to fuck him, I tell myself and pull my shoulders back a little further. Slowly I make my way toward the first painting. I’m mesmerized by the display of color. It appears to be an abstract work of art. As I stare at it, I can feel the joy emanating from the picture. Yellows, light pinks and reds dance on the canvass in joyous movements. I move onto the next one. Blake has come up behind me. I wish he stayed where he’d been when I entered the gallery. He hands me a champagne
flute. “Care for a drink, madam?” He looks nervous. I mumble something like thank you and am careful to take the glass from him without any skin contact. As I walk from painting to painting, I realize I’m reliving the development of our relationship. It’s all there in abstract art and wonderful colors. The blues are so melancholic I swallow back the tears. The last one is the one that really tugs at my heartstrings. A black background with dark red lines scrawled in a messy fashion over the canvass clearly depicts heartbreak. My own heart seems to break again as I stare at it. There is no way I could have written the end of our relationship any more emotional than Blake had been able to depict it in art. I swallow. Had I been wrong? Had I acted too quickly? Now his hands are on my shoulders. He stares at me intently. “Blake,” I whisper and once again, I, the
wordsmith am lost for words. “Kath, I –” he starts and I interrupt. – I’m sorry. I …was hurt and jumped to conclusions and…” He puts his finger on my lips. It takes all my effort not to kiss it. “I should have explained what I was planning.” He points to the exhibition and continues. “This is the exhibition I was planning all along. I wanted to surprise you and dedicate it to you. You are my muse, my inspiration.” “Blake,” I try again. How could I have been so stupid and simply believed that two-timing, no good Dale? “I should have –” again Blake interrupts me. “Hush.” His eyes bore into my mine and I think he’s looking right into my soul. “Maybe we could have both done things a little better. Maybe both of us should have handled things differently. But that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is, you are here tonight, one of the most important nights of my life.” I watch, with my mouth parted already, as he
lowers his head and our lips combine, melting into each other. His tongue probes, almost asks for permission to be let in. In answer, my tongue meets his. I feel his hands on my lower back, drawing me tightly into him. Through the think fabric of my dress, I instantly feel his hardness and it takes all my effort not rip his clothes off here and now. When his lips leave mine they yearn for more. I want him and I want him now. Before I can wrap my arms around him he takes me by the hand. “Come, there’s one more painting you should see.” He leads me to the very back of the gallery where a black cloth is covering a large canvass. Blake pulls the sheet off with one swift movement. I hold my breath as my gaze take in what has been unveiled before my eyes. Tears threaten to spill and I bite my bottom lip. “Oh Blake,” I whisper and look at him. “It is truly a masterpiece.”
I’m looking at my nude, and goose bumps are forming on my bare arms.
Chapter 34
Blake
I must tell her, but I wait a little. I’m bathing in her innocent, genuine joy. She really is the goddess I have captured on the canvass. Every stroke on that picture reflects every minute detail of Katherine. Even if I have to say so myself, it is the greatest painting of my career, even Michael Angelo would offer me his praise. Like a good wine, I need to savor her, take in every last detail. I send silent thanks to the universe for making sure she came. There had been darks
hours earlier when I had paced the art gallery not knowing if she would show. When I first came up with the idea, I wasn’t sure what I would do if Katherine did not come; I still had no back up plan right up until the door opened and she had walked in. I had gone out on a limb and to my utter amazement it had worked out –at least so far. There’s one more thing to do before my master plan is complete, but I’m in no hurry. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying this moment a little longer. Katherine says nothing. She has her back turned toward me and is simply staring at herself in all her glory. Eventually, I take a step forward and turn to face her. She smiles. “I want you to know I meant what I promised.” Her brow furrows and I resist the urge to place a kiss there, reassure her there’s no need to worry. “But,” there’s hesitation in her voice. “The painting is great and…” she falters, the inner
struggle all too obvious on her face. She is an open book as far as her feelings are concerned. I reach down and pick up a bottle. “You don’t understand,” I tell her. “This painting is nothing. It’s inconsequential compared to you.” I point at her. “You’re all what matters. You are a masterpiece.” I can see confusion on her face. “I don’t understand.” Taking a step toward the painting I aim my bottle at it. Now that I’m about to do it, doubt knocks on the door of my mind. Is this really necessary or am I being overly dramatic. Could I make my point some other way? After taking a deep breath, I continue. “I don’t need the world to see this. I want the world to see you by my side.” And without any further hesitation, I start squirting the insides of my bottle at the painting. “I want you to believe me that this does not mean as much to me as you do.” Pale pinks, brown, and other colors run down the canvas. The solvent starts to do its work. Like a
hungry caterpillar, it eats away at the color. I smear more and more all over the painting. Soon you cannot recognize what had been drawn. “I…” Katherine starts but does not finish her sentence. Like a madman, I rub the liquid all over the painting until there is nothing left of my masterpiece. I stop and stare at the ruined piece of art. In my planning stage, I had mulled over a lot of different options on how I could convince Katherine I would never display this picture. At first, destroying it seemed too drastic. After all, it’s a great piece of art we could have hanging somewhere private, for just the two of us to enjoy. But after much soul-searching, I realized as long as it was around, the painting would be the barb you don’t want in the relationship. The barb had to be destroyed, and Katherine have to witness the destruction. I glance at Katherine to gauge her reaction and mood. To my surprise she’s smiling.
“I can’t believe you just destroyed a great piece of art.” I shrug. “I didn’t destroy the greatest artwork. The greatest artwork is our love. Without our love, I’m nothing. Without our love, the world is an empty place for me.” Her mouth is open just enough for me to see her white teeth and a bit of her tongue. Oh how I’ve missed that mouth. I feel the desire rage through me like a wildfire. If I don’t move on to the next stage of the planned evening things might go out of hand. I go down on one knee, like a knight kneeling before his queen. Of course, that is exactly what I am doing; kneeling before my queen, queen Katherine. My eyes find hers. She’s smiling. Lust is in her eyes. She will have to wait just a little bit longer. I take her hand and my eyes don’t leave hers. I want this to be just right. I don’t want to mess this up. I cannot understand blokes who resort to
technology to do this sort of stuff. What emoji could convey my true feelings to this great woman I love? Romance should still be done face to face. My left hand pulls the ring out of my pocket. The large diamond catches the light and sparkles between the two of us. I can almost feel little electric shock waves pulsate through her body. “Katherine,” I start and put the ring on her ring finger. “Will you do me the honor and accompany me on the long road of life? Will you be my wife?” She seems to take forever to answer. And in that time darkness descends over me. In that instance I know that a life without Katherine is a life lived in darkness. I hold my breath and my eyes never leave hers. I watch her face, a reflection of anticipation, processing and finally recognition of words fading in one after the other. “Yes,” she whispers and then again, “yes,” a little firmer and louder. Instantly I stand up and pull her toward me.
My lips crush down on hers and my tongue forces its way through her lips. I want to show her how much I love her, I want to possess her and I want her, right now.
Chapter 35
Katherine
I pinch myself and when I feel a little pain in my cheek, I know I’m not dreaming. Of course it’s easy to understand why I would be thinking I’m dreaming. I mean how many women can say their life goes from being flushed down the toilet to fairy tale status in a matter of hours? Not many I bet. “Stay here,” Blake whispers in my ear and I don’t think I could move even if I wanted to. My lips ache for his to return and each and every one of my nerve cells is tingling with anticipation of being touched by the man of my
dreams, Blake. I glance at my ring finger and play with the diamond ring on it. It is real; I didn’t imagine the whole thing. I look around but I can’t see a chair. My legs feel a little wobbly. I think alcohol on an empty stomach has left me a little light headed. Tempted as I am to call Robin, I don’t. I don’t want Blake to return and find me talking on the phone. The moment is too special and too personal to ruin it by calling my best friend. Part of me cannot believe Blake just destroyed his most amazing painting. I look back at the canvas, which looks awful. Instead of my nude, there’s now just some smeared bits of color. I had not really wanted him to destroy it, although I have to admit as far as a declaration of love and commitment goes, it was pretty awesome. If Dale ever dares to show his face anywhere near me again I won’t be held responsible for how I react. It was hard to believe that not so long ago I had hoped for Dale to propose. Isn’t life strange?
I smile and see Blake coming back pushing a silver trolley. “I thought we should celebrate here.” The trolley sports a silver ice bucket with a bottle of French champagne sticking out. There are two clean champagne flutes, filled to the top. I spot a selection of oysters and a seafood platter to die for. “Wow,” is all I manage to say. After I let the first oyster slide down my throat, I look at Blake. “Thank you,” I say and he stops mid oyster. I love the way he tilts his head to the left when he is unsure of what is happening. “I want you to know what you did tonight is just amazing. I’m sorry I doubted you, I’m sorry I did not trust you.” The words tumble out of me. I need him to understand he is the most important thing in my life. I need him to know I trust him completely and I will always be by his side. Somehow the words don’t seem enough. “I think I’ve been wanting to spend the rest of
my life with you the moment I saw those sketches you drew of me.” I close my eyes. There’s so much more I want to say. When I open them, Blake is holding a small jewelry box in his hand. “There’s something else I need to give you.” My right hand trembles a little as I reach for the little white box. Gingerly, I open it and hold my breath when my eyes took in the precious gift hidden inside. Slowly, I pick up the key ring with the key to Blake’s apartment. “You know, it’s not only the key to my – our – apartment, it’s the key to my heart.” I blink a couple of times. I don’t want to cry and ruin my make up. I firmly close my fist over the precious gift. He truly is the most amazing man I’ve ever met. I take a step toward him. He moves toward me. When we are inches apart I put my hands on his chest. I feel his strong heart beat. I look up at him and smile.
“You make me so happy.” I place my forehead against his chest. My eyes are closed and I revel in the moment. This is so perfect. I feel his lips kiss the top of my head. I look up at him again. “I think you are the most amazing man,” I tilt my head back a little, waiting for his lips to meet mine. When they do, an explosion of gigantic proportions erupts in my body. My brain turns to jelly and my hands move from his chest down his back, where they rest in the little groove just above his buttocks. At first his kiss is soft, his lips caress mine, his tongue gently probes around my mouth. But then all of a sudden, he changes. His mouth presses down hard on mine and his tongue is pushing all boundaries, searching, devouring. and wanting more. My body responds in kind. I push into him. I want more too. I want all of him. My hands move lower and start massaging his ass. I can hear him groan. Our tongues are locked
in a duel of passion. When he pulls back I feel as if a part of me has been ripped off. I want him back. I want to taste those lips again. I need him back. Oh how I missed kissing him. Without warning, his lips are back on mine. His hands cup my face. This time he places soft kisses on my mouth, my eyes, my nose, my cheeks and my lips again. Softly, his mouth moves all over my face, as if exploring it for the first time. If he doesn’t rip my clothes off soon, I think I will go mad with desire. My skin is burning. He really knows how to push my buttons. He stops and looks at me. I look back. “You know,” I start and smile at him, “I bet you will make something even greater than that painting after we are married.” Another kiss on the tip of my nose. “Why don’t we give it a go right now?” Blake’s hands leave my face, and I feel a shiver go up my spine as he grins. Yes, let’s give it a go right now.
Chapter 36
Katherine
I’m all over him, my mouth yearning for the taste of his lips, my hand aching for the smoothness of his skin. I kiss him wildly, our lips parting and letting our tongues dance around each other in a frenzy. I lean into him and pop out the top button on his shirt. Doing it as delicately as I can, I unbutton his shirt, taking my time with each and every one of the button. My heart starts hopping faster and faster as the rugged contour of his muscles jumps into view,
his washboard abs making me become wetter. When I finally undo the last button, I push the shirt down his arms and stand up in front of him once, his tie still wrapped around my right hand. He takes his hands to my back and, grabbing at the zipper on my dress, yanks on it and opens it. I arch my back, anxious to feel his naked chest pressing down on me; he grabs my hair and pulls me back, looking once more into my eyes. Holding my head in place, he takes his other hand to my back and unhooks my bra, pushing it down my arms. Blake raises one hand to my waist and embrace my figure, pulling me against him. Then, no other place for us to go, he makes me lay down on the floor and follows after me. My breasts feel his warm skin as I press them against his naked chest. I groan lightly as he sucks on my tongue, his hands going down to my backside and pulling me closer, the friction between our bodies enough to start an all-consuming fire. Taken by an impulse he grabs my hair and pulls my head back, exposing my bare breasts. He
takes my nipples into his mouth, softly sucking each one of them, his tongue tracing their outline with care. At the same time, he places one hand on my knee and slides up my leg and under the hemline of my dress. He presses his hand against my drenched thong, and then moves fast and flicks it to the side. Feeling me wet and wide, he slides two fingers deep inside me in a hook motion, my inner walls tightening around his fingers as they ravage me. Moving only his wrist, he pulls his fingers in and out of me – he starts slow but, as he picks up speed, my hips strain upwards once more, as if I desperately need for him to go as deep as possible. He ups the pace, feeling my desire coming at him like an electric current. My arms out of control, I dart for his crotch with both hands, pulling sideways at the opening in his pants and undoing all buttons with one fast pop. I pull them down, grabbing at his pants and boxers at the same time – his cock jumps up as it springs free, long and thick and ready. I curl my fingers around his shape and start
stroking him fast. I grit my teeth, as I grind my pussy against his hand as a wild and ferocious purr of pleasure keeps on growing in my throat. I then have to take out my hands off of his cock. In under a second, my muscles burn in a frenzy. I cry out in pleasure as I come, delight completely ripping me apart – my whole body is burning up. Still shaking, I take my hands out of his cock and claw them at his back, forcing him to lay on top of my naked body, his cock rubbing against my belly. Then, with a sideways motion, I make him roll to the side. I jump on top of him and grab his big cock with both of my hands, a devilish smile on my lips. I lean into him and start kissing all over his chest, each kiss of mine going lower and lower, from his belly to where I really want my mouth to be. I lean into him, my mouth dangerously close to the tip of his cock, but I stop a few inches before my lips brushed against it. I then grab his shaft by the root, tugging at his member so slowly my hand barely seems to move.
I am driving Blake mad and I know that too well. His whole body tenses up as my hand starts going up and down his length faster. I can tell a shiver goes up his spine as he feels my breathing against his cock, my mouth looking so tempting he is no longer sure of how he is resisting it. I start jerking him faster and faster, cupping his balls with one hand. My motion flows freely from the base of his cock to its tip, a pendulum movement that is eating away whatever rationality and common sense still left inside him. Opening my mouth slightly. I place it over his tip, my tongue brushing against it gently. He feels the urge to thrust forwards, to make his cock slide down my lips in one swift motion and feel my whole mouth around him. But he waits, patiently, as I keep my own pace – my mouth widens slowly as I lean in, lips sliding over his length inch by slow inch, making his body suffer through a sweet slow boil. He claws at my hair as I cup his balls again, my mouth finally filled with his throbbing member, the warmth and wetness of my insides almost
making him dizzy. I pull out as slowly as I did it before, leaning into him before I go down again, each coming and going motion of my head almost too much for him to endure. He groans as my hand joins the pendulum motion of my mouth, stroking and sucking at a rhythm so perfect I’m sure he’s wishing for it to never end. He looks down at me, seeing his flesh going in and out of my mouth, and the sight of it makes his cock pulse hard against my tongue. "I love you," He whispers towards me. Realizing he’s close, I lift my eyes up to him and, sliding back out and allowing his cock to pop out of my mouth slowly, I smile at him. “I love you too Blake.” It almost hurts me to not be touching him for a single second, but I have to let go of his cock as he takes his hands to my ankles and slides them up my legs. He leans into me, his lips gently kissing my knees, my inner thighs, my groins... He places his mouth over my thong and, breathing in, sucks hard, my scent and flavor so sweet he feels lightheaded.
I push my hips upwards, pressing my pussy against his mouth, my eager wetness coating his hungry lips. Then, unable to wait one second more, he pushes my thong aside once more, just enough so that he can taste my labia with the tip of his tongue. He laps at me, flicking his tongue at my clit and circling it slowly; pressing his mouth there he sucks, the desire to taste me taking hold of him. He pulls back for just one second, enough time for him to pull the thong down my legs. He takes another second to breath in as he dives into me again, burying his mouth in my wet pussy, devouring me carelessly as if he needs to do it to survive. I feel two careful and gentle fingers brushing against my clit as I keep jerking my hips against his face. He doesn’t stop, he keeps going until I surrender to that sweet madness and start forcing his head down and up my hips, making him eat me out in the wildest and delicious way there is. I just want his mouth in my pussy, as I fill the gallery with aching moans…
Parting my folds with his tongue, he slides one finger inside me again, making my hips sway wildly. He takes his forearm and places it over my belly, holding me down as, with his mouth and fingers, he claims me. I thrust my pussy against his face, fighting against the hold he has on me and, holding my position, I come as he devours me. My mind being overwhelmed with pleasure, as the sound of my screams keep on echoing throughout the deserted galley. My legs are shaking as if they are not mine to command. “No time to rest,” Blake suddenly tells me, jumping up to his feet and forcing me to do the same. He pushes me back toward a table that’s pushed back against the wall and I sit on it, opening my legs. He lunges at me, leaning in, and moves his body to mine. Oh, how I want it, how I want him! Everything in me is anxious for him. And then his legs encase mine, the touch of his body on mine, and I feel his tip brushing against my pussy. With one single thrust he is inside me; I sigh, crazy and wild as pleasure bursts into me,
shooting down all my senses. His cock fills me perfectly as if it´s shaped for me. His body moves in a slow, steady pace, and I take deep breaths with every movement of his thighs. The desire to scream makes my throat go hoarse, and all I allow myself is an almost imperceptible moan. I lace my legs around his torso and pull him toward me, forcing him deep inside my pussy. As if reading my mind, his pace increases at that exact moment. I go back to moaning in a whispered tone, the effort clawing at my throat. He leans into me, pulls back his mouth and takes his lips into my neck. I close my eyes, feeling the very presence of him invading my body. I feel the pleasure he feels, I feel my own pleasure. I feel all the muscles of our bodies, tense and taut, singing a song that only we can hear. “Fuck,” he groans, his cock throbbing hard inside my pussy. Close to coming, he then takes a deep breath to stop himself from exploding. Grabbing me by the hand, he then makes me
change positions with him; he sits in front of me and pulls me to his lap, our mouths finding each other in a heartbeat. I let myself get lost in his kiss, feeling his cock so dangerously close to my pulsing pussy again. Before he can make a movement, I let my hands go to his cock and I raise myself up, pointing him at me. Slowly, I ease down onto him, pulling out from his kiss and moaning as I feel his cock feeding into me once again. I let myself fall on it, his length piercing me at once and forcing me to scream. I start bucking my hips as fast as I can against him, and he guides my movements with his hands on my ass. I take my hands to his chest and, wanting to have some control over him, I push him down onto the table. I lean into him, my nipples inches away far from him. He takes my hard nipple in his mouth and starts sucking it as my body rocks against his. He lets himself go willingly, his hands never leaving my ass. Swaying my hips, I ride him with abandonment, accompanying the upwards thrusts of his body.
Feeling his body on mine is perfect. It isn't just lust, or just desire. It is all those things but it is also something more. Closeness, comfort. And it feels good. It feels fucking good. I ride him perfectly, going up and down in a flowing motion, his cock defenseless against the tight embrace of my pussy. I come up until only his tip is inside me and then back down once more. I sway forward and backward, his shaft buried deep inside me. Grabbing my ass cheeks hard, his fingertips over the curve of my crack, he thrusts upward matching the rhythm. As I ride myself to exhaustion, my coming and going motion only slowing down when I can’t go on any longer. And, when that happens, I’m already screaming at the top of my lungs. Pleasure makes its way up from my pussy and, in my throat, it turns into a raw and primal sound, exploding in the air like the sound of a grenade. I think of rolling to the side, spreading my legs, and let him do the heavy lifting. But no, I want more than that. As such, I take my knees off the table and, with both feet on the side of Blake’s
hips, I squat over him. His cock is still inside of me, so all I have to do is take a deep breath and order my body to start moving again, which he does. I jump up and down on his cock, the thunder of the orgasm he gave me still roaring inside of me. I go at him faster and faster, his fingers curling around both my breasts viciously. I look down at him, enjoying the look of pure joy and lust on the hard lines of his face, and I redouble my efforts. I keep on going up and down on him until I can’t take it anymore, my whole body as tense as a nocked arrow. I erupt in pleasure again, ripples of it washing over me with such intensity that I simply collapse on top of Blake, my legs flailing as if they’re not mine to control. I bury my fingers on his chest as I endure the destroying force of my orgasm, surrendering to the perfection of it. Giving me no time to rest, he pulls his body from mine and slips his hand under my ass. He forces me to stand and then he makes me turn my back to him, forcing me to bend over. I place my
hands on the desk and do as we wants, jutting my ass back at him. I feel his hand stroking my pussy, parting its lips, and then he comes back inside me, his cock piercing me with a single deep stroke. He takes one hand off of my waist, and I wince as I realize what he’s going to do. I bite on my lips, hold my breath, and then I feel the palm of his hand landing heavily on my ass cheek. He does it over and over again, leaving an imprint of his fingers on my flesh, the sound of it echoing in the room. “I want you to fuck me hard,” I moan, thrusting my ass back at him. He doesn’t make me beg – The moment the words leave my lips, I feel the tip of his cock brushing against my inner lips again. After a heartbeat, his cock is sheathed to the hilt inside of me. He drives it all the way in, his fingers hooked on my hips as he thrusts and holds his position. Slowly, he starts building up a rhythm, but he does it fast enough. In a matter of seconds the
sound of his thighs slapping my ass fill the whole room and drown my brain in a symphony of lust. “Harder,” I command him, and he obliges happily. He rocks his body so hard against mine that if he wasn’t holding me by the hips I’d just fall forward. At the same time, he laces my waist with one arm and takes two fingers to my clit, pressing on it while he ravages my pussy. Fucking me while working my clit, he drives me so insane I don’t think I know my name anymore. I go from my hands to my elbows, barely enough strength left in my arms to support myself. And still he keeps on thrusting, his movements vicious and wild, a sweet wickedness to the way he has taken over my pussy. My pussy tightens up around Blake’s shaft and I just explode. I let out a scream loud enough to shatter glass as the explosion goes off inside my body, and it feels like wasps are buzzing under my taut muscles. That burning sensation becomes almost unbearable, and it almost feels as if I’m really on fire. My muscles are still twitching and burning, but
I need more. I need him to fuck me until my conscious mind fades away entirely, and all that’s left of me is unbridled unconsciousness. “I want more…I want you to…take all of me,” I find myself saying. Oh, God, I can’t believe I said something like this. “Then you’ll have it,” he groans, taking his cock out of my pussy. He places his hands on my ass cheeks and, spreading them wide, he then starts rubbing the tip of his cock up and down my crack. I grit my teeth as he presses his thickness against my asshole and I scream again as he starts sliding it in. He does it without hesitation; he just slides it in at a steady pace, his thick shaft pushing my inner walls back on its way in. I scream and he drives all of his inches into me, pounding me slowly at first, but then his pace grows. My body is rocking back and forth with each coming and going motion of his. I don´t want him to stop. This time I want him to come as well. I need to have all of his seed. “More, more…” I continue, my eyes closed
shut as pleasure tears my brain apart. My ass tightens up around his shaft like a vice as I come again, waves of merciless pleasure crashing against both my mind and body, but this time I feel his cock pulsing too. At the same time, I feel his cock pulsing violently and I realize that he’s close. I push my ass back against him, forcing his cock to go as deep as possible; with that, his cock throbs again, this time even more violently, and I moan as I feel him coming inside of me. His cock buried deep inside my ass, and his fingers digging into my ass cheeks, he starts gushing out in a torrent. I hold still as he unleashes a torrent of cum inside of me. His warm semen fills me up, and it only takes a few seconds for it to start dripping out of my ass. I sigh loudly as I feel juices starting to drip down my legs. He keeps on gushing, the cum escaping my insides and tracing a path down his still erect cock. When his cock finally stops exploding inside me, he pulls back, taking it out of my ass and rolling to the
side. My eyes find his and, with a twinkle of amusement dancing behind my eyes, I smile. He grins at me, his eyes, his face and ragged breathing telling me everything that I need to know right now. “I love you, Blake. You’re everything to me.” “I love you too,” he whispers back at me. And that’s when I know I finally found happiness.
Taste
Put it in your mouth, baby You know it tastes so good I'm the bad boy of the restaurant world. A master chef. A billionaire businessman. Women come. At least a few times. And then they go. That's just the way I play it, darlin'. One course meal. Until Nicole comes into my life. Opening night. She's not impressed. Says that I've gotten too successful. Thinks I've forgotten my roots.
I wouldn't normally care. I'd swat her away without a second thought. Except...I can't get her out of my head. That amazingly curvy body. With an @$$ you just wanna knead like dough. I'm going crazy. She thinks she's gonna bring me down. But she has no idea who she's dealing with. Tonight...she's on my tasting menu.
Palmer
I finger the steak, tracing the marbled flecks of fat. I observe it with steady concentration and follow each streak as if it were a roadmap, pointing me home. A well-marbled steak is a beautiful thing. It's perfection. It's redemption. Is it also salvation? My mouth moistens as I think about the silky texture of melted fat. The depth of flavor. The tenderness. The way it transcends a moment in time. I grind salt and pepper over one side of the steak, and then flip it over to season the other side. Then I heat a cast iron skillet and when it's at the
desired temperature, I drop a pad of butter into its center. I watch as the butter circles, spins, and sizzles around the pan until it's a melted puddle. Then I place the steak on top, listening to the hot skillet kiss the raw slab of red meat, slowly caramelizing it. I've made my fortune in the restaurant business. Flipping food. Perfecting my craft. Making a name for myself. But I want more. I want to elevate the culinary landscape of New York City … and the clock's ticking faster than Julia Childs chopping an onion. And this restaurant here—The Pearl on Park —is a longtime dream come true. I've made my fortune through high-end cuisine—you know, the kind of food that requires three spoons and three forks just to eat it? The kind of food accompanied by waiters in suits and white linens. I've become one of the most famous chefs in the world, running a chain of high-quality, extremely fancy restaurants.
You've probably seen me profiled in publications like Bon Appetite, Saveur, Food and Wine, Cooks Illustrated, and The Art of Eating. I've made food that'll give you an orgasm as soon as it hits your tongue. Beautifully crusted baguettes, fresh meat that'll make you moan, and warm cakes gooier than a woman begging for more. But this restaurant is different. I'm still creating dishes that are good, orgasmic good, but now I'm pushing boundaries. Salty, fatty, sweet—the kind of food that makes you want to sink your face in and say fuck it, I'm eating this. Maybe I'm stubborn, or stupid, or both, but you have to be all of those things and more to make it in the restaurant business. You see all of these tools in this kitchen—the vacuum machines, pH meters, and liquid nitrogen? I'm debunking cooking myths. I don't care what any other chef in this city is doing. If it's working for me, just get out of my way. Let me run my restaurants the way I want to run them.
And this place here—these stainless steel appliances, the swanky Park Ave vibe, the top of the line table linens and décor—it's a longtime dream come true. I have no interest in what the chef is doing next door, or across the street, or even across the fucking globe. Why? Because the only thing that matters is my kitchen. I look down at the steak and spoon brown butter over it, basting it. It's now crusted and cooked to perfection, and I remove it from the skillet. It's caramelized around the edges with a beautiful brown crunch I can't wait to place between my teeth. If you visit The Pearl on Park, this'll be one of the best steaks you've ever had; I promise. It's going to be one of the new dishes that I present. I plate the steak and carefully slice a chunk of meat off with a serrated knife. There's a crisp char on the outside and rareness in the middle that feels like butter on my tongue. "Fuck, that's good!" I can't help but yell out and slam my fist down on the countertop.
"You made me jump!" I look over to see my sous chef, Brit, walk into the kitchen. She's working overtime with me to get a few dishes perfected before our soft opening. Any other day, and this late at night it wouldn’t be Brit here with me. Maybe some actress with one of these fake smiles, too eager to have a taste of the Chef, but not today. I can’t waste my time. Not now. "Taste this!" I say, looking at Brit over my shoulder. She walks over, and leans against the counter and I place a forkful of steak into her mouth. I watch as she chews slowly, and then closes her eyes, throwing her head back. "My God," she says, shaking her head in disbelief. "You weren't joking. This is the best steak I've ever eaten." I'm glad she agrees, but I can't help but want to make sure. "Don't pull my leg—tell me the truth," I say. "I'm serious! It's that good," she says. "This'll put The Pearl on Park on the map."
The way she drags her hand over her throat tells me that she means it. But I can no longer think about that perfectly caramelized steak. Instead, I close my eyes and remember the dr. appointment I had last week. It's an appointment that haunts me and drives me in equal measures. The sanitized talk. The fluorescent lights. The sterile smell of it all. Something showed up on the MRI, the Dr. said, as I sat back in the hard plastic chair. He pointed to a white, walnut-shaped mass, and the rest of the appointment was a blur. I left, vaguely agreeing to a follow-up appointment, and ultimately making myself a promise to cook the best fucking food New York City's ever tasted. "This is the best steak the Big Apple's got," Brit says. That's exactly what I want to hear. It's true; I'm a multi-tasker. I can juggle a dozen restaurants, and even more women, and still find time to scuba dive my way through St.
Thomas. It's what I do. And I'm good at it. I'm not interested in half-assing my way through life. Sure, I'm living large and I know it. But I'm just getting started. If you can handle the heat, go ahead … turn the page and jump into the fire. My name is Chef Palmer, and I'm going to gift the world with a pearl that they'll never forget.
Nicole
"Where are the vegetables?" WHACK! THWAP! Two line cooks look up at me. "We can't hear you, what?" "I said, where are the—" but my voice is again cut off by the overhead noise. WHACK! WHACK! THWAP! The noise of construction workers a floor above us has put me on edge. I can't think. I can't cook. I can't sear a piece of chicken without hearing what sounds like a dozen drag cars moving full throttle above my head. The line cooks shrug their shoulders. "THE PRODUCE—WHERE IS IT?" I say,
struggling over the noise. Danny, one of the line cooks, finally understands what I'm asking. "Oh that. The driver mumbled something about a missed payment and took off." I look around the kitchen, and see that he's right. We haven't received our fresh produce this morning. Beyond a few stray onions, we have nothing. How am I supposed to cook today? I take a deep breath and run my fingers through my hair. Stay calm, I repeat to myself. "Okay, thanks. I'll give him a call." "Sorry, I figured you knew." "It's fine," I say, even though it doesn't feel fine at all. In fact, it's taking everything in me to not lose it today, but I have to keep my cool. "I'll get it sorted." I walk out of the kitchen and into the main dining room. I look around, at the tables, at the blue gingham table linens, at everything I've worked so hard to build. Blue.
The color reminds me of my grandmother. I can almost hear her whispering into my ear, “A woman with no wrinkles is a woman without a story to tell." I remember sitting on top of her knees, looking into her pale blue eyes as she hummed some old song from the forgotten 50s; in my memories it’s always Doris Day and Dream a Little Dream of Me on her lips, and then she’d just wrap her arms tight around me and cradle me against her chest. I’d close my eyes, surrendering to the warmness of her embrace, and the world would feel like a dream—blurry at the edges, but bright and comforting all the same. She's the reason I started this restaurant. She instilled in me the love of food and the notion that anything is possible with enough hard work. And believe me; none of this was easy. In fact, it was the hardest thing I've ever done. I washed dishes, I waited tables. I worked double shifts, and I saved every single penny I could get my hands on. I once worked through a fever of 104º, and I honestly thought I wouldn’t make it through the day.
But there was that dream. A dream that burned hotter than any fever ever could. That unrelenting need to do something, as small as it may be. Then one day, I simply made it happen. All those pennies, and long hours, and exhaustion ... I just threw them all into the pan and stirred. I added a lease to the mix, a healthy dose of anxiety, and then I just closed my eyes and bet it all. It’s been a year now. That anxiety remains, along with all the penny counting. The dish washing, table-waiting, and frantic cooking are all part of the process as well. But now I do it all in a place I can call my own. The Old Tale is my restaurant, and it's huddled among New York's high rises, and you can almost feel the way time bends once you step inside. Thousands of people rush by the door every day, barely noticing this small bistro that seems to exist in a universe of its own; but for the few people that step inside, they have no choice but to leave the rush and frenzy of New York City outside. There’s nothing fancy about The Old Tale. No
glamorous logos, no overpriced menus or waiters wearing a suit and tie. The wooden tables in the small dining area proudly display their age, and even the dim glow of the lights is a throwback to a time when restaurants and cafés weren’t supposed to be a natural extension of a shopping mall. You could dig out this restaurant by its roots, slam it down in a crowded street from the 50s, and no one would bat an eye. It doesn’t feel like a restaurant—it feels like home, a shelter from the cold embrace of a city that doesn’t remember your name. But sometimes you can’t fight the city; a small restaurant is just a small restaurant, after all. And now there’s the sound of drills and hammers, the hoarse shouts of construction workers pacing back and forth. Sometimes it feels like I'm fighting against a rising tide that's whispering its warning— get out or we’ll drag you back with us. That tide has a name: The Pearl on Park. And it's going to completely change this neighborhood—bringing Park Ave into a working class corner. Its doors are still closed, but I can
already feel the inevitable trot of progress. Soon enough these streets will belong to expensive European cars, and boots and jeans will give way to polished shoes and creased dress pants. Then the rents will go up, and The Old Tale will become a gnarled wreckage lying at the bottom of the ocean. "Someone looks deep in thought." A voice breaks my concentration and pulls me into the present. "I didn't see you come in. It's good to see you, Percy," I say, looking over to find a familiar face. "What are you doing here today?" "Just enjoying some of this city's best cooking, is what I'm doing," he says. I lean over and give him a hug. "You're too kind." "And you're too humble," he says, returning the smile. "Well, humble or not, I hope I can just survive The Pearl over there," I say, pointing across the street. "I mean, how can I compete with that?" Percy shakes his head. "Don't worry about that place. Fancy flagstone tiles, porcelain dishes,
and silver cutlery don't make a good restaurant." "Maybe not ... but it seems to help," I say with a laugh. Percy Whitman is one of the biggest food critics in the city. He's known me ever since I opened The Old Tale, and if it weren't for his early, glowing reviews, I wouldn't be here today. I wouldn't worry about it," Percy says. He places both hands into his pockets and rocks on his heels as he says this, as if it's the most casual thing in the world. "Chef Palmer is a Grade-A asshole and even though I've never been to one of his restaurants, he's never impressed me much." "I've heard he has talent," I say, not willing to believe that his presence in this neighborhood isn't going to be disruptive. "He's become a huge celebrity." But Percy continues to shrug away my fears. "I doubt Palmer's all that." "I guess we'll find out," I say. "I plan to review every one of that asshole's restarurant's, including The Pearl on Park," Percy says, and his face flushes pink as soon as the words
leave his mouth. "You'll see."
Palmer
I dip my finger into the sauce and press it against my tongue. It's bland and devoid of depth. "Are you fucking serious? This tastes like cardboard," I say. "Fix it." Everyone is on edge as I drag my finger against my chef's coat, wiping away the sauce. The rest of my staff scrambles. We're all working harder than we've ever worked in our lives. I smile, seeing my junior chefs work overtime to make tonight a success, but my joy fades away as quickly as it comes when I peep through the window of the swinging kitchen door, and spy none other than Percy Whitman. The man. The myth. The dream maker and the career wrecker of
this city. But that's all bullshit because he's just a gradeA asshole. He walks through the elegant glass doors of my restaurant and I watch as the hostess seats him. She's friendly and gracious. Shit. I can't remember a time when Percy showed up a restaurant on opening night. He takes a few steps in and smiles, showing off a row of teeth more crooked than a broken fence. That matches his review ethic, I think to myself. He removes his hat and tips it in an arrogant gesture. He combs his hand through his blonde hair and his eyes scan the crowded dining room. The only thing paler than his face is the table cloth in front of him, I think. Brit bumps into me. Her hair rivals the flames of any kitchen, and she has the personality to match. She trips and spills a bowl of tomato soup on the ground … and me. "I'm so sorry," she says, bringing her hands to her mouth. She's frazzled.
I reach over and place a hand on her shoulder. "Take a deep breath, Brit," I say. "It could've been worse." She gives me a reluctant smile and scrambles off. I grab a towel, soaking up the red remnants of soup and then set it on the counter. I look around the kitchen … at the steaks drizzled with the finest brown butter sauces, and realize that even though it hasn't been the smoothest of nights, it hasn't been bad either. This is the dream. We're pulling off a lot of great plates. I turn and head out of the kitchen. It's time I mingle with the patrons. Immediately, a crowd of three women catch my eye. They're seated near the bar—three blondes in red. One of them turns to me and smiles. I walk over and make an introduction. "Evening, ladies," I say. "How are you enjoying the food?" "Oh, you must be the chef!" one of the women smiles. "I adore your food!" She brings one hand to her chest, resting it on her cleavage.
I smile. The two other women blush as I look into their striking blue eyes. If I had more time, I'd probably sit a minute and share a drink with them, but it's opening night and time is precious. "Well," I grin, "Just wait until you ladies try the desert." With that, I leave them with a smile and watch as their faces turn a shade of red that matches their dresses. I walk past another guest, an older woman in her 60s. She reaches up and grabs my coat. "You must be Chef Palmer! I just love your food." I nod my head in appreciation. "Thank you, ma'am," I say, giving her a quick smile before taking her hand and giving it a quick kiss. Then I move on and head back into my bustling kitchen. As soon as I enter, one of my line cooks, Alex, says, "Chef! I've plated the appetizer for table five!" I approach it, eyeing it with the suspicion. "What is this?" I ask.
"Sir?" Alex says with a blank expression. "Is this cat food? Do you think we're feeding feral cats?" "Chef, I don't understand, I—" I stop him mid sentence. "Plate it like you mean it!" I say. "This isn't an all-you-can-eat buffet. This is fine dining. Make every plate reflect that." Yes, Chef," Alex says, and hurries off. I let out a sigh and lean against the stove. A million thoughts zap through my mind, but they're all cut short when I feel a searing pain against my elbow. I look down to find flames licking the edges of my sleeves. Fuck. I hear Brit. "Hey Chef, I was wondering if—" Her voice stops as soon as she eyes the situation. Then I hear Alex's voice over the growing heat of the flames. "Chef, I re-plated the appetizer, and—" He takes one look at the flames licking my sleeve and grabs a bucket of dirty dishwater and throws it onto me. The flames instantly disappear, but now I look
like a used mop. "Fucking dishwater, Alex?" I ask, crossing my arms. Both Alex and Brit give me a blank stare. "What are you two waiting for?" I say. Move!" They both scramble off to plate a neverending row of orders. I grab a towel and dry my face, and then peer back out into the dining room. Despite what I currently look like, I decide to walk back through the dining room, and gauge the crowd's experiences. As I walk past one table, a piece of conversation catches my attention. "Look, do you see this rice? It's overcooked. It's like paste. I mean, what chef can mess up rice? And this fish? It's drier than the Sahara. It's not flaking apart. It's a hard, dry slab … a fish brick, and don't even get me started about the soup." I can't help but stop and look over to see who this is coming from. When I do, I can hardly believe my eyes.
Nicole
"He's like candy on a stick," Sarah smiles, sliding back into her chair. I roll my eyes. "Are you serious? If you mean the kind of candy that melts and sticks, and gives you the world's worst toothache and puts you into a dentist's chair, then … okay, I can see it," I say, letting out a sigh. I love Kate, but she can be one of the most dramatic people you've ever met, and she doesn't have the most rational mind. "What's with you?" Kate asks, eyeing me suspiciously. "A bit harsh, don't you think? He looks good enough to eat—those eyes, and that smile. Don't pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about." "It's just that I'm not buying into the hype," I
say. "Sure, he has the name and the money, and that Michelin star, but so what?" "So what? I mean, look at the man! A Michelin star isn't easy to get you know," Sarah says. "It's not like you can snap your fingers and will it into materializing. And c'mon … you can't tell me that he isn't easy on the eyes." I let out another sigh and allow the potato leek soup to slip off my spoon and drip back into the bowl. "I know," I say, "but this food is soulless. I mean, look at it. It doesn't have heart. It's as bland as these white linens … and it's cold." "It's only cold because you've refused to touch it for the last twenty minutes," Kate laughs. I watch as the soup plops into thick, white lumps back into the bowl. I didn't want to be here, but Sarah insisted we show up since it's the grand opening for The Pearl on Park. I could think of a million things I'd rather be doing—like scooping cat liter, or plucking my eyebrows, or washing dishes, or folding laundry, or — Sarah breaks my train of thought. She grabs
my arm and squeals. "There he is again! He has to be the sexiest piece of man meat I've ever seen." Her eyes look glassed over, like she's entered a new state of nirvana. "Give me a break," I say, rolling my eyes. "Whose side are you on anyways?" "I can't believe you're even asking me that," she says. "I'm on your side babe, but now you're just being unreasonable." As much as I want to argue that point, I let it go. I watch as Chef Palmer walks between his kitchen and back through the dining room, mingling with the crowd. Women seem to swoon and melt in his presence like clockwork, one after the other. They bat their eyes. They pucker their lips. They lower their blouses to show extra cleavage. They fan their faces as if the heat emanating from his body is too much to handle. It all makes me sick.
This chef … this restaurant … is threatening to put me out of business, and it makes my stomach do somersaults. That's a cold, hard fact. With that knowledge, I think he's about as handsome as a cockroach. I watch him walk back and forth, from the kitchen to the dining room and back again, and can't help but scowl at his swagger. Who does he think he is? He's got an ego bigger than Mt. Kilimanjaro … not that I've ever hiked it, but I've seen the pictures. "Look," I say, "Do you see this rice? I scoop it into the prongs of my fork. It's overcooked. It's like paste. I mean, what chef can mess up rice? And this fish? It's drier than the Sahara. It's not flaking apart. It's a hard, dry slab … a fish brick." "Um, Nicole," Sarah says, but I don't let her finish. "And don't even get me started about the soup again," I say. "These potatoes? You don't even—" But Sarah clears her throat and nods her head over my shoulder.
"I wouldn't, um—I, uh—" she says, her voice catching in her throat. But I cut in again. "Oh come on Sarah. We all know he's easy on the eyes, but that doesn't mean his food is—" Then I stop. I notice Sarah's eyes fixed on a figure just beyond my left shoulder and I can't help but turn around and see what she's so focused on. And when I do, my heart nearly stops in my chest. I look over and lock my gaze on two eyes the color of the Atlantic. They pierce me like a set of hooks. It doesn't take me long to realize who it is. It's Chef Palmer. And he's … smiling? My mind races. How long has he been standing there? What exactly did he hear? Did he hear the part about me talking shit about his food, or the part where I dismiss his Michelin star? And how did I not know how handsome he was? It's times like this where I wish I had an
invisibility cloak, or a button to teleport right out of this restaurant. Anything to disappear. Palmer senses my discomfort. "You were saying?" he smiles, flashing me a disarmingly white smile. His teeth are unnaturally white … like something out of a toothpaste commercial. I'm in the hot seat now. I can't hide from this, or backpedal. I need to own up to it. "I was just expecting something … different," I say. "I take it this isn't meeting your expectations?" He knows it isn't. It's a rhetorical question. "I've had better," I say, standing my ground. His eyebrows jump in an arc. "Is that so?" "This fish … this starch … I was expecting more from The Pearl. There's a lot of hype about this place." I watch as he crosses his arms and I notice a black blemish on the sleeve of his chef's coat … as if it caught on fire. It looks like he hasn't had the smoothest of openings, and I find my heart going
soft at the thought … as a chef, I know how hard it is to run a kitchen, but I quickly shake that from my mind. He's the competition. He's part of the problem in this city … overpriced, soulless food. "Fine," he smiles, his eyes still on mine. "Come here tomorrow after closing hours and I'll show you what real food is all about."
Nicole
Whenever I'm feeling this way, I like to sit down at the small table for two in the corner of the restaurant that gets the most sunlight. I close my eyes and let the warm rays caress my skin. Today is one of those days; and lucky for me I get to share a few minutes with Kate before the lunch rush hour. She’s the best friend, and employee, I could ask for. But even she's testing my nerves today. I take a deep breath and gaze out the window into the busy street; his words ringing in my ears. I’ve replayed them so many times, overlapping them with my own thoughts that they morphed into something else. An uncontrollable ravenous monster that is eating all my time and concentration. I chuckle and then frown. I can’t remember
what he said word for word anymore, just the gist of it. Real food. He said he’ll show me what real fucking food is. That bastard. “You okay, boss lady?” Kate asks full of concern. I must have a sour look on my face, because she only calls me that when she is trying to brighten my mood. “It’s just…” I mumble, struggling to find words. “How do I put this plainly, Kate—” “Careful now, Mrs. West is here for tea and scones with her daughter in law.” I’m glad she interrupted me; it saved me the embarrassment of having to apologize for the long string of foul words that was parading through my head. “He’s an asshole,” I whisper. “A total asshole.” “A rich one,” she says with a nod over her, ‘Coffee, because crack is not allowed at work,’ coffee mug. “Sure, whatever, but I don’t have to—” “Wait!” Kate blurts out while slamming her mug down to the table, clearly harder than she had
expected as her eyes widened. “Nicole, you’re not…” “Not what?” I say over the rattling of silverware. Gasping, she says, “Tell me I’m wrong?” I want to play it off, but it's like she can read my mind. Just another reason why we work so well together. “You’re going to pull one of your, ‘I’m too busy working’ tricks,” Kate says while rudely pointing at me. “You’re gonna close yourself down and hide in that tiny office of yours all day and night.” I was beginning to question who I was most annoyed with in the moment: Kate or Palmer. “No, I’m not.” “Yeah you will. You’ll treat last night like it never happened. You’ll pretend the most famous chef in the world didn’t just move in on your territory and issue you a challenge. Damn, girl, people got shot for things like that in the wild west. You gonna let him claim jump you? Cause I’m not going to allow that to happen.”
I laugh. “You’re not, huh?” “Nope.” I sit there and watch a plan formulate behind her eyes. My head is swimming. His words. My words. Kate’s words. It's all a jumbled mess. Should I just tell her to stop and go back to work, or should I pull rank and tell her it's over—to drop it? Maybe she's right. I'm not sure, and something holds my words inside my throat, so I let her keep talking. “You like checklists, Nicole, well, let’s make one.” Tilting my head, and narrowing my eyes, I give her a cross look. “Okay…” “Palmer is gorgeous. I mean-yeah-hot.” Kate turns apple-red in the face as she says so. Is it the steam from her coffee? No, she's been sipping that for the past thirty minutes. “Before he came to town, I would have said you were the best-looking restaurant owner around.” “Great. Fine. Sure, he’s good looking.” I shrug. “Yeah, hot, I guess. Why does that matter?” Kate is mirroring my look, a habit of hers when she thinks I'm saying something off. Normally
I see this during business related decisions, but her meaning in this moment is not lost on me. “He’s a super-famous celebrity and that alone equals a ton of attention. Just think about the burst of social media awareness you’d be getting. I bet a hundred or more tweets.” “And how would I glean from his celebrity, Kate? How?” “Any fucking way possible.” I nod at the nearest customers, causing Kate to grimace as she continues. “All it would take is a couple of dates—” “Dates?” “Yeah, public ones. Get people interested in you two, then redirect all the attention back here to the restaurant, Nicole. You know, we could use the business.” “I want people to come to my restaurant because the food is good, not because…” Leaning forward, Kate begins to whisper. “Because you’re sleeping with the hottest guy in town?” “No!” I raise my voice, nearly spitting in her
face. She shakes her head while crossing her arms and leaning back; I can tell she is frustrated with me. She wants to see me find a good man. All she wants is for me to be as happy as she is. But Palmer —yeah—he’s an asshole. “Fine… Because you and another restaurant owner are battling it out for best of the best.” Yawning, she sarcastically says, “So scandalous…” I think a moment. I already knew Percy was on my side. “You think the critics would compare us?” “Haven’t they already?” Kate is making a good point. But how can I compete with Palmer’s money and celebrity? I begin to wonder. The food. I realize. My food is way better. He might have more Instagram followers, but I’m the better chef. “You’re right, Kate.” A calmness washes over me. “I’ll go to his restaurant tonight. He can spend all his time and money trying to impress me, because in the end I know what really matters.” Kate smiles. “And what’s that?”
“The backbone of any good restaurant.” I say retuning her smile. “Heart.” Now I can’t wait to see Palmer fail.
Palmer
I pace the kitchen, and look at my watch. She should be here any minute. It's not like me to feel this anxious … especially not over a woman I hardly know. But this woman seems different. Just as I think this, I look up and see her figure through the glass doors. I walk over and unlock it for her. "You made it," I say, gesturing her inside. "I thought I'd give you a chance to redeem yourself," she grins. "How could I say no?" My eyes travel the length of her body. She certainly didn't dress up for the occasion, but she looks stunning all the same. She's beautiful, with waves in her hair curvier than macaroni, and she smells like a garden—fruity and floral, like apple blossoms, and amber, and
sliced peaches, and sandalwood. It's intoxicating. Honestly, I'd fuck her if she wasn't such a smart ass. "So what's on the menu tonight?" she says, pulling her hair over one shoulder. "Oysters," I grin. She rolls her eyes. "You're joking, right? Does this sort of thing usually work on the women you invite over for dinner?" "Why do women do that?" "Do what?" "That." "I don't understand," she says, shaking her head. "What do you mean?" "Always assume a guy's intentions," I say. "Because men are easier to read than a book," she smiles. "Not this one," I grin. "And besides, I guarantee you've never had oysters like this before. So, suspend judgment." She sits down. "Fine. Try me." Before I bring out the oysters, I pour her a
glass of white wine and watch as she brings it to her lips. She's not admitting it yet, but based on the look in her eyes, she's already impressed. Then I bring out a tray of freshly shucked oysters on ice. I watch her eyes light up with curiosity. "Can I tell you a secret?" she asks. "I like secrets." "I've never had oysters like these before." "Well then, what kind of chef are you?" I say, laughing and giving her a hard time. "It's true. Glidden Point Oysters, right? They're rare, and I'm a little … nervous," she laughs. There's an innocence hidden in her eyes and it makes my heart kick in my chest. I want to pull her close to me and allow myself to get drunk on her smell alone. I want to feed her the most expensive foods that money can buy. I shake my head. What the hell is wrong with me? I need to keep this professional. I squeeze a wedge of lemon on the oysters and watch their flesh ripple from the acidity. "You see that?" I say, and Nicole nods. Never
eat a raw oyster that isn't still alive. I reach for her hand. It's delicate for the hands of a fellow chef, and the realization of it makes my cock twitch. "Here," I say, placing a small fork between her fingers. She grabs it and follows my lead. "Move it around in its own liquor," I say, her hand still in mine, and together we give the oyster a gentle swirl. She pulls back for a second. "There are other ways to eat an oyster, you know." It's as if she's trying to prove that she knows her way around food, and doesn't need my lead. "Trust me," I reply, locking my eyes on hers. "Taste it … and you won't want it any other way." I take the fork from her hand and replace it with the shell of the oyster. "Here, hold it." I watch as she grabs it with the tips of her perfectly manicured fingers, the scarlet polish on her nails flashing against the cold grey of the shell. I lean in close, speaking just above a whisper. "Go ahead," I say.
She begins to part her moist lips, bringing it to her mouth. "Do you suck or swallow?" I grin. "Very funny, Palmer." "Bad joke, I know. But seriously, you really should just take it down your throat," I say, a grin forming across my lips. "It's really the only acceptable way." She returns the smile, and raises it back to her lips. I watch as her lips part again, and she places the edge of the shell to her mouth. She tilts her head back, exposing her slender throat to me, and for a second, I imagine dragging my tongue across it and resting it against her pulse. I wonder how fast her heart is beating, and what her pulse would feel like fluttering beneath my tongue. Would it feel like a trapped butterfly? Or the purr of a sports car? Fuck, this woman is something else. She throws her head back and I watch as her throat swells. "So?" I ask, as soon as she finishes. She smiles. "That was … pretty good."
"Pretty good? Is that all?" "Fine. It was amazing." "I'm glad because there's more where that came from," I say, looking down at the chilled platter. "Wouldn't want these to go to waste." She reaches for another, repeating the process. As she does it, my eyes travel down the length of her body, savoring the deep crevice between her breasts. "So … tell me," I say. "What's your real motive for meeting me tonight?" "What makes you think I have a motive?" "Everyone has a motive." She considers this for a moment. "Well, your dishes didn't impress me opening night, and like I said, I wanted to give you another chance." "Have I left you with a different impression?" I ask. "Very," she smiles. "Good. Still hungry?" "You have no idea." As if my cock wasn't hard enough already, now it's as stiff as steel. And as much as I want to
bend her over my kitchen, I know I need to keep it professional. She takes another slow sip of wine and carefully places the glass down. There's a slight imprint of her lips left on the rim of her glass from her lipstick. She's relaxing … even her legs are loose and she parts them slightly. She grabs my hand and brings it to the top of her warm, soft, thigh. "You know what I think?" she says. "I don't pretend to know," I say, shaking my head. Her question hangs in the air, thick and full of promise. "I think that if you want to see real food," she says, "You should come over to my apartment tomorrow."
Nicole
What was I thinking? Inviting someone like Palmer over to my small, cramped apartment. I must be going crazy. He's going to take one look at this place and come up with an excuse to leave. I'm sure he owns shoe closets bigger than my apartment … and furniture worth more than anything I own. This is embarrassing. I sit back on the sofa and take another sip of my wine. It immediately transports me back to last night—his restaurant, the way he looked at me with those piercing blue eyes, and those oysters … don't even get me started on those oysters. They were that good. One taste and I was practically throwing myself at him. How did that even happen? I've never acted
that way before. What's wrong with me? I grab my cell phone and immediately type a question into Google: Are oysters really aphrodisiacs? Google gives me 128,000 results … and I immediately start reading about Casanova, an 18th century lover who supposedly ate 50 oysters for breakfast every morning to keep up his sexual stamina enough to bed over a hundred women. Can you imagine eating that many in a single day? Was that Palmer's plan all along … to get me all hot and bothered? Well, if they worked for Casanova … Then my eyes continue to scan the screen and I see articles about oysters linked to increased fertility. The thought of that makes my face flush. Is my face flushing from the wine … or the thought of my fertile body against Palmer's? Oh God, I'm a mess. I shake my head. Snap out of it Nicole. Now's not the time to be thinking about fertility … especially not next to the image of Palmer.
If Palmer thinks he's getting into my bed tonight, he's wrong. Just then, I hear a knock at the door. Shit. He's here! I place my glass of wine down and quickly straighten my dress. I take one last look at myself in the mirror, fixing my hair, and making sure my mascara isn't smudged. Then I hurry toward the door, take a deep breath, and open it. The sight of him almost makes my breath catch in my throat, and I stand there dumbly looking at him for what seems like an embarrassing amount of time. He bends down to pick up something that he drops, and as he does this, I can see the muscles in his thighs flex and stretch the fabric of his suit. A new heat flushes across my face. God, this man is hot. I have to keep reminding myself that I invited him here tonight to cook for him … nothing else. "Come in," I say, opening the door wide enough for him to enter.
He smiles and immediately starts joking with me. "You sure you want to cook for me tonight?" he says. "I'm not easily impressed." "Well, get ready to be surprised," I say. He walks into the living room and looks around the apartment. I can't help but feel selfconscious. My place has to be far more humble than the places he's used to. "Cute place," he says. "You don't have to say that." "I mean it," he says. "It's cozy … in a good way." "Well, the magic is in the kitchen," I say, trying to divert his attention from the mismatched furniture and worn out carpet of the living room, and he follows me. "Is this the only place where all the magic happens?" he asks. I know exactly what he's insinuating, but I pretend to ignore it. "The pasta should be done," I say, changing the subject. "Is that what we're eating tonight?" he says.
"Pasta?" "It's not just any pasta," I smile. "It's my grandmother's recipe … every bit of it, from the Bucatini down to the Bolognese." I grab the steaming pot of pasta, carry it to the sink, and drain the boiling water through the colander. I give the colander a shake, to ensure the water is gone, and I bring the pasta to the Bolognese sauce simmering on the stove. Then, I grab my wooden spoon … the same utensil used by my grandmother, and maybe her mother before that, and I stir. I bring the spoon from the sauce, cup one hand underneath it, and carefully bring it to Palmer's mouth. "Here," I say. "Taste this." He places his mouth on the spoon and takes a sip. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Unbelievable," he says. "That's good—real good." "Just wait until you try it with the handmade Bucatini." I grab a plate and place some of the pasta and
sauce on top. Then I shave a few fresh curls of parmesan onto the dish. Palmer grabs a fork, twirls the pasta between the prongs and brings it to his mouth. He chews slowly, considering the flavors and textures. He doesn't say anything right away, and instead goes in for a second bite. "Stunning," he says finally. "You like it?" "Love it," he says. "I've never had a dish like this before. I mean it. You'll have to share the recipe." "I can't do that." "You don't trust me?" he says, smiling and stepping closer. "It's a secret family recipe," I say. "No one outside of the family has it." He reaches out and brushes my face with the tips of his fingers. "If anyone can keep a secret," he says, moving his fingers from the side of my face down to my lips, "it's me." I can't look away. I can't move. I'm drawn to
Palmer like a moth to a flame, and the more he touches me, the more I want him. My eyes are locked on his and he suddenly leans down, slowly pressing his lips to mine. The feeling is instant and electric. Like I've been shocked by the live end of a wire. I part my lips, and feel his warm tongue basting mine. I can feel myself melt into his embrace. What have I gotten myself into?
Nicole
“I’m sorry,” Palmer tells me, standing up straight and taking one step back. He purses his lips, and then looks at me hesitantly. “I shouldn’t have.” Slowly, I raise my hand and brush my thumb over my lips, feeling the way the warmness of his lips seems to linger on mine. “You’re sorry…what for?” I ask him, and the words leave my lips before I can even process what I’m saying. I’m not thinking rationally right now, but how could I? After being kissed by him, it’s almost a miracle I’m still thinking. Slowly, I get up and go on tiptoes; grabbing him by his shirt, I press my lips against his, closing my eyes as I succumb to a perfect kiss. He’s on me then; his lips curl into a grin, his
hands on my waist as he kisses me with a gentleness I would never believe he had in him just a few days ago. It’s still hard for me to understand what’s happening right now but… Does it even matter? Our lips have touched, and my body’s telling me all about what I need to do next. And, God, I've never felt anything like this. I never…I’ve never been with anyone before. No matter, he’s here now, his hands tracing the contour of my curves over my black dress as his cock becomes hard. There’s a slow burning ache between my legs, my pussy becoming as wet as it has ever been. God, what’s happening to me? Without even thinking about what I’m doing, I take one hand to his crotch, pressing against his cock with the open palm of my hand and rubbing over it. Softly, I trace its contour with just the tip of my fingers, imagining how it will feel to have his long member sliding inside of me. He feels so damn big; he’s so huge that I still have a hard time understanding how it’s even possible for something like it to exist. His shape is long and thick, perfect
in all things, and I can’t help but salivate at the thought of having him deep inside of me… My heart races fast as I try to wrap my mind around the fact that someone like Palmer is here with me, his body burning with lust and desire. He’s one of the most important chefs in the world, a wealthy man, someone who can have every single woman he desires … and I’m just a simple girl from a small town. How can he even want me? Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, I start unbuttoning his pants, brushing my fingers over his boxer briefs. My heart is drumming anxiously inside my chest, and I slide my hand under his boxer briefs, my fingers curling around his member as if they have a life of their own. I start stroking him in all his length, going over from his tip to his root—oh, I can’t wait to feel each and every inch of his cock deep inside of me. If we keep going at it like this he’s going to ruin me, I just know it. Now that we’ve kissed, it’s just impossible for me to keep my hands off of him. And that sounds so good. What could possibly be
better than having my body completely destroyed by someone like Palmer? Like every girl, I want the first time to be special. Different even. I never thought it’d happen in a cramped apartment and with a man I'm supposed to hate. But being here with him…it feels special. It feels different. I caress his balls with my free hand, still grasping his cock tight while I move my hand up and down, from his tip to the base, marveling at his size. I need it inside me. I need that as much as I need air to breathe and my heart to beat. It would be a sin to waste such a moment. He nibbles at my lower lip, his hands going down my cheeks and neck to the round mounds of my breasts, grabbing and squeezing gently. Possessed by an insatiable hunger for my breasts, he slides the shoulder straps of my dress down my arms and then leans into me and starts sucking on my right nipple, pulling down the cup of my bra and holding it in place with his long fingers. I can’t help but moan as his tongue dances in circles around it,
lapping at it endlessly. Palmer leans into me, his lips against my ear, and he whispers. “I have no idea what we’re doing,” he breathes out. “But this feels amazing.” Blood rushes to my cheeks as he says it, and I don’t even know what to say. Having someone like Palmer whisper those things at me is better than almost everything I have experienced during my short time here on this Earth. I could spend the whole day in his arms, with him whispering those things at me, and I would never get tired of it. Only problem I can see with that is that I would spend the whole day completely wet. But then again, that sounds just about perfect. I don’t even know how it's possible for me to be so damn wet. It’s completely ridiculous. Of course, my body seems to disagree; every single cell inside me seems to be aching for Palmer. “I…I need to tell you something,” I find myself saying, placing my hands on his chest and taking a step back. He looks into my eyes, his lips just a thin line made out of curiosity as he waits for
me to continue. “I’ve never…been with anyone,” I finally confess, barely believing that I’m telling him this. If I’m saying it, that’s because I want that to change…and I don’t know what to think of that. Maybe it’s better I don’t even think. Maybe it’s better I just act. “Seriously? Someone like you?” he asks me, and his words are pregnant with surprise. “Someone like me?” “Nicole…Fuck. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, and talented. How is that even possible?” he continues, reaching for me and tucking a lock of hair over my ear. “I guess…I’ve always been busy with work,” I reply, looking down at my feet as I feel my cheeks growing red. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. “Not tonight,” he whispers, and before I can do anything he sweeps me off my feet. Carrying me in his arms, he walks out of the kitchen and into my bedroom, nudging the door open with the tip of his shoe. He doesn’t even bother with flicking the light
switch; he just carries me all the way to the bed, gently sitting me there. He pushes me down on the mattress, his hands darting to my back and lodging themselves there. In a sudden movement he is on top of me, our bodies pressed against each other as we kiss. Oh, God, is this really happening? His lips go from my mouth to my chest then, and as he sucks and licks my nipple, I can’t help but wonder if this is what paradise feels like. He squeezes my breasts hard as he sucks on them; then one of his hand goes down my belly and, still over the fabric of my dress, he presses it over my eager pussy, rubbing it slowly with just the tip of his fingers. I grind against his hand, swaying my hips and trying to sate the aching desire my insides feel for him. Damn, I can feel every nerve ending in my body yearning for him. His hand goes down my waist and he slides it under my dress, his fingers hiking up to my thong; with a flick of his fingers, he pushes the small string of fabric to the side and brushes one finger slowly
against my clit. I shudder and exhale sharply as he presses down on it. It’s like being hit by lightning. I can’t see, I can’t speak, I can’t hear—all that I feel is his fingers slowly stroking my pussy. I thrust my hips upward against his hand; I can’t handle all this teasing, I really can’t. I’m going to die of anticipation. Then, as if he’s capable of hearing my thoughts, he pushes my hips down onto the mattress, the palm of his hand pressing hard against my pussy. He lets one finger go inside of me in an upward motion and, before I can even let out a heartfelt moan, he has his thumb over my clit again. He lets go without a warning, the absence of his touch almost too painful to endure. Getting up, he grabs my hand and makes me stand; with a sudden movement, he has me pinned against the wall of my own bedroom. I close my eyes as he runs his hands through my hair and pushes it back. We stand there in a silence only broken by the sound of our breathing, our bodies brushing against each other as we just savor that sweet closeness.
When I open my eyes I see him looking at me, his lips slightly parted as if he’s lost in a daze. My hands go to his chest, my fingertips feeling the rough outline of his muscles with deliberate care. He’s so perfectly sculpted that it’s hard to believe he wasn’t sculpted out of a marble block. He reaches for my mouth with his, kissing me in abandonment. My heart flutters as I kiss him back, my lips submitting to one of the absolute best moments of my life. I could stay here forever, lost in this sweet trance. His hands go down the side of my body and I tremble in anticipation, feeling his fingers stop at my waist and then make their way under my dress and up to between my thighs. Once again I quiver as he presses down on my clit, the gentle warmness of his fingers making my body feel light and relaxed. Softly, he parts my outer lips with a slow flick of his fingers, and I gasp as he slides one inch of his finger inside me. Slowly, he feeds it into me, each inch drawing a trembling moan out of my lips. “Oh, my…” I start, but he doesn’t let me
finish it. The words die on my throat as he slides one more finger deep inside me in a hook motion, going straight for a secret spot I didn’t even know existed inside me. It’s like he knows my body better than I do, as absurd as that sounds. He presses there, making my whole body burn; my muscles tense up as he rubs his finger deep inside me, and I arch my back as something snaps in me and ecstasy floods my mind. I never thought I’d be a screamer, but I guess that’s exactly what I am; as he fingers me hard to the point of oblivion and I come, there’s little else I can do but scream as loud as possible. Yup, I’m definitely a screamer. I reach for his cock, grasping it tightly on my trembling fingers, and I immediately know what I want to do. I make him switch places with me and then fall to my knees, his cock dangerously close to my lips as I stroke him. He leans back against the wall, his hands resting on the top of my head, and I relish the feeling of absolute control. He’s mine… He’s mine for me to do whatever I want to.
I part my lips and let my tongue out, flicking it against his tip; it’s warm and big, and I have to resist the urge to simply have him inside my mouth at once. But no, I have to take my time. I want to drive him completely mad and show him that I can tease and torture just as well as he can. Somehow, I can’t help but feel the importance of proving myself to him. It seems that I take as much pleasure from seeing him climax as I do from orgasming myself. His pleasure is my pleasure. I part my lips and brush them softly against him, the salty flavor hitting me at once. I want to have him inside my mouth so bad it’s unreal… God, my heart is tight in anticipation. I fight back against my eagerness and I lick all his length, my tongue going down his shaft and then back up again, circling around his tip. I lay my lips there once more, gently sucking on his head, and I can’t take it anymore; I open my mouth wide and let him slide in over my tongue. In a second my mouth is filled with him, his thickness almost too much for me. I have to force my jaw open so that
all of him fits, and I can barely do anything with him inside my mouth besides slowly bobbing my head back and forth. And that’s exactly what I do, a shiver going down my spine as I feel that delicious member of his being engulfed by my lips. My hands grab at his firm ass, pulling him in and forcing his cock down my mouth. I lap with my tongue at his shaft, sucking eagerly and relishing every single second as I stroke him hard, my wrist flicking up and down in a flowing motion. His fingers tighten on my head, grasping at locks of my hair, but he makes no pressure there he lets me go at my own pace. I start going faster then, my hand stroking him at the same time that I suck him. I try to go deep, but his long inches make it almost impossible for me. I try all the same, my mind ordering me to leave nothing on the table. As I start to go faster, his hands start guiding me at the same time he thrusts into my mouth ever so slightly. I look up at him and he grins at me, a flash of pleasure brightening his face. I can only imagine how it must be for him to see me there, on my knees, his huge cock inside my mouth.
I’m ready to go all the way, to not stop until he comes, but he has other plans. I almost feel sad as he pushes my head back and makes his cock pop out of my mouth; grabbing my wrists, he makes me get up then. In a heartbeat he has me pinned against the wall once again, holding both my arms above my head as he kisses down my neck and heads straight to my nipples. I moan as he sucks on them, my whole body buzzing. Letting go of my arms, he lets his hands fall to my waist and he slowly goes down to his knees. Is he going to do what I’m thinking? Oh, yes… Yes, he is. He takes one hand of his and puts it under my leg, just below my ass, and makes me raise it. Holding me like that, he lifts my dress up to my waist and pushes my thong to the side; he leans into me and has his tongue trace the contour of my inner lips with maddening patience, just stopping for one moment to flick it at my clit. He goes on like that until I can’t bear it any longer. I thrust my hips against his mouth and, instead of fighting it, he lets himself go all in. He
wraps his lips around my pussy, sucking hard on my outer lips as he rubs his thumb around my clit. I throw my head back against the wall and moan hard, feeling my whole body shiver as my mind goes numb with ecstasy. Where has he been all of my life? I wouldn’t be a virgin if I had met him before. I grab his hair with such strength I’m amazed he doesn’t say a thing. But he doesn't’ complain: he simply redoubles his efforts as he devours me. I press my pussy against him wildly as I hold his head in place, not believing what I’m doing. This isn’t like me, to be overtaken by desire in such a way... But then again, I never met someone quite like Palmer, someone that knows exactly what he’s doing. I would be counting my blessings right now if it weren’t for the fact that my mind has simply decided to shut itself off. Wrapping his lips around my clit, he sucks eagerly as he holds me down with his forearm over my waist. As he sucks, he lets one finger of his slide inside me and starts fingering me slowly, each
coming and going motion of his making me purr anxiously. I can feel my body already starting to sweat. In an instant, there’s one more finger inside of me and, before I can prepare for it, he slides a third one. I don’t know how that’s even possible…! He strokes me slowly, his movements gentle and patient, keeping a rhythm that makes that slow mounting pressure spread all over my body and coat every single one of my senses. My hands start grabbing at random locks of his hair in abandonment as electricity bites at me, clawing under my skin at my taut muscles. I grit my teeth and close my eyes, the universe exploding inside my head. My arms shake and tremble, flaying wildly; if he wasn’t holding me against the wall, I’m sure I would simply collapse onto the floor. As it is, I remain in place, delight coursing through me with such intensity I can’t even remember my own name or where I am. He takes his fingers out of me and I quiver as he does it. Placing my hands under his chin, I make
for him to get up; standing tall, he grabs my head with smooth gentleness and kisses me softly. I can feel my own scent still dancing in his lips, and it simply drives me completely crazy. “Tired?” he asks me, that grin of his telling me there’s more to come. I don’t even have the strength to speak, so I just shake my head and lie. Of course I’m tired, but right now I won’t admit it. Oh, no, I’ll fight through tiredness as long as his body is close to me; I’ll push myself to the brink of exhaustion and then I’ll just keep pushing further. Without even letting me catch my breath, he makes me raise my leg once more and, before I know it, he pushes my thong to the side and has his tip brushing over my inner lips. I expect for him to enter me with one simple and quick thrust, but he simply holds his position there. I feel his cock pulsing in aching desire, and I have to admire the ability he has to take his time and drive me mad. I push his pants down his legs and my trembling fingers start unbuttoning his shirt frantically. I need to feel every single inch of him
on me. With my arms over his shoulders, I thrust my hips at him, begging him with my body to have at me. But he resists, matching my thrust with a backwards motion, and simply continuing to brush his tip against me once more, up and down, up and down. I can’t take it, I really can’t. I need to feel him inside of me and I need it now. “Are you sure?” he asks me, and I can see it in his eyes; if I’m not totally sure of what I’m doing, he’ll back off, as hard as it might be. But all I do is nod in desperate agreement. I never felt like this; my muscles are tense and my insides seem to be burning. And to have him so close to me and yet doing nothing… The outer limits of my mind are stretching and I can feel something in me about snap. “Yes, I want you…” I moan, still trying and thrusting my hips at him. “I love it when you say it like that,” I hear him saying, but I can barely understand what the words mean. My mind is exploding, and all rationality his
slipping away from me. “Please…” I beg. “Please…” He gives me half an inch of his cock and I feel my whole body trembling frenetically. “More…” One inch in and my pussy is tight like a vice around his cock. I push my body forward, but he resists my advances, feeding his cock into me so slowly even time seems to be distorting around me. When I think he’s about to let it go all in, he pulls back, starting the process all over again. “No…” I cry out, my fingernails clawing at his back. “You’re in charge here,” he whispers, caressing the back of my neck with the tip of fingers. He thrusts into me with such force that fireworks go off behind my eyelids. I’m gritting my teeth now, a fire running through my limbs. He starts to thrust hard, his hips slapping against mine in a furious rhythm of flesh-on-flesh. He keeps going for God knows how long, his body tirelessly punishing mine. I don’t even know
how the hell I’m still holding my position against the wall, such is the fury is unleashing on me. I tighten my pussy around his cock with violent harshness, and that only makes him go harder, his coming and going motion destroying my mind. One hard and final thrust and his cock lodges itself deep inside me, his tip pressed tight against my g-spot. Just like that, I explode. One more hard and deep thrust and I come in an instant, a maddening scream escaping my mouth and filling the entire cabin. I feel my inner walls spasming around his cock but, instead of stopping, he keeps thrusting at me unrelenting. Still with my whole body buzzing, my limbs completely out of control, I raise my leg just a bit more, allowing him to go deeper inside me. Am I moaning or am I screaming? I don’t even know and, to be honest, I don’t care. He keeps moving in and out of me as the orgasm still bites and claws at my mind, and I love him for it. I don’t want him to stop. Each thrust of
his dilutes the whole world around me, and I feel myself being pulled into the depths of a world of pleasure I didn’t even know existed. I lean into him, still with my eyes closed but looking for his mouth. He locks his lips on mine, our kiss growing wild and completely savage. Pulling back, he takes his lips to my neck and then whispers. “We’re just getting started.” I nod, my head spinning with the promise of more. He pulls me into him and, before I know it, he has me in his embrace. We kiss in abandonment as we stumble through the bedroom, completely drunk with lust. With a growl, he throws me on top of the bed and I fall there, my trembling body pushing against the sheets. With my back to him, I breathe out deeply as my body appreciates the fact that it can lay down at last. I feel exhausted, completely spent… And still, I want more. Much more. He climbs on top of me, his fingers like hooks on my waist, and I jut my ass at him. I prop myself
up on my elbows, feeling exposed in that position and loving it even more precisely because of it. I grab at the sheets as he smacks my ass with the back of his hands, and I wiggle my backside at him in tense anticipation. With a quick motion of his hands, he grabs my thong and pulls it down my legs. My whole body shakes as I feel the fabric of it brushing down my skin. How did this happen to me? It wasn’t supposed to happen. But I am becoming completely crazy for him, each second his body isn’t on mine painfully tortuous. Parting my pussy lips with two fingers, he rams his cock deep inside me and my arms lose all their strength at once: I collapse onto the bed, only my backside still raised up at him. He thrusts into me hard and unforgiving, handing sweet punishment in the most lovable way possible. He reaches for my hair, grabbing it in a bunch and making me raise my head. I’m moaning… I’m moaning so hard it’s unbelievable. I do it until I feel my throat becoming sore, and then I do it some more.
I start rocking my hips back at him, the pendulum motion of his cock becoming faster and faster. I’m so spent even my soul is numb. He reaches around my waist, finding my clit and rubbing on it as he keeps pounding into me mercilessly. I try to scream in delight but even my throat is completely exhausted. I simply lay there as he brings me once more to the edge of delirious rapture and throws me down into the abyss. Hooking his fingers on my hips, he pulls back and makes me turn around. I lay back on the bed, opening my legs so that he fits right between them. A shiver goes up my spine as I lay eyes on the perfectly sculpted muscles of his chest. Leaning into me with his whole body, I feel the tip of his cock brush against my pussy. Soft and careful, he holds his position there until I can’t take it anymore. I thrust my hips toward him, my pussy lips parting and engulfing his tip. I bite my lower lip as I feel him enter me. Now there's nothing but ecstasy for me. As I feel him slide in and out, his thickness straining and
pushing against my inner walls, I’m taken to a place so perfect and dreamlike that I’m not even sure if whatever is happening is real. It’s way too perfect to be real. I notice him looking at me, eager to know if I’m alright. I respond in the best way I can, with a deep moan that climbs up my throat and cascades down my lips with the ferocity of a wild animal. How could it be any other way? His cock inside of me feels like completion, a pleasure so intense it verges the mystical. He goes in and out softly, my legs wrapped around his back and pulling him inside me. My eyes are closed, my mind only capable of processing the gentle thrusts of his cock as if there is nothing else in the world but it. And, as far as I’m concerned, there isn’t. His body rocks against mine, the most delicious ebb and flow of bodies taking over until I can’t resist it anymore. The muscles in my legs make me tighten them around his back like a vice and, with both hands grabbing at his hair, I sway my hips from side to side uncontrollably as mind-
numbing electricity takes my body by assault. He keeps thrusting, rubbing my clit with suddenly erratic movements, I feel him ready; I summon what little strength still lives inside of me and I tighten my hold on him. He stops then, his muscles so tense he seems made out of marble. When his cock spasms harshly inside my pussy I can’t help but submit to that wildfire inside of me and scream. Pleasure crashes against my soul as I feel his cum gushing in a torrent once more, an earthquake of climaxing delight attacking both our bodies. I can’t hold any longer so I just collapse completely on the bed; he falls with me, his cock still buried deep in my pussy. I moan, feeling his thickness still spasming as he lays on top of me, cum dripping down my thighs. We stay like that for… I don’t even know. One minute, one hour? We stay like that until our exhausted bodies become capable of moving, time becoming just an abstract concept. He rolls to the side then, his hand resting on my lower back as he caresses the dimples there. I
turn to him, struggling to open my eyes. He’s looking at me, a gentle smile on his lips. “This was…” I try to say, but I can’t find the word to describe it. I don’t think any dictionary or language in the whole world has a word that fits the description of everything I just felt. It’s just impossible. It’s more than sex. “Yes, it was,” he merely agrees, and pulls me into him. I lay my head against his chest, and finally let exhaustion take over me. In just a few seconds, I’m fast asleep.
Palmer
My eyes open. I look around the small, dark bedroom. Nothing is familiar. Not the tight space, not the glow-in-the-dark clock in the shape of a moon on the nightstand, not the carpet, not even the floralprint comforters ... that I also happen to be butt ass naked under, I think as I peer down at my body. And then it hits me. It really sinks in. I remember that I'm not home. I remember the food … that secret recipe, and the sex … Nicole. What the fuck am I doing here? I drag my fingers through my hair, pulling it back from my temples. I rub my eyes, as if to make sure this isn't just all a dream, and then press my fingers against my forehead. This isn't like me at all, to be sleeping
with some girl in a shitty apartment, in a shitty part of town. I'm slipping. I've gotta get a hold of myself. I have a goal, and I can't afford to get derailed now. I need to get out of here. There's no telling where my clothes are, or my wallet, or my keys, or my phone … but I don't want to wake Nicole up, so I'm going to have to feel my way through the dark. This place isn't that big. My stuff has to be close by. I carefully slip my feet out of the comforter, and swing my legs off the bed. I stand up, my body stark naked, with the darkness as my only cover. I don't see my clothes, so I shuffle my feet against the carpet, hoping to walk into them. But there's nothing. So I get down on all fours, and picture what I must look like if someone where able to see me. Ridiculous. I feel like a kid going behind his parents' back and sneaking out of the house or something … and I guess that's partially true. I'm trying to sneak out of this apartment.
I look over at the bed, to make sure Nicole is still sleeping. Luckily, she is. I continue to feel along the carpet, and then I find my suit pants and boxers. Thank God. I slip them on. The room is so quiet that the sound of the fabric seems irrationally louder than I know it is, and I cringe as I pull them on and zip them up. Fuck. I still need my keys, phone, wallet, shirt, shoes … okay, think, think, think, I tell myself. When did I last see my things? Last night was such a blur, I honestly can't remember. There was food. There was wine. And things escalated from there. There was sex. Great fucking sex. But I can't think about that right now. I've gotta get— Just then, my thoughts are cut short when I see two amber eyes peering at me from the darkness. I walk over and see that it's Nicole's cat, Whiskers, and underneath the cat is my coat, shirt,
wallet, and keys. I walk over, and try to shoo the cat off my things but it doesn't budge. Move, scram cat. I need these things more than you do. Meeeooww. The cat voices back its disdain before jumping away. Even in the darkness, I can see cat hair all over my coat and shirt, and I try, with as much quiet as I can muster, to brush it off. But it's no use. I'll need to get these items drycleaned. I slip my shirt and coat on, and then, as soon as I turn around to look for my shoes, they find me. I trip and stumble into the bedside table, almost knocking over the moon-shaped clock. It teeters on its edges before finally settling back into place. Shit. Shit. Shit. Seriously? Fuck my life right now. Thankfully, Nicole still hasn't moved. At least I can still get out of here without her knowing. This'll be less a walk of shame, and more an act of
Houdini. I slip my feet into my shoes, hoping on one foot, and then the other. The cat eyes me from the corner of the room, as if mocking me with its orange orbs. Stop that, I whisper. But Whiskers refuses to look away. If it could laugh me right out of this room, I'm sure it would. I shove my hands in my pockets and look for my phone. Shit. It's not there. I pad my suit pockets—the two exterior, and two interior pockets—but there's still no phone. Then I see it out of the corner of my eye—a sliver of light bouncing off the glass of the phone's screen. It's on the chair next to the bed. I grab it and slip it into the pocket of my suit pants. Finally. I have everything I need to make an exit and leave this place. I take a few steps, heading toward the door, but I have a sudden urge to turn around and look back at Nicole. To look at her one last time before leaving.
When I do, I see the silhouette a perfect woman lying there. The bed sheets are pulled just below her breasts, and they're exposed. It takes everything in me to not slide back into that bed, and take her soft, warm body into my hands. To run my tongue across her nipples and pinch them between my teeth. I shake my head in disbelief. I've been with plenty of women in my life, but Nicole is different. When she's near, the rest of the world melts away. The maddening rush of the world seems to stop. It's almost unreal how one woman can be so … hot … and so fucking perfect … and have such mindblowing sex. It's a shame, I whisper, shaking my head again. But I can't have any distractions in my life right now. The clock is ticking. And I have a restaurant to run.
Nicole
He's making enough noise to wake a bear. No one could sleep through that. How stupid does he think I am? I can feel the bed shift as he slides out from the comforter. I hear him shuffling around the room for his clothes. He's literally on his hands and knees fumbling his way through my dark bedroom. I stifle a laugh. I mean, he nearly knocks over my nightstand. How clumsy can one man be? And even my cat seems to be annoyed with him. For a moment, I think about saying something. Letting him know that I'm awake. Maybe even flipping the light on so he can find his things. But if he's the kind of man who thinks it's
okay to slip off after getting me in bed with him without so much as saying a good bye, or a thank you for a good night—then as far as I'm concerned, he doesn't deserve to leave here easy. Besides, it doesn't matter. Not really. Even if I did say something, I'm sure he'd rattle off some fake nicety, and give me some bullshit excuse as to why he has to leave here in a big hurry, and would probably say something along the lines of, it isn't you, it's me. I'll let him think he's slipping out of here undetected, if that's what he wants. So I lie there, pretending to be asleep. It both feels like both the dumbest and smartest choice I've ever made … all at the same time. Then I hear him say something under his breath, "It's a shame." My mind reels. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is it a shame he's leaving? Is he considering getting back into this bed? Or is he ashamed for coming here in the first
place and being with me? As I listen to him leave, and hear the front door click open and then shut behind him, the silence of his absence weighs heavy on me. There's no more wondering. He's gone, and he didn't bother sticking around. The silence is definitive. Why the hell did I sleep with an asshole like Palmer? I'm mentally kicking myself for being so week. But if I'm honest, there's something about him that's magnetic. I'm drawn to him like ice cream is to cake, or like a strawberry is to chocolate. When he's around, it's like the most natural thing in the world, and even though there's a small voice in the back of my mind that throws warnings and alarm bells, my body moves toward him without hesitation. I even cooked him my grandmother's secret recipe! I slap my hand down on the mattress in frustration, bunching the bed sheets beneath me. It's clear that he's an asshole … but he's a hot asshole, and I've just had some of the best sex of
my life. That chiseled body. Those eyes. That smile. And those hands. I feel my pulse flutter just thinking about him, and I grow wet. He was a God in bed. I can feel my pussy begin to tingle as I think about how amazing sex is with Palmer—the way he moves with purpose, without hesitation, and the way he's confident and calculated and knows what he wants. I slowly part my legs under the bed sheets. I grab my breasts in my hands, and pinch my nipples between my fingers. This immediately sends my body into overdrive, and I close my eyes, and part my mouth, letting out an involuntary sigh. I picture Palmer touching my breasts, not me. I imagine it's his strong hands grabbing my nipples, and kneading the soft flesh as if it were something prized. I slowly move my hands down lower, across my abdomen, and hover just above my pelvic bone before making the plunge even deeper. I can’t believe I'm doing this. One minute I'm thinking about how much I regret sleeping with an
asshole like Palmer, and then next I'm fantasizing about him. Screw it, I think to myself as I spread my legs further. A little fantasizing never hurt anyone. My mind focuses on Palmer's body. Biting down on my lower lip, I slide my hand down between my thighs, pressing the tip of my fingers against my pussy. I stifle a moan, and then decide to go all the way; I slide my hand further and then press down on my clit. Pleasure electrifies my nerve endings all at once, and my eyes roll back as I imagine Palmer back here in my bed, that mysterious smile dancing on his lips. I’d make him a hundred more secret recipes for him to be really here again. I’d just reach for his cock, feeling it harden against my eager fingers… Oh, God, I can’t stop myself now. I slide my fingers on my wet pussy and, parting my inner lips, I slide my middle finger inside. I curl it upward like a hook, driving it all the way in and only stopping when I find my G-spot. I press hard against it while, at the same time, I use my thumb to stroke my clit.
I close my eyes as my brain starts to hum with an electricity all its own. I imagine the chiseled chest that Palmer hides under his tailored suits and fancy chef coats, and how I'd like to explore the ridges of his abs with my tongue … and with my tongue on his abs, I'd only explore further down between his legs. I can already imagine his enormous cock sliding in and out of me, taking my pussy … “Oh, God…” I moan, my quivering voice echoing throughout the darkness of my apartment as I start moving my hand faster. I slide one more finger inside my pussy and start flicking my wrist fast, my fingers moving in and out of me at a furious pace. I pretend they’re his cock, stretching me wide and driving me insane with a newfound hunger. I arch my back, moaning loud enough for my cat to dart off—Whiskers must think I've lost my mind, but I don't care, this is too good. I take my free hand to my breasts, squeezing them eagerly. Images of Palmer's naked body flash behind my eyes. I shut them tight and a burning need to feel
his body on mine consumes me. In this moment, it's the only thing that matters. “Oh, fuck,” I groan, my inner walls tightening around my fingers, and without warning I moan through grit teeth as a sudden spasm takes over my body. Every muscle fiber begins to twitch erratically, and I have no choice but to ride that wave. When everything subsides and I'm able to open my eyes, I take a deep breath and up at the ceiling. Having Palmer in my bed tonight was fun, but it was also a mistake. He's a much better fantasy than he is a reality.
Palmer
I've messed up more dishes in a single afternoon than I have in my entire professional career—too much salt, too little salt, too much flame, not enough flame. As much as I hate to admit it, I can't get Nicole out of my mind. Everywhere I turn, I'm reminded of her. I'll never be able to look at another pasta dish without remembering that night at her apartment. And just when I think the day can't get any worse, it does. So much worse. I'm standing in front of a hot skillet, searing a fresh Tuna steak and getting ready to squeeze just the right amount of lemon on it when Brit bursts through the kitchen. "Have you seen this?" she says. Her eyes tell
me she's wild with frustration. I look down and see her cellphone in her hand. The browser is open on her screen, and it appears to be a published article. "Doesn't look familiar," I say, shaking my head. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but read this." By the look on her face, I know it can't be good. I grab her phone and begin scrolling. "Among the dishes offered by Chef Palmer's Pearl is a dry fish akin to prison food. I was too timid to try some items on the menu for fear of developing digestive problems, and that's putting it mildly. The risotto was inedible—having taken on the consistency and flavor of what I can only describe as wallpaper paste." I roll my eyes. "Oh, it gets better," Brit says. "Keep going." I continue reading it aloud. "I wouldn't wish for a natural disaster to strike anyone's restaurant, but if it did, no one would have to eat the food offered by The Pearl on Park, and
that wouldn't be a bad thing. There literally isn't a single redeeming dish on the menu, unless you count the glass of ice water that accompanied my food. Chef Palmer's dishes are where hopes and dreams go to die. Hot mush, gummy waste, and lukewarm puddles are all apt descriptions for the food I tasted, which is a travesty. Even my salad looked as if someone squeezed an entire bottle of cheap dressing on it just to watch every piece of lettuce drown in its own misery. The steak was so overcooked that it resembled the grey innards of an unidentifiable animal." My voice is now beginning to shake and I tighten one fist into a ball. "That's going too fucking far—I know I make the best fucking steaks!" "This is bullshit," Brit says. "These are all lies. It's as if he's purposely trying to ruin you." I look back down and continue reading the review. If I've read this far, I might as well finish. "Chef Palmer's restaurant is a bungled and lack-luster attempt at bringing another fine dining destination to New York City. Even the foods that
might deserve mild praise, like the grilled asparagus spears, were under seasoned and could be procured for cheaper if you simply went to a nearby deli. As far as the potato soup goes … well, let me just say that it was as thin, murky, and unappetizing as dirty dishwater. As a kid, I was once dared to eat a worm freshly dug up from the school playground. I recoiled, and got so far as to place its wriggling body on my tongue before spitting it out. In retrospect, I'd gladly eat that worm before placing another ounce of Chef Palmer's food in my mouth. In summary: Eat at The Pearl on Park at your own risk." I knew Percy Whitman was an asshole, but I didn't realize he could sink this low. This is possibly the worst review I've ever read. What the hell does Percy have against me? "Can we survive this review?" Brit asks. She's visibly worried, and I don't blame her, but if it's one thing about me—I'm not a quitter. I have the resolve of a stubborn bull. "Of course we can," I say. "We're going to keep making high-quality food, and win customers
over one meal at a time." "Uh—Chef—" she says, tapping me on the arm. "Leave the worrying to me. I have everything under—" "No, I mean, the Tuna," she says, pointing to the pan. "I think it's on fire." "Oh fuck," I say, removing the skillet from the heat. The Tuna is ruined. I was so caught up in reading Percy's review that I completely forgot about the dish that I was working on. "Shit, this was supposed to be for table 7," I say, as a thin line of sweat zigzags down my temple. I can't believe how many meals I've fucked up today. First it was Nicole, and now it's Percy. I just can't focus. Even though we're busy, the best thing I could do right now is probably remove myself from this kitchen. I need to do something about all of this. I need to get my head on straight. If I don't, I'll be helping everything Percy said come true, and I can't afford for that to happen.
"Brit, I need you to do me a favor," I say. "Anything Chef." "I need to hand over all kitchen operations to you today." "To me? Are you sure? It's so busy, and—" I cut her off. "Look at me. There's no one I trust more." With that, I unbutton my Chef coat, toss it to the side, and grab my car keys. There's only one thing that can help me right now. I need to find Nicole.
Nicole
I remove from the mop from the bucket, and press it against the tiled floor. Leaning on the handle, I push the fibers of the mop back and forth, and watch as their grey strands leave foamy streaks of soap in scattered patterns. Sometimes I like to imagine that I'm a painter wielding a giant mop brush—painting the place in wild streaks. I'm a firm believer that a restaurant's safety and success hinges on how organized and clean a place is. And judging by the amount of soap I'm using, this floor is going to be clean enough to eat off of. Not that I'd suggest that, but just saying … As I push the mop, I perform a mental checklist—disinfect prep surfaces, wipe down the
splash walls, clean the grill, pour a drain cleaner in the floor drain, run the hood filters through the dishwasher—check, check, check. I'm making good progress, and even though it's late, I kind of like how quiet and solitary this place is after hours—when the guests are gone and everyone else is back at home. It's when I do my best thinking. The quiet. The monotonous movements of cleaning. I can just let my mind wander. Unfortunately, my mind keeps wandering back to the same thing: Palmer. It's a tortuous loop. His charisma. The way he can effortlessly keep a conversation. The way he can make me laugh. The way his eyes pierce me and reel me in. And of course what he can do in bed … I shake my head. No. Not again. I can't be thinking about him. It was one night, and it was a mistake. A big mistake. But I'd be lying if I said he wasn't constantly on my mind.
I let out a sigh and push the mop back into the bucket, rinsing it of soap and the day's grime. I decide that the only way I'm going to stop my brain from overthinking is to listen to some music. I grab my cell phone, and press my musicstreaming app. Let's see … I think I need to channel my grandmother right now. She always knew how to cheer my up and keep me motivated, and she's truly the reason why I'm in the restaurant business. I scroll through my music options and stop on Doris Day. My grandmother's favorite singer. I play a song and immediately start dancing around the kitchen. It transforms me. "Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be, the future's not ours to see, que sera, sera." I spin on my toes and reach my arms out, as if I'm giving the world a giant hug. I'm sure I look ridiculous right now, but I don't even care. I'm loving the music. It lifts me. And it feels as if my grandmother is here dancing with me right now.
"When I grew up and fell in love, I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead, will we have rainbows, day after day, here's what my sweetheart said, que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be, the future's not ours to see …" Why is it that every song turns to love? If I didn't love this song so much, I'd change it, but whatever, I'm just gonna continue to dance this out. I spin, and twirl, and yes, I even picture myself doing all of this in the strong, muscular arms of Palmer. I know … I know … I just can't help it. I don't know what's wrong with me. It's probably for the best that I'm never going to see him gain. Sex with him is too good. Is that even a thing? Sex as too good? I probably sound insane. Regardless, I'm going to go on record and say it is. I'm living proof. The chorus of the song comes back on, and in one final move, I run across the kitchen and do a small leap in the air—just like the way Baby jumps
into the arms of Johnny Castle in the movie Dirty Dancing … except, it's not like the movie at all and I don't land in a man's arms—I land in the dirty mop water. Well, that's not exactly accurate. I bump against it and the brown water splashes into my shoes. There goes my mood. I can feel my pulse kick in agitation. I reach for a towel and try to soak up as much of the water as possible, but now my feet are damp and cold, and I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go home, and soak in a bath, and pet Whiskers. I want to pour myself a glass of wine, and wear seat pants with an elastic band, and maybe even pig out on pizza and binge watch Netflix. I wipe the sweat from my brow, and then take my ponytail out, letting my hair fall down and cascade around my shoulders. I start flipping off all the light switches and reach for my keys when I hear something that makes me stop. It sounds like a low rumble … and
it sounds like it's coming from right outside of my restaurant. I take a peek out of the front window and see a motorcycle parked at the curb. A man is unstrapping his helmet. Who in the hell is parking here at this hour? Doesn't he see the place is closed, and— But I once the helmet comes off, I recognize the man immediately, and my heart beats so fast I feel dizzy. It's a total body reaction and nothing I can do or say will make my heart mellow out. The man is Palmer. I greet him at the door and unlock it for him. I go to open my mouth, but not a single word will come out, and before I can get a word in he places both of his hands on my shoulders and pushes me up against the wall. Then, he leans down and his lips crash against mine. It's the best kiss of my life.
Nicole
This is happening. It’s not a dream, and it isn’t a hallucination. No, this is really happening. With my mouth pressed against his, our tongues dance around one another in a frenzy, and my hands go down from his chest to his waist. I pull him into me, eager to have him—to make him have me—but he stops me, yanking on my hair. “I had to see you,” he breathes out, his voice brimming with desire. No; it’s more than desire or lust. It’s a burning need, one that forces him to relinquish all control. I’ve never felt something quite like this; it’s a desire so strong, so fierce that now I understand how some women can make the rashest decisions… I'm just glad it’s Palmer here with me. Somehow I
know that with him it will be alright… “Why?” I ask him, my voice quivering as I lock my eyes on his. “Because I had to,” he replies, offering me a thin smile. “I had to.” Our lips touch again, the sweet flavor of his mouth making my skin prickle. I reach with my tongue for his and, finding it, dance in slow gentle circles around it. His hands go to my lower back, his long thin fingers brushing against my skin. His touch is gentle and delicate and, behind closed eyes, I can hear how it makes my heart flutter inside my chest. “I’m glad you came,” I find myself saying, running one hand through his hair, my heart beating so fast that I can barely think straight. I don’t really know what’s taking hold of me but I push him back against one of the walls, and press my mouth against his. He doesn’t even hesitate, placing both of his hands on my ass and squeezing it over my dress. Grabbing him by his collar, I pull him close to me, so close our lips are almost brushing against
each other. I truly don’t know what kind of devil got into me, but I no longer know the meaning behind the word control. “I needed this,” he continues, his lips hovering over mine. “I needed to kiss you, to feel you again.” With that, he closes the distance between our mouths; our kiss become savage, his hands pulling down the shoulder straps of my dress and hungrily looking for my breasts. He grabs them gently, his fingers pressing down on my flesh, and then he pushes down the cup of the bra over my right nipple; leaning in, he lays his lips over it, sucking softly. I can feel my nipple hardening even more inside his mouth as he laps with his tongue against it, tracing slow and seductive circles. As he sucks, his hands go to my back and, finding the clasp of my bra, he undoes it, pushing it down my arms. I shiver, the cool air in the room caressing my breasts. In an instant his mouth goes from my right nipple to my left one, his lips wrapping themselves around it with care, and at the same time, with a kind of passionate fury. I grab his
hair, holding his head in place as he kisses my nipples one at a time, his long gentle fingers squeezing at my breasts. “Wait, wait,” I tell him, placing both my hands on his shoulders and pushing him back. “What is it? Is something wrong?” He asks me, his blue eyes trying to read the expression on my face. “Nothing’s wrong,” I reply with a quick smile, and then I turn on my heels and cross the dining room. I lock the door, which I had unlocked to let him in, and then close all blinders, sheltering us from the outside. As the darkness takes over the restaurant, long shadows caressing both our bodies, I start feeling as if I’m in a dream. A dream where the edges of reality become blurred and sweet, where the real world doesn’t have a say on how things go. Closing the distance between me and him, I take my hands to his belt. Looking into his eyes, I unbuckle it with slow movements, the metallic jingle of it coming undone sending a shiver up my spine.
I pull his pants hard down his legs, and he takes his shoes off in the process, kicking them off one at a time. “My turn,” he whispers, and his hands fly to my waist. He turns me around, his hands going up my back, and he pulls down the zipper of my dress. I push the dress down with the tip of my fingers, my bare ass turned to him. I can feel his eyes devouring the sigh of my half-naked body, enjoying the shape of my body and delighting themselves on how only just a small strip of fabric covers me. Turning back to him, I take my hands to his chest and start unbuttoning his shirt. My fingers work faster, as does my heart, and I feel the tension rising in my body as the tan muscles on his chest come into sight. I slide one hand down his chest and stomach toward his crotch, and I press it there, feeling him hard. Turning my hand around, I curl my fingers around his length. He takes the hint and does exactly what my body demands of him—he presses the palm of his hand between my thighs, his fingers caressing the wetness that has taken over me.
“You have no idea how much I needed this,” he whispers into my ear; with a flick of his fingers, he pushes my thong to the side and feels my naked wetness with his fingers. I am so wet I am almost expecting it to drip down my legs. I can't take it anymore. “I needed it too,” I repeat, grabbing him tightly, feeling his hardness pulse against my fingers. “I needed it bad,” I continue, and then I find my knees buckling under my weight. I go down on my knees, not even thinking about what I’m doing, and hook my fingers on the waistline of his boxer briefs. I pull them down, slowly, and I feel a knot in my throat as his cock comes into sight. I run the tip of my tongue between my lips and then, my eyes never leaving his, I lean into him. I only look away when my lips are hovering over the tip of his hardness, drops of pre-cum already glistening there. Using only my tongue, I reach for it and, the moment I finally touch the tip of his cock, his salty flavor hits me at once. It lands in my
tongue and, moving quickly, travels all the way up to my brain, setting in motion a frenzy of desire and lust. “I have no idea what you did to me,” I tell him, pulling back from his cock and looking him in the eyes again. “But I can’t help myself.” With that, I open my mouth as wide as I can and dive into him. I feel his shaft pushing down on my tongue and brushing against the inside of my cheeks as it goes down, but I keep on pushing through. To see him and touch him is one thing… But to have him in my mouth is a completely different thing. Oh, and to have him inside me…I don’t even know how to describe how that makes me feel. Perfection doesn’t quite represent how good it is to feel his body on mine. I push myself down until my lips touch the skin at the base of his cock, his tip already pressed against the back of my throat, and I hold my position there. I keep his whole cock inside of my mouth until I can no longer do it, and only then do I roll my lips back up his shaft, slowly moving them
until they’re wrapped tight around his head. I go all the way back, and my lips smack as his cock pops out of my mouth. Then, I tilt my head sideways and, with my lips pressed against the side of his shaft, I brush them down until my mouth is on his balls. I grab his boxer briefs again and, tugging hard on them, I send them down to his ankles. He kicks them off fast, and then rests his hands on my head. “Keep going…” Palmer groans, tangling his fingers on my hair again. I look up at him and, as I do it, I part my lips and brush the tip of my tongue against one of his balls. I’m of half-a-mind to suck on him until he succumbs to pleasure and gushes all of his seed inside of my mouth, but I know that he wants much more than just coming in my mouth… And, if I’m being honest, so do I. I lap with my tongue at his balls and then I move to the next one, repeating my motions. Pulling back, I open my mouth as wide as I can and, cupping both his balls with one hand, I suck them both inside of my mouth. They fill me up in such a way that my jaw starts to hurt, and I have no
other choice than allowing them to slide out of my mouth one by one. I go back to the tip of his cock then, my lips and tongue tracing an upward line over his shaft, and I fit the tip of his cock in my mouth once more. The pressure of his fingers on my head intensifies and I close my eyes, surrendering to the wild desire fluttering inside of me. I open my mouth as wide as I can and gobble up his shaft once more, bobbing my head up and down over his cock until the wet sound of my lips on his flesh seems to fill the whole restaurant. It’s funny – I’ve never been with anyone before, but now I can’t imagine anything better than this. Pleasure shoots up from my feet and knees to my groins, and then up my spine until it finally nestles in my brain, blending in with the soft warmness of desire. Still bobbing my head, I grab his cock with both my hands and start to suck and stroke at a matching pace, the pendulum motion of mouth and hands an entrancing one. I could keep going like this forever… You know, I always thought that a
blowjob was solely for the man’s pleasure, but now I see that I was wrong - I’m doing it right now not because he likes it… but because I do. I only stop when he holds me by the hair, stopping my pendulum motion, and pushes me back until his cock pops out of my mouth. “You’re driving me completely insane…” He tells me, deviousness in his eyes. “You know that, don’t you…?” “Maybe,” I tell him, a wild grin taking over my lips, “but why don’t you show it to me?” With that, I go up to my feet and grab one of his hands. I guide him toward one the tables at the center of the dining room, and push him back, forcing him to lay down; I climb on top of him fast, straddling him. He grabs me by the waist almost immediately, and hooks his fingers on my waist. “You look delicious,” he tells me, his eyes roaming all over my naked skin, and I can almost see desire floating in his deep blue eyes. “That means a lot, coming from a chef,” I whisper back at him, taking both my hands to his crotch and grabbing his cock again. I want to push
his cock deep inside of me, to ride him until I pass out, but he’s taking his time… Instead of simply pulling me close, he brushes two fingers down my neck and cleavage, and then he keeps going until his fingertips meet the place where skin and thong meet. Slowly, he goes over the barrier, my eyelids drooping as I feel the soft pressure of his fingers on my drenched pussy. Desire igniting my movements, I start to stroke him at a gentle rhythm, my hand going up and down his shaft with clockwork precision. As his fingers leave my pussy and go back up my torso, a shiver runs up my spine and makes my skin prickle. He takes his hands to my breasts, squeezing them gently. That gentle warmness of desire grows fiercer under my skin as I feel his touch, my two hard rosy nipples burning under the palm of his hands. As if he could read my mind, he leans into me, parting his lips and fitting my right nipple into his mouth; lapping at it with his tongue while he sucks, he forces a whimper out of my lips, pleasure turning into sound.
“I like that,” he tells me, pulling back and looking into. “To hear you moan…” He goes to my other nipple, nibbling at it with the right amount of pressure and making the desire that roams free inside of me grow hungry and wild. All rational thoughts lose themselves in the woods of my mind, and I don’t even want to reel them in—no, let them go and lust will take over, exactly the way it should happen. “I’ll moan more…I’ll moan as much as you want me to…” I whisper into his ear, and then nibble at his earlobe, pulling on it with my teeth. “But you’ll have to make me.” That’s all I have to say; the moment the words leave my mouth, he lets go of my breasts and flattens the palm of his hand right between my thighs, pressing hard against my drenched pussy. With a wicked grin, he pushes my thong to the side and, no waiting or teasing to it, he simply pushes his index finger past my folds. Curling it upward like a hook, he runs it all the way in, only stopping when his fingertip is tightly pressed against that inner spot inside of me, the one that has me moaning right now.
I throw my head back and I let the moan that’s climbing up my throat explode in the air. He takes that as a good omen and slides his finger out and then in again, fingering me until insanity takes over. God, he’s only using his finger and I can barely think straight… When the moment comes for him to use his cock, I’m really not sure on what’s going to happen to me. Is there such a thing as too much pleasure? Can you die from it? Can it ever be too much? “I want…” I pant, and he slides his finger all the way in until it meets my G-spot. “You want…?” He asks me, rubbing his finger against my insides and making me breath so hard that it’s almost impossible to speak. Screw that, I can barely think of what I want to say, let alone say it. “I want…” He does it again, pressing harder against my G-spot and cutting me short. Still, I grit my teeth and power through, ordering my brain to keep working through the avalanche of pleasure that’s assaulting me. “I want… I need…you. Right now,” I finally manage to hiss between gritted
teeth, the pressure of his fingers on me forcing me to close my eyes as my muscles tense up and turn as hard as concrete. “I know,” he whispers, resting his thumb over my clit as he keeps on rubbing my G-spot. “And if you need me as much as I need you...” He trails off then, his breathing growing heavier by the second. “I do… I do…” I whimper, my fluids already dripping down my inner thighs. I never needed him inside me as badly as I do now. If I had to choose between air to breathe and having Palmer inside of me, my choice would be an easy one. “Then we’re on the same page,” he tells me firmly, running his thumb in slow circles around my clit as he moves one more finger inside of my pussy. I know that he’s torturing me, teasing me… but, God, it feels so good. It’s almost hard to believe that, only with his fingers, Palmer is pleasuring me better than most men could ever do with their cocks. He’s a wonder of nature, that’s for sure. “You’re mine, Nicole… Mine to do as I please. Say it.” “I’m yours… Yours for… you to do as you
please,” I repeat after him, the words just coming unfiltered out of my mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers, and starts to up the rhythm of his fingers. I throw my head back and start to sway my hips, moving them at a matching pace, and it doesn’t take long for Palmer to drive me to the edge of pleasure. Feeling me close to the breaking point, he drives two fingers as deep as possible inside of me, pressing hard, and rubs my clit with quick vicious movements. Just like that, I come undone, my weak moan turning into a highpitched scream of pure ecstasy. “Oh… my… God…” I breathe out, the muscles in my throat straining to get the words out, electric sparks running up and down my body and making my muscles spasm. I can almost feel my skin boiling, my mind turning into ash as the flames of pleasure simply devour and consume everything in their way… Oh, I’m more than desperate for him. I can’t even describe what I’m feeling right now. This isn’t desperation; this is a pure unbridled need. I must have him, and I must have him right now.
I won’t be denied. The moment he takes his fingers out of my pussy, I thrust against him, pressing my pussy against his shaft. He doesn’t resist, instead, he grabs me by the ass and pulls me into him. With my eyes still closed, fireworks going off behind my shut eyelids, I start to rock my hips, grinding against him as if tomorrow will never come. Although my thong is still covering my pussy, I don’t even bother to stop for a few seconds just to take it off; no, all seconds are precious, and I won’t let them go to waste. Not a chance in the world. “I want you…inside of,” I plead, my voice quivering as I keep on swaying my hips. “Beg,” is his only response, a tone of devilishness to his voice. “Please… Please… I need it so much,” I start, taking one hand to my pussy and flicking my thong to the side. I raise my hips and, with my other hand, grab his cock and angle it toward me. His hands go straight to my waist and he stops me right before I drive his length inside of me. “Please…” I whimper, struggling against the hold he has on me
as if I’m fighting for my life. Without saying a word, he stops holding me but, still grabbing me by the waist, pulls me down with one vicious movement. I let myself go, a scream bubbling up to my lips as I feel his cock pushing its way past my soaked folds and straining against my inner walls as it sheathes itself inside of my pussy. “It’s all yours,” he teases me, taking one hand up to my hair and yanking on it. I grin at him, placing both hands on his chest, my trembling fingers clawing at his chest. I do it hurriedly, swaying my hips at a crescendo. I run my hands up his stomach, feeling his abdominal wall under my fingertips, enjoying every line of it, and then I go up to his firm pectoral. “Like what you see?” He asks me, a mocking grin on his face. “What’s not to like…?” I manage to respond, trying to isolate my brain from how good it feels to have his thickness stretching me wide. “Every single inch of your body…it’s perfect.” “I can say the same,” he shoots back, hooking
his fingers on the side of my thong and pulling it against my outer thigh. His grin widens and, in a flash, he tugs on it viciously and tears the fabric, ruining my thong but pulling it off of me. He throws my ruined underwear to the side and, now fully focused on me, he grabs me by the hips and pushes me down, forcing me to stop moving. He’s taking control, and there’s nothing I can do about that. Not that I want to… I just want to submit to him, nothing more, nothing less. “This feels so good,” I tell him as he starts rocking his hips against mine. Then, he slides his cock until it’s almost out of me and looks me in the eyes. With one thrust, he is deep inside of me. I don't moan. No, I scream—I scream in pure ecstasy as his cock fills me in a way I have never experienced. I grit my teeth as his thickness stretches me wide, all my body trembling with pleasure, my arms shaky and almost unable to hold me still. His cock goes deep inside me, stroking the
same spot his fingers had before. I’m not sure if I am moaning or screaming - all I know is that I am making so much noise that the muscles in my throat are already growing sore. His pendulum motion is completely obliterating me, my pussy spasming around his thickness as he goes in and out. Can you die of too much pleasure? I'm about find out. I feel nothing, absolutely nothing but the constant ramming of his cock. It goes in and out at a manic steady pace, throbbing and pushing back my inner walls. When he’s in deep, I’m sure there isn’t a fraction of an inch inside my pussy that isn’t filled by his massive member. He only has to make it twitch inside of me to draw a violent moan out of my lips. He keeps going for I don't know how long, each stroke of his cock slowly lowering me down into a world where time is irrelevant. “I never thought,” he says between thrusts, “that a woman could make me feel like this.” “I…I know,” I breathe out, placing one hand on the side of his face and locking my eyes on his.
Leaning in, I press my forehead against his and simply surrender to the motion of his body, his length ravaging me fast. “Oh, God, oh, God,” I start to moan, my eyes rolling in their orbits as I feel my insides clench in anticipation. My bones feel as if they’re rattling, and every single cell in my body has reached its boiling point. “OH GOD!” I shout, my voice echoing throughout the empty restaurant as a violent orgasm takes over the wetness between my thighs and shoots up my spine. I feel my pussy becoming tighter around his cock, and he simply slows down. Then, when he finally stops, I push myself off the table and simply collapse on the floor. I sit on the floor, my back against the wall as I try to catch my breath. “You okay?” I hear him ask, his words kind and soft. “I’ve never been more okay in my whole life,” I tell him, my reply nothing but a whisper. “But I want more,” I continue, and when I open my eyes he’s already kneeling in front of me, that damned smile on his lips.
“More?” “More,” I repeat, and then I just act. Moving like a wild cat, I place my hands on his chest and I force him to lay down on the floor. I jump on top of him and crush my lips against his. Grabbing his cock by the root I point it up, straight to where my body demands it to be. I ease myself down, my whole body shuddering as his tip slowly parts my folds and struggles against my inner walls. I lower myself slowly, each inch I go down drawing a purred moan out of me. I sway my hips over him, slowly at first, but then pick up the pace. Both my hands are on his chest, my breasts bouncing over his face as I move. He lifts his head, taking one nipple inside his mouth and sucking on it as I arch my back in rapture. My hips sway back and forth as he grabs my ass, his hands accompanying the motion of my body, squeezing at my cheeks and rubbing against my flushed skin. I ride him hard, almost too violently, hell bend on pleasing him as much as he has pleased me. My ass slaps his thighs as I go up and down, his cock
sliding easily inside my pussy, the flowing motion of our bodies almost hypnotizing. In a minute every single muscle in me starts to tense up, electricity buzzing under my skin. I let myself go, surrendering to that sweet avalanche of pleasure as I keep bucking my hips against him. I push through, rocking my body against him until I feel him ready. He closes his eyes and, just like me, his whole body tenses up, his muscles becoming taut and hard. His whole body is about to burst…and that because of me. Knowing he won´t hold on much longer, I take my hand down between my legs and start rubbing on my clit as I rock my body against his, beads of sweat already making their way down my forehead. As he comes, so do I. I lean into him, my forehead against his chest as I grit my teeth and feel that sweet orgasm crawl under my skin once more, reaching for every single corner of my mind. I’ve never felt anything like this; it's like a dream, surreal sensations crawling under my skin. I
feel as if I'm floating, my pussy twitching around his cock in a way I didn’t know was possible. Still inside me, he places one hand behind my neck and pulls me in, holding me in a tight embrace. We stay like that for a long time; when he pulls out, I simply roll to the side and stare at the ceiling, still breathing hard and dizzy from all of it. Palmer is by my side, and I reach for his hand with mine, curling my fingers over his. The Old Tale has always been my safe place. It’s just a small hole in the wall, but it’s a place where I can escape the frenzied rhythm of a city that’s always bustling with energy. But…it’s different now. How do I even say it? With only shadows covering our bodies, our fingers laced… The Old Tale feels like home now.
Palmer
I pour an amber ribbon of bourbon into a small tumbler. As soon as the liquid coats the ice, I listen to it crack, hiss, and clink against the glass. It's only my second glass … okay, maybe my third, but it feels so good. I lean back into the leather of my couch and let out a sigh. The floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse give me an unparalleled view of the city. The darker the sky becomes, the more the city glitters, like tiny shards of glass. There's something beautifully impressive about a city skyline—the way skyscrapers reach toward the clouds and know no ceiling. Skyscrapers reaching up like fists of progress. It makes me want to conquer the world.
I have a moment of peace and quiet—a brief clearing of the mental fog left from the week. A moment where I feel motivated about the future. It was a long day at work, but the team did well. Dishes were made. Diners were happy, and nothing was burnt. Even though I'm enjoying the quiet, it seems that whenever I feel I've reached any sort of mental clarity, it's short-lived. Percy's new review of my recent dishes came out today—a high-gloss, highly anticipated article in one of the biggest culinary journals of the city—and as expected, he doesn't fail to trash me with the gusto of a man starved. It's as if he won't stop until he sees me destroyed. But there are other critics. He isn't the only one, and if I get enough good reviews to outweigh his trash talking, I think The Pearl on Park will make it. I look at the review again (seeing it for the fifth time) and read Percy's opening sentences out loud: "An inexperienced child could come up with a more sophisticated and better executed culinary
concept than Chef Palmer. In fact, I've tasted free sauce packets that taste better than the condiments prepared by Palmer and his team. The Pearl on Park—instead of being a culinary spark for the city —is an unpleasant and placid reminder of high-end cuisine gone wrong." I slap the article back down on the coffee table and kick up my feet. Another scathing review, but this time it doesn't bother me. Sure, it's unjust, unfounded and unwarranted, but I see straight through Percy's bullshit. Besides, I have bigger, more important things on my mind: Nicole. I pick up a small business card sitting on the coffee table, and I flip it over in my fingers. There's an embossed orange flame on one side, edged with gold foil, and on the other is my name, and phone number, along with a quote: "Play with Fire." Three words that I repeat like a mantra. To me, they symbolize action, motivation, perseverance, and triumph.
Regardless of what's thrown at me right now, my mind is relentlessly fixated on my restaurant … and Nicole. I wish circumstances with her would be different. We come from two different worlds, and sometimes as if we speak a different language. I can't read her all the time. How could her and I ever work out—we have two competing restaurants, and there's also the fact that I need to stay focused. I don't have time for anything else in my life. I feel time slipping through my fingers like water. The harder I grab at it, the quicker it disappears. That's an unsettling thought. But maybe I shouldn't view this as a race or a competition, and maybe I'm just still unable to accept it for anything else. Something inside of me feels missing—could that missing something be Nicole? Could she be the remedy? No, she couldn’t possibly be … could she? Not with what's been thrown at me recently. But still, I wonder … What's she doing right now? Is she looking at
the same skyline? What is she thinking? Is she feeling what I'm feeling? I just can't seem to shake heNicoler from my mind, and it pisses me off. I'm irritated by the fact that with all these big fish I have to fry, she's what's causing me the most internal conflict. It isn't her fault—it's mine. I need to get my fucking life together before I worry about other people like this, but that'll have to wait for now. It's useless … nothing can get her out of my mind. I take another sip of my drink, tilting my head back as the bourbon burns a fiery path into the pit of my stomach. Fire. Action. That's it … I need to do something. I can't sit here and let thoughts of Nicole consume me. I walk over to the kitchen and grab my cell from the granite counter top. I scroll through my contacts until I find her name. I hesitate for just a moment, a split second of
time, asking myself if I'm making the right decision. I pace the kitchen, shuffling my feet across the marble floor, and fingering the screen of my phone. My fingers hover over my contacts, frozen, waiting for me to act. Fuck it. You only live once, I think to myself. And with that I dial Nicole. It only takes two rings for her to answer. And the voice that answers is the softest, sweetest music to my ears. Fuck. There's no more guessing. Yes, I've made the right decision.
Nicole
My phone vibrates under my pillow. I'm dozing off, and it instantly shakes me awake. It's a light, familiar buzz that always leaves me shuffling my hands through my pillows and sheets, scrambling to answer it before the caller is sent to voice mail. What if it's someone for the restaurant? Or family? Or? I know you shouldn't sleep with your cell phone next to your head, let alone in your bed, but I can't help it. I panic if I don't have it nearby. "Hello?" "I need you." It takes me a few seconds to realize who it is. "What time is it?" I ask, looking over at the clock on my nightstand.
"The night's still young—come over," Palmer says. His voice is smooth and deep, like coffee and cream, and despite the fact that I'm tired, I find myself saying yes. "Good," he says. "I'll text you my address. See you soon." And just like that, the phone line goes dead. I toss my phone onto my nightstand and wonder what in the hell I'm doing. I don't understand why I'm leaving. It's the middle of the night, and I'm perfectly comfortable between my sheets. I started my night with a hot bath, and freshly shaved legs. And let me tell you … I don't think there's any better feeling than freshly shaved legs against clean, cool sheets. It's heaven. But here I am, agreeing to get out of bed and drive over to Palmer's place. I swing my feet out of bed and grab my clothes. I don't have the energy to put on anything more than jeans and a t-shirt, so I quickly dress, throw a thin coat of red lipstick, light mascara, and
then drag a brush through my hair before pulling it up into a messy bun on top of my head. Tomorrow I have a long drive ahead of me— hours. I promised to meet my family for lunch, which is going to be exhausting, dodging my mothers questions about why I'm not married yet and when I'm going to giver her grandkids, and my dad asking me when I'm going to put this restaurant stuff behind me. He doesn't take it seriously because he doesn't understand food. And he certainly doesn't see this restaurant as something I should pursue for the rest of my life. I love my family, but sometimes they're a bit … much. I should be sleeping. But I can't … not after hearing his voice. Why can't I just forget about him? When the Pearl on Park first opened its doors next to The Old Tale, I never would've imagined that I'd be feeling this way about Chef Palmer. He's the competition. I mean, what am I thinking?
I take one last look at my face in the mirror. I've never considered myself an especially beautiful woman… I'm more likely to be considered "cute" than "pretty" but here I am, being pursued by one of the most eligible … and I'll admit hottest … bachelors of the culinary world. But could I really see myself dating a guy who might ruin my business? I stop myself just short of answering that question. I justify it by saying at least Palmer is the best sex I've ever had. I'm talking mind-blowingly good. Sex like that is hard to walk away from. I look at the clock and am reminded that it's only getting later, so I grab my purse and keys, and leave the apartment. Once in the car, I type in Palmer's address and wait for the GPS to route me. I look down at the map. Swanky neighborhood, I say to myself. But what did I expect? Palmer is a culinary rock star. As soon as my phone says, "You've arrived at
your destination," I look up and see just how breathtaking his apartment is. A valet parks my car, and a doorman ushers me inside. "I'm looking for Chef Palmer," I say. "Is he expecting you?" "Yes, he is." "One minute," he says, making a quick phone call, and I can only assume that Palmer tells him to let me through because immediately he says, "Right this way, ma'am." I walk to the elevator and as soon as I step in and see the door close behind me, my heart starts to thump in my chest. It's beating to a whole new drum, as if it has a mind of its own. My heart and mind are racing in equal measures. Why am I so nervous? This isn't the first time I've met with Palmer … but it is the first time I'm meeting him at his apartment, in his space … not mine. And for some reason, it makes everything feel so different. It's new, and it makes me feel vulnerable. I watch the elevator climb to the top
penthouse suite, and as soon as the door dings open, I take one last deep breath and step out. Everything about this building screams luxury. It couldn't be more opposite from my own apartment. Finally, at the end of the hall, I see two massive doors. It's the entryway to his apartment. I straighten my hair and knock. It seems like an eternity before Palmer answers, but in reality, I know it must've only been a few seconds. Regardless, as soon as the door opens, my heart catches in my throat. He's wearing an easy smile and smells like summer on the Atlantic, and I want nothing more than to feel his body against mine. He doesn't give me a chance to say a word. Instead, he scoops me into his strong arms, lifting me nearly off my feet, and in this moment there's nowhere else I'd rather be.
Nicole
The moment his lips touch mine, I become his. There’s no other way of saying it. Whatever it is about Palmer, I simply can’t resist him. I don’t even know why I came here. Is that all it takes? One phone call and I’m knocking at his door? I’ve never thought of myself as the easy type, but when it comes to Palmer…well, when it comes to Palmer, I have no idea what to think. He was supposed to be this cold figure, a harsh man that cared about nothing but his ambitions. But that’s not the real Palmer. At least that’s not the Palmer I’ve come to know. "I’m glad you came," he whispers and, leaning in, Palmer brushes his lips against mine once more. As he kisses me, my hands roam over the fabric of
his shirt, untucking it and pulling it free from his pants. My fingertips feel the outline of his abs, and I almost lose it. Butterflies hit the pit of my stomach, outstretched wings on their maiden flight. Palmer's lips captivate me with a wanderlust that I have never felt before. My skin is covering with prickles from the chills rushing up and down my spine. As stupid as it might sound, I believe these are the kind of feelings women succumb to in romance novels. As a young girl, I could sit for hours and read how the perfect romantic tryst would begin. I never really believed in them, but I wished they were right. And now here I am, living a romance like that. Wait—did I actually say the word romance? Oh, Palmer’s messing with my mind more than I’ve begun to imagine. But I didn’t leave my bed tonight to think about the meaning of things. No, I came here because my body demanded it. “I had to come,” I tell him, whispering these
words against his lips. Our lips are softly massaging against each other, our tongues locked in a tight embrace. My hands move up Palmer's chest, and I start unbuttoning his shirt; I keep my eyes locked on his as I do it, my knuckles softly brushing against his tanned chest on the way down. Then, I just take my hands to his shoulders and push the shirt down. It floats down to the floor softly, landing at his feet. I can't believe how perfect he is. I use the tip of my fingers to trace over his flesh like a soft feather, and I can feel him tense slightly, but not in a bad way. "Nicole…keep doing that and I won’t be held responsible for my actions," Palmer mumbles against my lips, our tongues taking turns at tasting each other lips. I move my hand up to the back of his neck, cradling the back of his head in my palm. He’s a weakness for me. I’ve imagined this in my mind, over and over again, never knowing if we’d be together again. The first time it happened, I just tried to push
it off my mind. But then he stormed inside The Old Tale, pulling me against him as if he needs that more than anything in his life. And now…now here I am. I want to pinch myself to make sure I'm not daydreaming again. Gripping a little flesh on my hip, I smile against his lips. Oh, he’s real, more real than anything else in my life. Pulling back, Palmer looks at me, chuckling. "Did you just pinch yourself? This is real, Nicole. And by the end of the night…you will never forget just how real it is." I widen my eyes, my lips parting a little in awe. Palmer knows me too well already. I've let my guard down, and though that isn't bad, it scares me. "Shh, kiss me again,” he whispers, his voice gentle and seductive. “I feel like I've become addicted to those lips already." I lean up on the tips of my toes, grasping his bottom lip with my teeth. Pearly white teeth clamped onto his lower lip, I press my body against his and close any space between us. I feel my nipples hardening against the cup of
my bra, my breasts mashed against his naked chest. I can feel his heartbeat too. It’s slow and steady, but I can tell that its pace is slowly building up. And so is mine. I'm Alice in Wonderland and I’m falling down the rabbit hole farther and farther as the clock ticks on. I’ve never felt this way—so consumed with another person that I’m already looking forward to doing this again. I mean, we haven't even started. Palmer reaches around to the back of my pencil thin black skirt, pulling the zipper down. I can feel as the teeth release each other. "I want you so fucking much, Nicole…you have no idea," he continues, his hungry eyes locked on mine. As my skirt falls down my legs, he then takes his long fingers up my legs, closing in on my inner thighs. I almost feel he’s going to press his hand against my pussy, but he makes a quick detour and rest both hands on my hips; hooking his fingers on my black silk panties, he pushes them down slowly, the cool air in the room caressing my nakedness. “C’mere,” he whispers then, his hands going
back to my waist. He grabs the hem of my blouse and pulls it over my head, my hair cascading over my naked shoulders as he throws the blouse to the side. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he tells me, his fingers going around to my back, looking for the clasp of my bra. He releases it the moment he finds it, and I feel the cups drooping over my breasts, my nipples becoming even harder than before. He removes the bra gently, his eyes widening as my breasts jump into sight. The only thing I’m wearing right now are goosebumps, and there are a lot of them. Palmer slides his hands down my back, not stopping till his palms grip my ass. Holding me tight, lifting, he takes me to the large leather couch that takes over his living room, and lays me back on it. The only light in the room is coming through the large floor to ceiling windows. The moon is full tonight, and it blends with the dim lights of the night, the towers around Palmer’s apartment building like beacons.
Palmer stands at the end of the couch, his eyes staring at my feet and working their way up my long, tan legs. He’s taking in every inch of me into his memory. He’s etching the perfect masterpiece in his mind. I suck in my stomach when his eyes stop right between my thighs. Suddenly, and I don’t even know why, I feel a little shy. We’ve done this before, but with him…it always feels like the first time. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down softly on a pillow. It's incredible the way he makes me feel. I clear my throat, my voice shaking a little. "Do you like what you see, Palmer?" Of course, he does. Why am I asking this? I can tell by the outline in his pants that he likes what he’s seeing. And, if likes it as much as I like what I’m seeing, this is going to be a good night. "How about I show you how much I like it?" Smirking, Palmer doesn't wait for me to respond. He moves between my legs, kissing my lower lips. "Oh God!" Trembling, my whole body shakes
the moment I feel the warmth of his breath on my pussy lips. "Open your legs wider. Put them on the floor." Palmer’s voice is authoritative, demanding, but I’ll do anything at this point. I can’t—and I won’t—resist him. I open my legs wide, the wetness of my pussy drawing his gaze. My inner folds are glistening, the soft pink tint slowly deepening in color. I'm more aroused than I’ve ever been. Palmer’s between my legs, his tongue swiping up the outer lips like a brush painting a canvas. Long strokes over the mound, soft ones as he goes further down. He’s driving me completely insane, and I want more. I want him to wiggle his tongue between my lips, I want him to satisfy my desires. "You taste incredible, Nicole,” he whispers, stopping for a moment to get the words out. “I want you," he continues, pressing the tip of his tongue against my clit, pushing down hard on the tiny button of happiness. I can't stop my legs from trembling. It's driving me crazy the way my body craves him. He’s
perfect in every possible way, and I can't get enough of what he’s doing to me. Palmer parts my lips, his tongue slides up and down, and he lays his forearm over my stomach, holding me against the couch. I clench my cheeks, but the way his thumb is rubbing my clit relaxes me. Pushing the tip of his tongue past my pussy lips, Palmer knows exactly to make me quiver. Shaking, thankfully there is a cushion beneath me to hold. My fingers are gripping the fabric till my knuckles turn white. "Palmer, that…that feels so good. Don't stop." Using his tongue to paint a picture inside my pussy lips, I almost feel breathless from the intensity. I never even knew that a man could make a woman feel like this, using only his lips… I arch my back from the surface of couch beneath, and my legs tremble. "What are you doing to me? This is completely insane,” I tell him, but I don’t wait for a reply. I push my pussy against his mouth, feeling
Palmers' tongue slide inside my pink lips, the small entrance stretching around the tip. The way he’s using his tongue reminds of the way he takes me when he’s inside of me...there’s a certain eagerness to his movements, a certain recklessness. Placing his hand on the top of my pussy, pulling upwards towards my stomach, Palmer has me unable to form words. I moan out with approval as he forcefully devours me Placing his hands on my thighs, he spreads my legs open even wider. I stretch as far as my muscles will allow, exposing myself entirely to him. "Nicole, you’re just…fucking perfect. I could keep doing this forever,” he tells me, breathing out each word slowly. His eyes are locked on mine, and I feel my heart thumping hard as I notice the way his lips are glistening from my wetness. "I can't take it anymore,” I cry out, reaching for his head and tangling my fingers on his hair. I pull him into me once more, forcing him to bury his mouth against my pussy, and I start swaying my hips like a woman possessed. “Oh my god! I'm going to…I’m going to come," I moan, clamping
my hand over my mouth to muffle my cries, my body giving into ecstasy. Consumed with pleasure, my body trembles to the point my muscles ache from the tension. Complete rapture overtakes me. Thankfully, it’s just the two of us in here, and I can moan and scream as much as I want to. Palmer is drenched in my juices, and when he looks up at me, I can see a trail run down his chin. I remove my hand from my mouth, shaking, "Oh God, what the hell was that? I've never come like that. Ever." Smiling, Palmer leans into me again, licking me till I’m free of all my juices, sliding up my body to share them with me. Softly, he brushes his lips against mine, the flavor of his kiss so sweet it’s almost maddening. I've never done anything like this, but what can I say? When Palmer’s with me, I feel capable of almost anything. His touch has changed me. "It’s my turn," I tell him, still out of breath. I didn’t need to say it, though; he’s ready for me to take him in my mouth. I can't miss the fact that he
has his whole length pressing against my thigh through his pants. It must be uncomfortable for him. I tug his zipper down, reaching in. I slide my hand inside his boxer briefs, and curl my fingers around his shaft. The warmness of his cock spreads to the palm of my hands, and then it goes over my arm and takes over my brain. Slowly, I start flicking my wrist, stroking him as my heart keeps on racing faster and faster. "I want you so much," I continue to say, the rhythm of my hand keeping up with that of my heart. Then, I take my free hand down his back and push both his pants and boxer briefs down; I pull his cock out, and the moment I feel his shaft brush against my naked thigh, my insides feel as if they’re about to explode. I blush a little, moving over on the couch for him to lay back. His cock is standing up like a tent pole, demanding all of my attention. I lick my lips to moisten them. My eyes never look away from Palmer's cock. I want to feel him in my mouth. I sit on the end of the couch, leaning
down to lick up his thickness from its root to the tip. My tongue slithers up to the rim around the top of his cock, licking slowly around the entire head. His size alone is intimidating, but that won't stop me. I want it all. My eyes on his, I never look away. I want him to watch me blow his mind. And the fact that he is gnawing on his bottom lips tells me that he is enjoying my warm mouth. "Nicole, Jesus … your mouth is incredible," his voice a growl, one brimming with lust. Oh, I love that in him. I lower my lips down the shaft, taking my time with it. My jaws stretch to take all of him inside of me, but I simply keep going; I won't stop till I have his entire cock inside my mouth. Palmer places his hand on the back of my head, pushing me down till there is nothing left to take in. Holding my head steady, I fight to breathe through my nose. It's such a rush, being dominated like this.
I feel his fingers twist in the strands of my hair, pulling my head back, but that only to push all the way back in. This time he uses his hips to help him bottom out. I moan against his cock, but that seems to turn him on even more. He keeps on dictating the movements of my head, my lips rolling up and down his entire length. The room’s illuminated by the moon shining through the windows, our bodies casting long shadows that seem to tumble over his living room, almost as if they were alive. From my apartment, to The Old Tale, and now his apartment…whenever I’m with him, it seems that the place we’re in becomes something out of a dream. I wrap my hand around the base of his cock, stroking him as I keep on bobbing my head. "You’re killing me,” he breathes out, tugging at my hair as if he wanted to make me stop. Of course, I won’t be denied. My eyes are still on his as I open my mouth as wide as I can. The steady stream of pre-cum lets me know he's getting close, and I can’t wait for it.
I want it. I want him to feel burst with ecstasy, I want to hear his groans of pleasure…and I want to know that I’m the sole reason for that. I pull back softly, knowing he is about to come The first shot of his seed hits the back of my throat fast. The second is a steady stream of warmth across my tongue. I push my head back down, taking all of it, my eyes closed as I savor him. I moan softly as my tongue circles the head of his cock, coaxing anything he has left out. Then, as slowly as I can manage, I take my mouth off his cock. I look up at him, smiling as I notice the dazed grin on his lips. “That was fucking amazing,” he breathes out, his chest rising and falling at an erratic pace. The first thing I notice is that he’s still as hard as he was before. He doesn't soften at all. I slide up his body, feeling the warm of his skin against mine, and position myself over his cock. Still grabbing his shaft, I rub his head against my wet pussy lips, arching my back as I feel that intense need to have him inside of me. He lays his
hands on my ass, trying to reel me in, but I resist him for a moment. There’s something about the moment before having him inside of me that drives me completely insane, and I want it to last. I keep on rubbing myself against his cock, making him lose his mind, and then he simply digs his fingers into my ass cheeks and pulls me down. With one thrust, he is entirely inside of me. I lean my head back, soft locks of hair cascading down my back as my pussy walls stretch to accommodate his size. I’ve never felt anything like this. Not only is he massive in length, the girth is astounding. I'm in heaven right now. Palmer moves his hands up my body, hands gripping my naked breasts as his hips force me to open wider for him. Oh, I love the way I can take him in with ease. The massive tip is pushing into my deepest point, and moan after moans falls down from my lips. Lust doesn’t even begin to describe the state I’m in.
I place my hands in the middle of his chest. I lift my hips only to take his cock back inside of my gripping walls entirely. I like it when his head entirely pulls out, and I must ease myself down all over again. That pressure against my core forces goosebumps all over my body, a violent shiver going up my spine. I keep my body upright, thrusting down as he meets me with each stroke, and I let out a groan as he starts upping the pace. "Fuck, Nicole, you're so tight." He’s right, I’m tight, but I’ve never had a cock like this before. He's huge compared to my tightness. And I feel it each time he pushes in, making me lose my breath each and every time. Maybe it’s all in my head, but his cock is addicting. "Oh my God, harder, Palmer." My voice cracks with desperation. I love the way he pushes his cock into my pussy walls as his hand grasp my hips tight. He’s pumping every inch of him deep inside of me. Like a well-oiled machine, we work in perfect sync with each other.
I slide my hands up his chest, resting my body on his now. With one movement, I find myself beneath him. He is taking charge now, showing my body that’s in charge, and I like that. No, I love it. Our lips mesh together, and we kiss in a fevered pitch. I never want to let go, nor do I want this night to end. Pulling my legs up to wrap them around his waist, the feel of his cock hitting my innermost points brings on a series of overwhelming moans. I can't stop. Each time his cock massages my clit, I get lost in the brink of a violent orgasms. Arms and legs entwined, I can't hold back any longer. I must come. Crying out in pleasure, my body shakes in full force. There is no turning back now. I feel the rush of heat so deep inside of my body, waves of lustful pleasure enveloping me. "Palmer, oh dear god…I’m coming! " My legs tighten around his body as the waves roll over my entire being, the scorching heat of ecstasy severing the connection between my body
and brain. He pulls out of my pussy then, his cock soaking wet from my juices. He looks into my eyes for a moment, and that grin on his lips seems to widen. Then, I realize what’s on his mind: my pussy. He places his hands under the cheeks of my ass, pulling my hips up to meet his face. I’ve just orgasmed, and I’m sensitive to touch, and so his tongue on my clit feels like an electrical impulse radiating through my body. "Fuck, oh God!" I cry out, the words slipping from between my lips. I can't control myself at this point. I've never had anything that could compare to this. The sounds of his lips against me, the way he licks every crevice of my pussy, pushing his tongue into my little pink entrance…it all makes me lose it. I can't stop shaking from the way he’s ravaging me. He keeps licking the whole length of my pussy, his tongue slipping in and out of it, pushing its way past my folds. It’s funny—we’ve only been together a few times, but this feels as though we’ve
been lovers for a lifetime. "Bend over. I want you from behind," he tells me then, pulling back from my pussy. Palmers' voice has that authoritative tone again, and I just do as he tells me to, laying back down on the couch. Looking up with a smile, I turn, pushing my body up with my knees. I wiggle my hips back and forth, teasing him as I feel his eyes wandering over my curves. Even though the cool air in his living room makes me shiver, my core temperature must be boiling. "Want some?" I whisper, warm blood making its way to my cheeks. I can’t believe I’m talking like this. What happened to the shy Nicole? Palmer reaches over and slaps my ass lightly, the sound of his hand landing on my flesh making me close my eyes. He’s loving it, at least as much as I am. He leans in, taking one last lick up my pussy lips, his tongue flicking fast and hard against my clit. And what an incredible feeling. So soft and warm, his tongue feels more than amazing. Sliding up to run his cock over my pussy lips,
he holds for a moment, teasing me. Just like I did to him. Then, he presses the head against my pussy, pushing through the lips and into my tight walls. "That feels so good, Nicole," he groans, his cock pulsing hard against my inner walls His cock all the way inside me now, he holds still inside my walls, not wanting to pull back. Not yet. He’s taking his time, and I’m loving every single second of it. Palmer uses a single finger to move up my back, tracing the curve of my spine on the way up. It isn’t till he reaches the end of my hair that he stops; he grabs a fist full of hair, increasing the pace inside of my tight walls. Smirking, he pulls all the way out, slamming back into my pussy walls. "Fuck, you have no idea how good this feels," he whispers, talking as he fucks into me deeper. With his free hand over the curve of my ass, I bite my lower lip as I feel his thumb grazing over it "Oh my God!" I can't control it. Palmer’s doing everything that I want,
everything that I need. It’s as if he knows exactly what’s going inside my head, my mind like an open book to him. I whimper, pushing back on his cock to let him know what he’s doing is okay. "Fuck," he groans, slamming his cock so hard into me that I have to grab at the armrest of the couch, trying to stop myself from tumbling forward. The sound of his thighs slapping my ass echo throughout the living room, like a lustful symphony, and I surrender to the moment. I start to shake as he goes harder. I grip the surface below, my fingers knotting into the soft fabric as he pulls out, only so that he can slam his cock inside me again. "You’re so fucking tight…" He tells me again, his hands running up the side of my body to cup my breasts. Of course, I'm tight. Anyone would be tight to a cock like this. I bite down on my bottom lip, and he reignites his movements. I whimper a little as he rocks his hips against mine, that pleasant warmness taking
over my soul again. Sex with Palmer…it's a rush that I was never prepared for, but now I can't get enough of it. "Fuck!" Palmer growls out as he starts to fucking me with a new-found fury. He isn't gentle now. He wants all to ravage me, and with every thrust in, his balls smack against my skin. The sound echoes through the living room again, adding to that symphony only the two of us can hear. The couch starts jolting from the movement of our bodies, its sound blending in with the sound of both our bodies, but that doesn’t make us slow down. God, how can someone make me feel like this? It’s surreal. I push back each time he drives in, our bodies becoming one with each other. Acting on instinct, I slide my hand down my flat stomach, not stopping till I've reached my pussy. Its lips are still soaking wet. Pressing the tips of my fingers against my clit, I start rubbing around in circles, my eyes rolling in their orbits as he keeps fucking my pussy. I look back over my shoulder, watching as the
muscles in his arms tighten each time he pushes his cock deeper into me. His abdomen is rock hard, and a little trickle of sweat moves down his brow. This man is the perfect lover. I start working my clit harder now, biting on my lower lip as I do it. I feel my pussy walls tightening around Palmer’s cock, and I know that I won’t last long. "Harder, I need it harder,” I cry out, my fingers moving so fast over my clit that it almost feels as if it’s on fire. "Please, I want it all. I need you so bad," I continue, my voice cracking from the pleasure building inside of me. I’m close to coming—again —and I can’t wait for it. I have three fingers pressing down on my clit, working it in a way I never even knew I was capable of—all that so that I can reach that perfect climax. My thighs are soaked as my juices drip down my legs. God, I can't get enough of him. I never will. Holding onto my ass cheeks, he pulls out entirely; then, he smacks the shaft against my pussy
before pushing the head back in, bottoming out. Each time he does it, I’m one step closer to coming. I’m about to come when he pulls out from inside of me. God, he’s driving me completely crazy. Rubbing the head over my pussy, he doesn't push in. Not yet. He’s taking me to the next level, the one where I’ll need to beg him. I’m trying to avoid giving him that much power over me, but what can I do? "Tell me you want it," he says, his voice whimsical. Filled with a devious laughter that I can't handle. Should I tell him yes? Scream out for him to fuck me as hard as he can? "I want it, Palmer. I want you…I want you to fuck me. Hard." There, I said it. And now I want him to use every part of my body as if he owns it. Smirking at me, Palmer turns me around and forces me to lay down on the couch. Moving between my legs, he pushes his cock into my pussy with one stroke. We are both so close to coming that our bodies
slam against each other, our lips crushing hard, tongues dancing as we fuck harder than ever before. I scream out. My nails rake down Palmer's back as I come with such force that my mind feels as if its melting inside my skull. "OH GOD!" I scream at the top of my lungs, the sound of voice filling his whole apartment. It becomes too much for him. One more stroke and he explodes inside me. My pussy tightens up around his cock as we both come hard, electric ecstasy wrapping itself around us both. We stay like that for a long time, his body on top of mine as we try to catch our breath. By the time he rolls to the side, squeezing himself by my side on the couch, my mind slowly starts to awaken again. Still silence, the long shadows of his living room tumbling over our naked bodies, I let out a deep sigh and run one hand through his hair. “You okay?” He asks me, his voice cutting
through the silence like a pebble throwing into a pond. And, just like it, the softness of his voices send slight waves all over my body. “I’m okay,” I tell him, not knowing what else to say. “Just okay?” He asks me, and I can almost feel the smile on his lips. “No, not just okay.” “Then what?” I hesitate for a moment, thinking of the rights words. My fingers keep on running through his hair, caressing him, and then I just smile. “I feel…happy.”
Palmer
"Look at this place," Nicole says. "It's amazing." I can't help but smile, as she walks around my apartment wide-eyed. The innocence with which she looks at the world is refreshing. She's soaking it all in, taking nothing for granted. "This," I say, pointing around the apartment, "is just a collection of things. Don't get too excited. We can't take these things where we're going." She frowns. "Well, that's kind of a dark thing to think about." "It's the truth," I shrug. "But … they sure are fun to collect." "Since when did you become so humble? This isn't the cold, calculated, driven chef I've heard so much about," she laughs.
"You can't always believe what you read." As soon as I say that, I can't help but think about Percy Whitman and his reviews of my restaurant. That's a prime example of something that shouldn't be believed. "What's this?" she says, pointing to a painting on the wall. "It looks so … chaotic." "That's a Jackson Pollock painting." "A real Pollock?" she says, her eyes widening again. "You own a real Pollock painting? I've heard of him, but have never actually seen one of his paintings in real life." "You see all of those lines? He created this piece by dripping paint on a canvas that was placed on the floor. Pretty incredible when you think about it … I don't think anyone else was using that technique at the time." "Couldn't anyone do this? I mean, it just looks so … messy," Nicole says, stepping closer to the painting. "I could take a paintbrush and drip a bunch of paint onto the floor." "It's in the eye of the beholder, I guess, but I think there's something remarkable about Pollock
… the way he rebelled, you know? The way he used color. And he wasn't concerned with painting objects that he could see in everyday life, like a traditional landscape of the sea, or of a fruit basket, or a vase of flowers. It feels as if he wanted to show action … he wanted to show what was going on in his own emotional interior with all of these lines." Nicole considers this. "I can appreciate that. I think you have a point," she says, and then laughs. "Who knew Chef Palmer was so … cultured." "What's that supposed to mean? Did you think I was some soulless brute?" I laugh, giving her a hard time, but she blushes, and I change the subject. "You hungry?" I ask. But she doesn't answer. Instead, she's walking into the living room, transfixed by the things she sees. And as I follow her around the penthouse, I realize that I'm so surprised by how genuine I'm being with her. Normally, when I have a woman over, it's a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am sort of affair. We fuck. We maybe eat. And I watch her as
she walks out that front door. But this is different. Nicole is different. She isn't like any of those other women. "Unreal—you collect pottery too?" she asks, pointing to a vase. I smile. "That's a Brouwer vase." "Never heard of it, but I love the colors—the gold and reds and yellows … all kind of swirling together. The more I look at it, the more I think I can sink right into it." "This piece comes from Long Island, and I like it because of the way it's crafted, using an open firing technique." She shakes her head. "You're gonna have to speak my language. I have no idea what that even means." I lean in close, and delicately grab her hand in mine. "Here," I say. "Touch this." I drag the tips of her fingers across the vase, and she follows my lead, feeling the texture. "The glaze on this has been whipped by flames," I say. "And that creates some really spectacular coloring."
"Incredible," she says, at almost a whisper. "You never cease to amaze me. You have incredible taste." "They're extremely rare … these vases I mean." She pulls her hand back. "Then I probably shouldn't be touching it like that." I laugh. "It's fine. I trust you." As soon as those words tumble from my mouth, I realize I'm no longer talking about the vase. I'm talking about me. I'm talking about us. Nicole is the first woman I've ever opened up to … trusted enough to open up to, and if I'm being honest, I should probably tell her my whole story. "What's wrong?" she says, scrunching her eyebrows. "Nothing," I say, trying to look away. Is now really the right moment to rip open my chest and hand her my naked, beating, vulnerable heart on a platter? "I may not have known you that long, but you aren't a very good liar. You're thinking about something … tell me."
She's right. I take a deep breath. "There's something symbolic about fire that drives me. It transforms things—food, places—but it also symbolizes action and immediacy. I'm so driven to make The Pearl on Park a success because I want to leave my mark on this city. I want to show everyone how good high-end cuisine can be … and I don't think I have much time." She turns and looks at me, holding my gaze in silence. Then, she finally says, "What do you mean … not much time?" "It's probably nothing, but a few weeks ago my doctor saw a white mass on a routine scan … in my brain. He told me to come back, so that we could figure out what it was." "And?" she says, a look of concern washing over her. "And I didn't go back," I shrug. "I feel fine." "Are you crazy? Doesn't that seem stupid, to not follow up?" "Maybe," I say, "but we're all mortal. No one is gonna be here forever, so instead of thinking
about that, I'm choosing to live in the present, and focus all of my energy on The Pearl." There. I said it. I've just served handed this woman the keys to my innermost secrets and desires. Now let's see if I've scared her off.
Nicole
I look around Palmer's kitchen, taking stock of the ingredients at hand. Let's see … he has bacon. Who doesn't love bacon? It goes with everything. I decide to surprise Palmer by making avocado BLTs for breakfast. The last trip I took to California caused me to fall in love with avocados. Now, I add them to anything I can. The bacon has been smoked with apple wood and glazed with maple syrup. As soon as I open the package, it smells divine. I heat a skillet, and once hot, I place each strip on the hot stove. The fat immediately sizzles, and the aroma fills the kitchen. While the bacon is getting crisp, I grab a loaf of country bread and slice thick pieces off. I decide to toast them, and then slice slabs of purple heirloom tomatoes.
Only the best ingredients on hand, which doesn't surprise me. Palmer's a fellow chef, after all. Once everything is ready, I layer the bacon, tomato, and lettuce on the crusty bread, and top it with buttery wedges of avocado. My mouth is watering just looking at these stacks. "Something smells good," Palmer says, causing me to jump. He laughs. "Did I scare you?" "I was so focused on getting these BLTs just right, I didn't even hear you behind me," I say with a smile. "It's a lot of pressure cooking for one of the world's most famous chefs, you know." "I see you started early," he says. "Is the sun even out?" I watch as he rubs his eyes. "Sorry it's so early, but I have to leave soon, and before I leave, I wanted to cook and share breakfast with you." He walks over and presses his lips to my forehead. "That's thoughtful. I love it." "I wouldn't say that just yet. You haven't even tried it," I smile. "You might not say that after
you've tasted it." He laughs. "I'm sure it's just fine." I watch as he brings the sandwich to his mouth and takes a big bite. He chews thoughtfully. "You know what I think?" he says. I shake my head. "I think this is a keeper." As soon as he says it, I smile. There's something about Palmer enjoying my cooking that always makes my mood soar and puts a permanent smile on my lips. I take a bite. It's a thick sandwich, so I struggle wrapping my mouth around it. But he's right. It's good. Real good. And it hits the spot. "Wait … you have something," Palmer says, stepping toward me. "Right … here." He reaches up and places a finger on the corner of my mouth, wiping off a stray piece of avocado. I'm usually embarrassed when someone points out a piece of food on my face, but right now, the only thing I can think about is his touch, and the way it makes me feel electrified.
I smile, and I think about the way he opened up to me. He's so much more than a hotheaded, womanizing, soulless, chef that the tabloids make him out to be. He has depth. He's cultured, and likes art, and is so full of information that it makes my head spin. He's like a walking Wikipedia, and I never find myself getting bored in his presence. The truth is, I could listen to him talk forever. And what was up with what he told me? Is he sick? What did he mean by a "white mass" was found? As soon as he said it, he wanted to change the subject. It was clear he was trying to get something off his chest, but he didn't want to go any deeper. Maybe it's nothing. Besides, it's really none of my business. But I can't help but wish he'd go back to his Dr. for a second opinion. "Someone's a messy eater," Palmer laughs, bringing my thoughts back to the present. "Look at this thing," I say, pinching the sandwich between both of my hands. "It's thicker than a mattress."
We both get a good laugh at that, and as we're joking around, something catches my eyes. Behind Palmer, on the counter, is a magazine. It's opened to an article written by Percy Whitman. I can see that he reviewed The Pearl on Park, and it's not good. In fact, the review is downright scathing. I read one of the headlines: "The Pearl on Park—instead of being a culinary spark for the city —is an unpleasant and placid reminder of high-end cuisine gone wrong." It feels as if someone has dropped a bowling ball down my throat and its lodged itself into the pit of my stomach. My heart tightens. Percy is my friend. Did you write this review because of me? Am I to blame for this? Maybe I shouldn't have been so hard on Palmer, and maybe I never should've vented any of my thoughts to Percy. I just feel like this is somehow my fault. "Everything OK?" Palmer asks. I smile. There's no way I want Palmer to know
what I'm thinking. "Oh yeah, it's fine," I say, and then lie, pushing these thoughts out of my mind. "I was just thinking how I really should be going. I have a long drive ahead of me." "Not yet—finish breakfast at least," he says with a smile. It's a smile that's disarming. It's a smile that makes me yes when I should say no. He senses my hesitation and he continues to prod me. "You like this bacon, right?" "Who doesn't?" I say. "Want a strip?" "Very funny," I smile, placing my hand on his. "I see what you did there." God there's nothing I wouldn't give to play a game of striptease in this kitchen, with this man, but my family will kill me if I don't show up today. "I'd love to," I say, "But I have to leave. Rain check?" "If you have to leave, at least me drive you." "No, that's not necessary."
"I insist," he says. "Seriously, it's far, and a pain in the ass—" "Fuck no—forget all of that," he smiles, dismissing every excuse I'm throwing his way. "I'm driving you."
Palmer
I must be going insane. First, my restaurant is under attack by some asshole critic, and now, here I am, volunteering to drive some girl to her parent's place. Seriously? What the fuck is wrong with me? I should be going to the Pearl. I should be rallying my staff, and countering Percy's review with a PR blitz of my own. But am I doing any of that? No. What's going on? Am I falling for Nicole? No … it can't be. I don't just fall for women. And I have a plan for my life, and this scenario isn't a part of that plan. Not even close. Falling for Nicole is impossible. But as we're driving, and the music is blaring, and my fingers are tapping the steering wheel, and
Nicole's hair is dancing in the wind that's blowing across my open convertible, she looks so happy … and I feel so happy … I can't help but wonder. Is it true that sometimes life is unpredictable, and no matter how well you plan it out, sometimes plans change? I shake my head. I can't get ahead of myself. I'm the kind of guy that writes everything down and plans it out. And I'm even talking writing lists for the lists I already wrote. Do you see what I mean? Everything is organized. This isn't on any of those lists. So right now I just need to recognize that I'm simply spending time with Nicole. We're having fun. It's nothing more than that. "There it is," Nicole says, pointing to a small house on the side of the road. I haven't been outside of the city in ages—has it been years?—so to be driving through the suburbs feels weird. "This is my childhood home," she says. "Nothing fancy, and as much as I couldn't wait to leave it, I have to admit … I still miss it
sometimes." "It's nice," I say, and even though it looks like every other suburban home I've ever seen—a flower garden, a tree in the front yard, a driveway, and a white fence—I mean it. It is nice. It's kind of refreshing to not be walking into another crowded high rise. This is somehow more … personal. As soon as I get out of the car and open Nicole's door, a large dog runs out of the house barking. Its shaggy red coat is getting lifted in the wind. "It's OK," she says. "He doesn't bite." The dog recognizes her and immediately wags its tail. She pats his head, scratches behind his ears, and gives him a playful pat on the back. He licks her hand in excitement. "That's a good boy, Rusty—a good boy," she says, leaning down and showering him in playful kisses. "You're quite the animal lover," I say. I've never owned an animal. It's not that I don't like them, it's just that I've admired them from a distance.
"I love them," she smiles, her eyes still fixed on the dog. "If I didn't go to culinary school, I think I probably would've become a vet." "I can see that," I smile. As she finishes petting Rusty, we walk up to her parent's house and before we reach the door, Rusty is all over me. First, he's jumping on me with his two front paws, and I'm trying to pet him, hoping that'll calm him down and he'll get bored with me, but it doesn't seem to work." "Get down, Rusty," Nicole urges, but the dog only listens for a few minutes before going right back at it. Then, when no one's looking, I feel him shoving his nose in the crotch of my pants, sniffing for God knows what. I shoo him away, and luckily he listens this time, taking the hint. "Baby, is that you?" a woman says, approaching the door. Nicole embraces her in a hug. "It's good to see you mom." Immediately, her mother looks over at me. "Oh, and who do we have here?" she smiles. "This is Palmer," she says, introducing us.
"He's my … um, he's my friend." Her mother eyes me suspiciously, wondering if I'm a friend as her daughter says, or if I'm something more. "It's a pleasure," I say, extending my hand. "Palmer is a chef, mom," Nicole says. "He owns The Pearl on Park." "Well, isn't that nice," her mom says. "Come in, come in." We walk in and immediately to our right is the living room. A game of football is playing on the TV, and people are shouting. "C'mon—make that catch!" someone yells, and another says, "Did you see that? That was almost a QB sack!" "This," Nicole says, pointing to one side of the room, "is my dad, and this over here is my brother." They both turn to me, and give me a nod and a welcome handshake. I look back at Nicole. "I should go now," I say. "I'll let you guys enjoy your lunch." I turn to leave and then feel a hand on my shoulder.
"Oh, no—stay!" her mother says. "No, I don't want to be a bother," I say. "It's no bother. We have plenty of food," her mother insists. "No, he's busy mom," Nicole says. "Nonsense, no one is too busy to eat a home cooked meal," her mother says, practically blocking my exit. Nicole looks at me with eyes that say I'm so sorry about this, but I just smile. "OK, why not—I think I can join you for a meal," I say. "Great!" her mother beams. "Now please, sit down." There's no escaping now.
Nicole
I'm kneeling on the floor, petting Rusty and watching him lick my hands, and my knees are digging into the carpet that is too shaggy to be anything remotely modern—I don't think my parents have replaced it since the 1970s or something, and I'm stunned. I mean really stunned. This entire day has not gone as expected. And above all, I'm nervous. How's this lunch going to go? Is my mom going to say stupid like, so when are you going to give me grandkids Nicole? Or is my dad going to say something equally stupid like, but surely being a chef isn't a real career, is it son? And there's no telling what will tumble out of my brother's mouth. I should probably tell you that my brother's an animal, and he doesn't have a filter.
I'm being serious when I say anything can happen, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that level of embarrassment. Not now. Not with Palmer. "You have a lovely house," Palmer says to my mother, and she's eating it up. I've never brought a man home before … and definitely never a man as handsome as Palmer, and I can tell she's just loving it. Her face is lit up brighter than the sun, and she melting into his gaze. She keeps giving him reassuring pats on the shoulder, which is the kind of thing she only does to people she really likes. I flash him another look that says I'm so so sorry, because let's be honest, I'm sure he doesn't want to be here. How could he, right? He has better things to be doing right now. He has a high-end restaurant to run. He'd probably rather have a filling replaced, or get a flat tire on the freeway than be here right now. And my mom practically held his hand to the flame, and blocked the door, which is so embarrassing it makes me want to die a little inside. But Palmer just flashes me a smile and something tells me he really doesn't mind. It's as if
he does want to be here. "Can I help you with anything?" Palmer asks my mom. "Why don't you come in here and help me peel these potatoes." I roll my eyes. Why can't my mom be a normal human being and just let him sit here as our guest. This is Palmer we're talking about … a world-class chef. The kind of chef that people have to pay hundreds of dollars just to eat with. I love my mom. I really do. I love my entire family. But you don't ask guests like that to peel and wash potatoes, you know? But again, he's a gracious guest, and I watch him walk over to my mother, wash potatoes, and hold a sharp paring knife in his hands. He peels the skin with ninja-like speed, and my mom's impressed. Really impressed. I can see it in her eyes. I hear them make small talk. She's asking him about his restaurant, and where he grew up, and all the normal mom stuff, and he continues to smile and answer everything he throws at her.
"Kitchens aren't always serious and stressed out places," Palmer says, and I crane my neck to hear what he's saying. I'm still sitting there, petting the dog, and pretending to not pay attention, but the truth is I'm trying to listen in harder than I've ever eavesdropped in my life. He continues, "This one time, a dish guy stretched a heavy duty yellow scrubbing glove over the entire top of his head—I don't know how he did it, but he did—and it looked just like a cock's comb. He proceeded to strut around the kitchen like this." Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Palmer tuck his arms into his chest in the shape of chicken wings and bob his head, back and forth. I can't help but smile at that, and even my mom is cracking up. I mean, she's laughing so hard that she's wiping tears from under her eyes. "I kid you not, the dish guy was flapping his arms around, bobbing and tilting his head, and clucking like a chicken. It was one of the funniest things I've seen in my whole life." My mother is barreled over, clutching her sides.
It's so surprising, seeing Palmer like this. He isn't the arrogant asshole chef I knew him to be. He's funny, and warm. And he's charismatic. And when it's all time for us to sit at the table, even my father seems to love him. "I'm a huge Buffalo Bills fan—always have been," Palmer says, and my father slaps him on the back. "A man of my own heart!" my father says. "Any Bills fan is a friend of mine." For a minute it almost feels like I'm in some alternate universe. Who are these people, and what have they done with my parents? Who is this man? Things are going so well, and everyone is getting along better than I could've ever hoped for. For some reason it's stunning … having man like Palmer, sitting here and sharing a simple family lunch with us, in this humble home because of his extreme wealth and fame … and what I thought was arrogance. But he isn't arrogant at all. He's captivated my family, and they're a tough crowd to please. This man … Chef Palmer could eat anywhere
in the world. He could eat with any chef, and any celebrity. But he's here. In my childhood home. Sharing a simple meal with a simple middle-class family. And I love him for that.
Palmer
"Excuse me while I take this call," I say, pushing my chair back from the table. My cell phone is vibrating in my pocket as I grab it and walk out the front door. "Palmer speaking," I say, pacing the front porch. "Finally—there you are. You're a hard man to get a hold of. Look, I'll get straight to the point. I have some bad news." It's Roger Mills, my business manager. Any time I get a call from him, I brace myself and expect anything to come out of his mouth because he always gives it to me straight. But now the words bad news bounce through my brain like ping pong balls and I don't know what to think. "Give it to me."
"The bottom line is that investors are feeling shaky about your restaurants, not just The Pearl on Park," he says. "Why now?" "It boils down to all the bad coverage you've received." I know exactly what coverage he's referring to. Percy Whitman. "I already know about those reviews—they're bullshit. Unfounded garbage and—" "Unfounded or not," Roger says, cutting me off, "investor are freaking. Those are some of the worst reviews a restaurant has ever seen." "It's all lies, they can't be believed." "Tell that to the rest of the world," Roger says. "I'm serious. This is bad. Real bad." "Look," I say, "I'm actually in the middle of lunch and I'm busy, can I—" "We don't have time," he says. "We need to act now." "I don't want to talk about this right now. I'll figure it out and I'll call you back soon." "Palmer, wait, Listen, I think—"
But I don't give him a chance to tell me what he thinks. Instead, I end the call and the connection goes silent. It's strange. It seems my entire business is in jeopardy, but being here with Nicole and her family —I'm happy. I gather my thoughts, take a deep breath and enter the house. "I was just telling Nicole's father about your chicken story," Nicole's mom says. The entire table is laughing. I smile. "There are more funny stories where that came from. I could spend hours telling you stories." "Well, we aren't going anywhere," Nicole's father smiles. "Tell us what happens in those kitchens of yours." "Well, in this business, we get every kind of customer you can think of. One day, many years ago, when I was first starting out, we got a particularly difficult woman. She orders the soup of the day—a French Onion. The waiter brings it to her. She says it's too cold. So, no problem, right? This is a typical, routine sort of complaint, if you
will. The waiter brings it back into the kitchen, and we give her a new, piping hot batch." "Was she satisfied?" Nicole asks. "Oh no—the story doesn't stop there," I laugh. "So, the waiter brings it to the woman, but now she says it doesn't taste right and that we must've changed our recipe. The waiter assures her that isn't the case, but she keeps badgering him and badgering him. He tries to change the soup again, but to no avail. The woman is insistent that again, it isn't right. She's really digging into him now, saying things like how hard is it to make soup, and isn't this your job. So finally, the waiter reaches a breaking point. And I kid you not—he grabs that soup bowl and saucer and flings it across the dining room like a Frisbee. The entire thing smashes against the wall and everyone is stunned. And what does that waiter do? He leaves without a word. We never saw him again." "You have to be kidding!" Nicole shrieks. "Was anyone hurt?" "No, but we got a good laugh out of it later." The entire family is laughing now, and as I
turn to look at each of their faces, I realize that I'm having the time of my life. I never expected to enjoy myself as much as I am. It's as if the worries of the world—my restaurant, my health, Percy Whitman trying to sabotage me at every turn—fades away. I like Nicole's family. They're simple people and that's refreshing. Her family has completely managed to charm me. "Here, try this," Nicole says, passing me a small, chilled glass. "This looks interesting." "It's Limoncello—my grandmother's recipe." "Then I bet it's good. Your grandma seems to have the best recipes." I take a sip, and it's better than I imagined. It's the perfect palate cleanser—the citrus infused, lightly sweetened alcohol couldn't get much better. Nicole can sense the satisfaction on my face and she smiles. "Glad you like it," she says, and under the table I can feel her slide her hand up my thigh.
"Because there's more where that came from." I don't know if it's the hint in her words, or her touch … or maybe both, but my cock twitches and I shift in my seat. Letting my dick get hard, right here, at a table surrounded by Nicole's family, is not something I want. But Nicole seems to understand this, and a devious smile forms on her lips. Just as her mother's asking me if I'd like a second helping of food, Nicole drags her fingers up my thigh, coming within inches of my cock. I can feel it harden with the proximity of her touch. Within seconds, I'm going to be harder than a steel rod. "I'm, I'm fine—I uh, the food was, well, it was great—it really was—but I'm full, thank you," I stammer stupidly. God, can I sound anymore ridiculous? Nicole grins wider. "I think I'm going to show Palmer the house— give him a tour," Nicole says, and her parents nod. Then she turns to me. "I want to show you my childhood bedroom."
My heart kicks in my chest and my cock leaps. "Show me the way," I smile.
Nicole
“This is…” he starts, trailing off as he looks around my bedroom. I close the door behind us as we step inside, eager to have his arms wrapped around me, but I stop as I look at him. His eyes seem to linger on my childhood pictures; slowly, he then heads toward the full body mirror I have on the corner. “That’s my grandmother,” I tell him as he reaches for one of the pictures taped to the mirror. In the picture, she’s standing in front of a red brick wall, wearing a loose apron over a faded dress. Her dress is blue, the kind of blue that reminds me of the restlessness of the ocean in the first days of winter, and only the whiteness of the polka dots splattered all over it break those memories of early winter. Her cheeks are flushed, the lines around her
mouth carved deep by years of easy smiles and generous laughs. “A woman with no wrinkles, is a woman without a story to tell,” I whisper, and Parker looks at me. “That’s what she used to tell me,” I continue. “She’d tell me that all the time. She made me believe in hard work.” Those memories are the reason I left home in the first place. They’re the reason I abandoned the dappled shade of the trees, the comforts of home, and the lazy afternoons when the whole horizon would stretch to accommodate a warm sunset. I gave all that away and replaced it with the stern shadows of buildings smudged by the fog, the quick-fire chatter of city dwellers, and by the rapid pulse you’d only find in a big city. “I like that,” he whispers, plucking the picture from the frame and staring at it, his thumb grazing over it. I stand there in complete silence, just taking in the scene. He’s looking at my grandmother’s picture as if he yearned for something like that, for family, for comfort. “I’ve never met my grandmother,” he tells me
matter-of-factly, and the casual tone in his voice makes my skin prickle. I wonder about him. He seems … lonely. The kind of man that’d push family, friends, and lovers out of his life, only so that he could focus on his goals. A man whose ambition burns so bright it devours everything around him. And that doctor’s appointment he told me about … I don’t even know what to think about it. I can't imagine how that's affecting him. He seems to believe death’s jaws are snapping at his heels, and he wants to go out with a bang instead of fizzling out. That thought makes my heart ache. I try to push it away from my mind, but I can’t imagine a world without Palmer. It hurts too much to think about it. “Come here,” I whisper, reaching for his hand and pulling him into me. I need to feel him close to me. I need to hold him tight, just to make sure he won’t disappear like a forgotten dream. I look into his eyes, my heart drumming wildly
inside my chest. He smiles then, caressing my face with the back of his hand. Leaning into me, he brushes his lips against mine. It’s a simple kiss— tender and kind—but it’s enough for me to lean in and press my forehead against his chest. “I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper. I lay one hand on his chest, and I stay like that for a long time, just listening to his pulse. The warmness of his body seems to spread into mine, and it doesn’t take long for this feeling of comfort to turn into something more. “Me too,” he replies, and that’s all I need. I can do without the flourishes and the pretty words. I can do without declarations of love and flowers. I can do without all that. All I need is Palmer, his lips against my hair as he whispers those words. I grow wet, and I can already feel my drenched thong sticking to my skin. My heart is racing furiously inside my rib cage, pumping desire through my veins as if I just received a shot of adrenaline. The blood that runs through me is charged with lust and sinful thoughts, inflaming that
burning need I have for his body. I tried to avoid this. I knew how…stupid…it would be for me to be near Palmer. He’s my one and only weakness—handsome, dangerous, and relentless. But here I am now… revealing all my childhood secrets to a man I was sure I’d hate. I don’t even know how any of this happened. The moment The Pearl on Park moved into my neighborhood, I started nursing a special kind of hatred for a man I saw as cold and calculated. A man who didn’t know the meaning behind the word heart. And yet, here we are. I surrendered to him. I gave him my body and I gave him my heart. I take one step forward, my eyes never leaving his, and I grab him by the scruff of his shirt. Pulling him into me, I press my mouth against his, parting my lips and brushing my tongue against his. I start unbuttoning his shirt, my eager fingers flying down the fabric as I bare his chest. With one hand on my waist, he takes the other to my hair, grabbing it viciously. He pulls my head
back and starts kissing down my chin toward my neck; once there, he starts nibbling the soft skin gently. I close my eyes as I feel his lips against my neck, my rational mind slowly drowning in an ocean of pleasure. With jerking movements, I tug on his shirt and make the rest of the buttons pop out. I run my hands over his chest, feeling his warm skin under my fingertips. It's absolute perfection. Good Lord, I just want to feel every single inch of his body and surrender myself to him. And there’s nothing stopping me. Grabbing the fabric of his shirt I pull it down his shoulders and throw it to the floor. I pull back from his kiss and take one hard look at him, my eyes wandering over his chest. I can’t even hear my own thoughts over the loud drumming of my heart. My lips curl into a smile and I let my hands slide down his chest until they meet the hem of his pants. I unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly, sliding my hand down his pants and caressing the bulging shape that’s tenting his underwear. I start stroking him over the fabric, my fingers
curled tight around his cock. He’s gigantic, his member pulsing against my hand in such an intense way that my insides clench in anticipation. Leaning into him, I lay my lips against his, and then start kissing down his jawline. I trace the contour of his neck and go down to his chest, feeling his hard and ripped muscles against my lips. I go down on my knees then, pushing down his pants and boxer briefs as I do it. His cock springs free in a heartbeat, jumping eagerly into my hand. My fingers curl around it once more, feeling its warmness against my skin. I start stroking him slowly, my eyes locked on his as my hand goes back and forth at a low teasing rhythm. I open my mouth wide, leaning forward and taking his tip inside my mouth. Sucking on it, I let his flavor—a salty and manly one—inundate me. My eyelids droop and, before I even know what I’m doing, I’m moving forward, his whole shaft sliding inside of my mouth. I start to suck, bobbing my head back and forth and twirling my tongue around his glans. It tastes amazing, the scent of manhood crawling up my mouth and lodging itself
on my brain like a perfect blanket. Cupping his balls as I suck him, I caress them and roll them over my fingers. Then, as he kicks off his shoes, I push his pants and underwear all the way down and push them to corner of the small room. Pulling back for an instant, I stroke him as hard as I can, my eyes widening as I try to comprehend the huge member right in front of me; it doesn’t matter how many times I see it, I’m always amazed by his size. My skin prickles as, slightly leaning forward, he places both his hands on my shoulders and pushes the straps of my dress down. The fabric droops over my torso, baring my chest, and I immediately take my hands behind my back. Blindly, I find my bra’s hook and unclasp it, letting it fall down my arms and onto the floor. There’s no need for instructions - the moment my naked breasts come into view, he grabs them gently, his fingers brushing over my hard nipples. I lean forward so that I can start sucking him again, his shaft rolling over my lips easily. With my hands on his ass cheeks, I start bobbing my head
back and forth as fast as I can; matching my own rhythm, he starts thrusting, his fingers running through my hair as he ravages my mouth. I close my eyes, half-expecting him to not resist the way I’m sucking him. I wouldn’t complain if he came in my mouth, not at all. But, of course, men like Palmer are never satisfied with one simple blowjob. They want more, always more. And I love him for it. He grabs my wrist, making me stop my stroking motion, and gently pushes my head back. I let his cock slide out of my mouth, and then allow him to pull me up to my feet. He places his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back against the wall. I go willingly, simply looking at him as he goes pushes his body against mine, his chest pressed against my breasts. We kiss again, our tongues dancing around each other as his hands go up and down my side, exploring the curves of my body as if I was the most wonderful woman on Earth. And, the way he touches and kisses me, almost convinces me that I really am that wonderful. I part my legs slightly so that he can fit
between them, his hard throbbing cock pressed tight against the front of my dress. I hike it up to my waist as his hands go up my leg, his fingers caressing my inner thigh and dangerously reaching for my thong. The moment he presses his hand against my pussy, the wet fabric of my thong - the final frontier -, a violent shiver of desire goes up my spine. I grab his wrist and make him press his hand on me harshly, my pussy becoming even wetter as I succumb to that sweet pressure. Taking the lead, he flicks my thong to the side and, kicking patience to the curb, slides one finger inside of me. I feel a scream climbing up my throat, but I grit my teeth and stop it just in time, remembering where I am. I didn’t avoid a scandal a few days ago just so that step into another. He brushes his fingertip against my G-spot, darts of pleasure hitting each and every one of my nerve endings. My eyes are closed, and I can’t hear a sound - my brain can only process one thing, and that’s the pleasure he is inflicting on me. Which is exactly what I want. I need all of my brain power
to be solely devoted to pleasure right now. After all, why would I want to focus on anything else when I have Palmer right here? When pleasure knocks at your door, you answer it. I place my hands on his back, sliding them down to his ass and grabbing it hard, his cock pulsing against my body. As I feel the perfect curves of his ass, he starts to slide his finger in and out of me at a vicious pace. My pussy is boiling, an eruption of pleasure threatening to overwhelm me. Actually, it isn’t a threat: it’s merely a fact. I know it’s coming. And when it does, I don’t even have time to moan. I simply surrender to the avalanche that overtakes me and pulls my rational mind down into the depths of a decadent and sinful world. My fingers turn into claws and I hook them in his ass cheeks as I come; driven by instinct, I bite down on the tender flesh of his neck, my whole body twitching from the sudden orgasm. He keeps going, sliding his finger in and out of me, without even allowing me to catch my breath. Stopping for one second only, he uses it to grab my thong and
push it down my legs; he then does the same with my dress, leaving me naked against the wall. He takes one step back, his hungry eyes wandering over my body, and I shudder in anticipation. Leaning in, he starts kissing my neck, his lips tracing a downward line over my body. I feel his mouth between my breasts, and then his lips wrap themselves tight around one nipple. Arching my back, I let a low moan tumble out of my lips as his mouth moves down to my stomach, laying gentle kisses over my navel as it continues its downward trajectory. Much in the same way I did before, he goes to his knees, his mouth dangerously close to my pussy. He starts to kiss my inner thighs, teasing me mercilessly as I squirm. God, I want to feel his mouth on my pussy, his tongue on my clit… I want him to eat me, to devour me as if I were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted in his whole life. As if he could read my mind, he immediately presses his mouth against my wetness, his tongue lapping at my clit eagerly. I lift one leg up and place it over his shoulder, allowing him to easily fit his
head between my things. Opening his mouth wide, he sucks my drenched folds, taking my juice in his mouth as his tongue starts to jab at me, parting my inner lips and sliding in and out at a maddening pace. I rest my hands on his, feeling dazed by the way he moves his head. Grabbing locks of stray hair, I pull him into me violently as I thrust my hips against his face, rubbing my pussy all over his mouth. Relishing it, he redoubles his efforts, sucking and licking in a way that turns a neverending sequence of hushed moans into a long drawn out one. I have to bite my lips and remember where I am, trying to focus so that I don’t moan louder than I can. The moment he focuses on my clit, his lips wrapped around it as he presses down with his tongue, my whole body shakes as I come. I pull his hair as hard as I can, throwing my head back as I grit my teeth, suppressing a wild scream of savage pleasure. I’m still shaking when he slides two fingers inside of me, moving them in and out in a matching
rhythm to that of his tongue. He’s not even eating me out - he’s fucking me with his mouth. I don’t even know how it’s possible, but the first orgasm still hasn’t died and I’m already coming again, cresting the peak of pleasure’s mountains as my body is consumed by burning intense pleasure. My limbs are flailing and I’ve lost all control of my body - I’m like a puppet, carnal pleasure pulling the strings and guiding me towards another dimension… one where only ecstasy matters. Guided by the desire to achieve that transcendence, I take my hands to his face and make him look at me, locking my eyes on his. “Take me. Make me yours,” I tell him, the tone of my voice half-commanding, half-begging. Lucky for me, I don’t have to command or beg; he’s ready to give me what I want right now. He goes to his feet, a devilish grin on his lips. “You’re already mine, Nicole. You just don’t know it yet,” he says, pressing his body against mine. He grabs his cock with one hand and presses its thick head against my inner lips; gently swaying
his hips, he rubs his tip against me, my body and mind buzzing with excitement as I bury my fingernails in his back. With my fingers acting like hooks, I motion for him to thrust, to pierce me with his cock and fuck me like I’ve never been fucked before. But he takes his time; he keeps on gently rubbing his cock against me, never allowing it to go more than a few centimeters inside of me. Then, the whole world explodes; he thrusts violently, his meaty member sliding inside of me with one single stroke and scorching all of my nerve endings. His cock stretches my inner walls as it goes, making me wonder how is it possible to have something so huge inside of me. I know I don’t have other men to compare him to, but judging by all the gossip I’ve heard…let’s just say that Palmer must be in a league of his own. He starts ramming it inside of me harshly, his fingers going down my back and nestling under my ass cheeks. He pulls me up and into him, lifting me off from the floor, and I lock my legs on his back. With my arms over his shoulders, I pull him in and make him move even more viciously, each thrust of
his is like a stab of pure pleasure, a mind-numbing high that would put any kind of drug to shame. In fact, just two thrusts and I’m already an addict. Rocking his body against mine in a back and forth motion, our bodies fuse into one, our muscles moving as if we are part of the same machinery. My brain is working overtime trying to process all the information that my nerve endings send it, but it’s almost impossible; there’s a limit to how much pleasure I can handle. It doesn’t take long for me to come again, my pussy tightening around his cock as I claw at his back. I do it hard, my fingernails sliding across his skin with enough strength to draw blood. A grin dawns on my lips as I imagine how he’s going to look after I’m done with him; he’s probably going to be able to say that he has just fought a wild cat if anyone asks him what happened to his back. Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. I like being wild…as long as he’s with me A violent scream climbs up my throat and I purse my lips, throwing my head back against the wall as I order my brain to keep my mouth shut.
Even so, I can’t stop a moan from escaping into the cool air of the room, my body burning up with orgasmic violence. I tremble, shiver and twitch, all of me surrendering to him. “Good,” he whispers against my ear, his lips seductively brushing against my skin. “Now we can get started.” Start? Oh, Jesus. I’ve already came God knows how many times and only now he’s talking about starting? I don’t know if I can actually survive this. Has anyone ever died from having too many orgasms? Oh, well, that wouldn’t be such a bad way to go. I mean, everyone has to die; if I have to go, why not have it happen while Palmer’s inside of me? He pulls back, my skin prickling as I feel his cock sliding out, and puts me down. With a grin on his lips, he places his hands on my waist and turns me around. I place my hands against the wall, at shoulder height, and jut my ass back at him. His hands run down my side, and he moves them over the curve of my ass, grabbing my cheeks hard. He
presses his body against mine, the warmness of his skin on mine; with his cock firmly pressed between my cheeks, I start rocking my body, grinding against his cock. I exhale sharply, ready for what’s to come; I reach for his cock and, grabbing it, push it down. Placing the tip against my inner, I let go of it and place my hand back on the wall. He eases into me gently, my pussy resting against the tip of his erect cock. As he moves, I have to grit my teeth as he pierces me, my inner walls once again accommodating his massiveness. When he’s in me to the hilt, he starts to move with a slow and gently rhythm. But I don’t want to move slowly; I want to go fast. I want to go furious. I start jutting my ass back, moving my hips with a ferocity I didn’t know I had in me. Fucking me hard, he places his hands on my hips and pulls me in as he thrusts, my mind almost destroyed by the intensity of his thrusts. My back arches as I succumb to his thrusts, my body sandwiched between a perfect man and a slab of concrete, no escape possible. And, really, why
would I want an escape? He should be the one wondering about escaping, because I’m not letting him go anywhere - at least until my body is utterly and completely spent, that is. Holding me against the wall, his rhythm starts to grow at a mind bending pace, his cock hitting me so fast that I can already feel the blood inside my veins starting to boil. I moan through gritted teeth, closing my eyes as all existence starts to fade away. I can’t see or hear; I can only feel. The whole universe seems focused on the place where our bodies meet and fuse, his cock pounding my pussy without a single hint of mercy. I come once again, my body completely electrified. I rest my forehead against the wall, hitting it repeatedly as I try to cope with the raging joy that courses through me. It’s perfection, one devoid of any kind of mental brakes or whatsoever. Just like that I let a loud moan tumble out from my lips. I almost don’t even care if anyone hears us. He pulls his cock out and places his lips against my neck, kissing me tenderly. Then, he
makes me turn on my heels, my back against the wall. My hands go to his chest and, clawing at his pectorals, I smile mischievously. My hands go to his shoulders and I push him back, motioning toward the bed. He doesn’t complain as I guide him there, making him sit as I look upon him with hungry sinful eyes. He licks his lips, his eyes never leaving mine, and I climb on top of him, my legs open wide as I sit on his lap. My hands slide down his chest and, once again, his cock is in my hands. Guiding his thick member home, I let it pierce me like a spear, his shaft going in easily. I don’t give him time to process what’s about to happen - I simply start rocking my body against his, my ass slapping his legs as I go back and forth. I move wildly, still out of control, and close my eyes as he reaches for my breasts, grabbing them eagerly as I fuck him in abandonment. I ride him hard, and I ride him fast, punishing his cock with all my might. I feel drops of sweat pooling on my forehead, but these only make me go faster. My muscles are already aching, but I don’t
care - I’m a woman on a mission, and I won’t be denied. I grin as I feel sweat dripping down my back, down my face and into my lips, the salty taste of it coating my tongue. Suddenly, I get up in a rush and, before he can do anything, I turn my back to him and ease myself down on his cock once again. His hands go down my back to my ass, and he slaps my cheeks hard as I start riding him in a reverse position. My ass bounces up and down, slapping his body again as I try to survive the onslaught of pleasure that rages through me like a wildfire. If anyone told me the world would end tomorrow, and that this would be the last time I’d be with anyone… Well, I can say with confidence that I wouldn’t be able to do any better. I’m giving my all here. I clench my jaw, breathing through my nose as my muscles start to spasm. I don’t even feel the need to scream anymore - my body does all the talking now, my muscles jerking as I come once more. I might be coming, but I’m too far gone to stop - I keep riding him violently, my ass bouncing
up and down as his cock ravages me. Somehow, though, he still manages to resist my assault. But not for long, I can guarantee you. Standing up once more, I tower over him like a Queen. He looks at me with a grin on his face, sweat on his forehead, and I grab his hand. I motion for him to lie down on the mattress, and that’s exactly what he does. Guided by instinct, I immediately plant each foot on the side of his thighs. I squat down, grabbing his cock and pointing it straight up. I brush it against my folds, his tips rubbing against all of my length, and only then do I go lower. I go as slow as I can, his shaft gently lodging itself inside of me. Then I start to jump and down over his cock, moving as fast as I can and pushing through my exhausted muscles. I might be tired; I might be spent, but I’m not a quitter. I will see this through. It doesn’t take long. Before I know it, his cock starts to spasm and I feel a warmness inside of me. He starts to cum, his semen gushing inside of my pussy like a fountain, filling me to the brink and dripping down
his cock. It goes on for what seems like forever, an endless torrent of thick cum inundating me as I finally ease myself down and stop moving, allowing myself to savor the sweet ecstasy that courses through us both. Still coming, he hooks his fingers on my waist and thrusts upwards, I let out a surprised moan as the tip of his cock goes as deep as possible, yanking one final orgasm out of my system. I lean forward, grabbing his ankles as flames of indescribable pleasure crash against my body and turn my mind into ashes. I roll to the side, completely spent, and smile as I feel thick strands of cum dripping out of my pussy and down my legs. I hear him moving but I don’t even open my eyes - he kisses me then, his lips brushing against mine with a gentleness that contrasts with the way we fucked. Because there was nothing gently about these last minutes - it was pure and unbridled fucking. And God, I loved every single second of it. I lie down next to him, my eyes closed as I try to catch my breath. After a while, I finally open my
eyes and look up at the ceiling. How many times did I stay awake in this same bedroom, wondering about my future through the long hours of the night? And now here I am, with a man by my side. A man I’m falling in love with.
Nicole
I toss the tomato chunks into a bowl, and then I place a cucumber on the cutting board and slice it into thin medallions. Looking at this cucumber, I can't help but think about Palmer's huge, thick … no, stop that Nicole, get your head out of the gutter. I need to focus on the restaurant ... the food … my staff ... staying afloat. I can't get distracted. Not now. But if I'm being honest with myself, I'm falling for Palmer. There, I said. I'm falling for that man. I can't go a single minute without him being in some corner of my mind—his smile, his touch, something funny he said, the way he makes me feel, or even the way he cooks his food. It's ridiculous. Palmer's presence in this city
might mean the end of my restaurant, but somehow, that doesn't stop me from falling for him. He could literally put me out of business, and every day I see the signs—raising rents, fancy cars, a new clientele—but as each day goes by, I want him more. How is that even possible? The good seems to outweigh the bad. I look up at the ceiling and give a silent apology to my grandmother. I'm sure she's rolling over in her grave right now. I'm sorry, nana. I feel like I'm letting you down. You gave me my love for cooking and you believed in me. You envisioned me going far, and here I am, throwing it way for a man that I'm falling head over heels for. But this man has so many positives. He's incredible with my family, and they love him. He's charming, and funny, and gracious—and he had my mom and dad in tears with laughter. He even helped peel potatoes, of all things. He completely won them over. "OUCH!" I hiss, looking down at my finger. I sliced right into it, and a red bloom appears on the
tip. I run over to the sink and hold the cut under cold, running water. At least it's not deep enough to warrant stitches. I reach for a band aid and wrap it tightly around my finger. Then, for extra precaution, I place a latex glove over it. "That looks deep," a voice says from behind me, and I jump. Literally, it feels like my feet have come five inches off the ground. I swing round to see who it is, and find the pale face of Percy Whitman. How long has he been standing there? Was he there long enough to hear me pour my heart out to my dead grandmother? "You scared me," I say. "I didn't expect to see you back here." "I have some great news," he says beaming. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet; he's so excited. "I could use some good news today," I say, looking around the restaurant and still nursing my finger. "Some days, it feels like I'm drowning here." "Remember The Pearl on Park restaurant that
we talked about? And how you've been so worried about it?" How could I not? But Percy doesn't know this. No one knows that Palmer and I have been spending time together. He could never understand how much Palmer and his restaurant has been on my mind. I shrug, trying to play it casual. I can't let Percy read my emotions. "Sure, what about it?" "I've just learned that Chef Palmer's investors are backing out after all of the bad reviews he's received." "Wait, what? You mean Palmer's restaurants are in trouble?" I say. "You got it—exciting, right? Now you don't have to worry about your future in this city," Percy says, clapping his hands together. My heart sinks, and my stomach spins the same somersaults I spun as an 8 year old in gymnastics class. "You really think he's going to shut down?" "It's a good possibility that he'll have to close The Pearl on Park, from what I can tell. That's the
word on the street anyways." "Wow, that's, uh—" "That's big news, I know," Percy says, cutting me off. "I was so excited that I had to come over right away and let you know." "I don't even know what to say." "I know …you're too excited for words," Percy smiles, petting my arm. There's something about his touch that makes me recoil. He thinks he's doing me a favor by writing all of these terrible reviews, and helping to shut Palmer down, but now I just feel sick. "I have to run," he says, giving me another pat on the arm. "But we'll talk again soon." I watch as he walks out of the restaurant and I feel dizzy; my entire body is churning with emotions. I'm so conflicted about this whole thing. And now, I feel guilty. I'm the reason why Percy went after Palmer in the first place. And this guilt feels like a shadow that's following me and pressing on my shoulders. Just knowing that I've hurt Palmer is a huge, black
weight on my conscience. This isn't who I am. I can't let this happen. I'll never be able to live with myself if Palmer loses his restaurant. And the fact that he didn't tell me … must mean he's been carrying the weight of this knowledge and didn't want to burden me with it. I have to fix this. I have to find Palmer and explain my guilt to him. He may hate me, and he may never forgive me … but I have to do it, even if it means losing the best man I've ever had. But maybe I can convince Percy to help me. Loves more important than my business, right?
Palmer
"The Pearl on Park is more than just a restaurant," I say. "It's a destination. It's innovative. It elevates cuisine, and gives diners an experience that they can keep for a lifetime. This is a restaurant that elevates the culinary world of New York City." "Some experience that's been," one investor says under his breath, rolling his eyes. The restaurant is closed today, and my investors and I are sitting in the dining room. They called this meeting last minute, and I knew it wasn't going to be an easy conversation. It's bad enough that I'm losing money by being closed today, but now I'm forced to listen to a group of skittish investors tell me that my food sucks and doesn't have a future. That's a tough pill to swallow.
"We just don't see it," one man says, shaking his head and scratching his short-cropped beard. "Nothing's adding up." "The reviews of your food are some of the worst we've ever seen, and that's saying something," another man says. His mid-section is so large that he's using it as a shelf for his hands. "The critic goes so far as to say that an inexperienced child could do cuisine better than you can." "I can explain," I say. "There's no need," he says. "We've seen enough. The reviews make it crystal clear." "Look, I have the money," I say. "I just don't have the liquidity to sustain this new venture without your backing." "We understand where you're coming from. We really do. And we pride ourselves on taking risks," one man says. He's trying to sound empathetic but instead it comes off feeling patronizing. "We root for the underdog and fund projects that many banks wouldn't touch with a 10foot pole. But this is a risk we can't take. It would be suicide. If the food was any good—"
"The food is good," I say, cutting him off. "Those reviews are bullshit. A man who has a personal vendetta against me wrote them. I don't know why, or where that's stemming rom, or what his issue is, but it's true. Let me prove it to you. I'll cook for you right now—you can taste the food I make here at the Pearl—here, I'll fire up the grill, and I'll share the menu with you and—" "Mr. Palmer, I'm sorry, but this is nonnegotiable," the bearded man says. "We've already made our decision. Save your cooking for another time." I nod my head. I'm trying to keep my cool, but I'm so frustrated that I think I could flip over every table in this dining room, and Hulk every chair. I could rip down the curtains and smash every plate. My frustration is boiling over, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to remain calm. "Thank you for your time," I say, once I know this conversation is over. I did everything I could, but even that wasn't enough. "I'll show you men out." I watch as each of them push their chairs
away from the table, and shuffle their feet to the front door. I unlock the door, walk them step out into the afternoon sun, and walk as they disappear into a nameless sea of businessmen and cars and taxis. I lock the door behind them and then turn to look at my restaurant. The Pearl was supposed to be my crowning achievement in life. It was supposed to be my legacy. I've planned, dreamed, and prepared for this day my entire life. But without investors, I'll have to close this flagship restaurant. There's no way around it. How the fuck did things get this bad? How could I let this happen? It feels like I've hit rock bottom. I walk over to the bar and grab a bottle of Glendronach 18. People ask me what my favorite whiskey is—and that's a tough question to answer because it varies on my mood, but this bottle right here is always in my top five. Happy, sad, mad, glad—whatever—you name it, and this whiskey works.
I grab a glass, and pour an amber ribbon of the liquid in. I take a sip and let the liquor burn a hot trail down my throat. And then the flavors hit me— sweet sherry, leather, tobacco, and even polished wood dance on my tongue. I stare at the bottle's label. There's an idyllic sketch of what must presumably be the Scottish countryside. And as I stare at this label, it hits me. At least I still have Nicole. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I remember her. With her, I can get through this. I can get through anything. In fact, I can picture sitting on a grassy hill, in the countryside with Nicole … just like the one on this whiskey bottle. Just then, I hear a rapid knock on the door. I turn and realize my day just got better. It's Nicole. I can't believe she's here. She's wearing a cotton dress that is getting kicked up by the wind, and her hair is dancing about her shoulder. I walk over and open the door.
"I'm so glad you're here," she says. "I saw you weren't open. I was worried. And I just wanted to —" "Shh," I say, placing a finger on her lips. "Less talking." I wrap my arms around her delicate body in a full embrace and lift her off her feet. I pull her into the restaurant and lock the door behind us, and then, I lean down and bring my lips to hers.
Nicole
“Palmer,” I try to say, but I’m too weak to fight against his lips. When it comes to Palmer, I’m too weak to resist. And even if I were strong enough to do it…I doubt I’d want to. “Hush,” he tells me, lacing one of his arms around my waist and pulling me in. He leans into me, my eyelids drooping as I press my lips against his. I feel his scent crawling into my mind then, creating a perfect lustful perfume. My hands climb up the side of his body, and I run them up his neck and to his hair. I curl my fingers around locks of hair and force him to throw his head back. With a fiery smile, I hold him in place and kiss his neck, my lips savoring his skin. With a growl, Palmer looks at me and, placing his hands on my hips, forces me back. I step
backwards until my ass is pressed against the edge of one of the tables in the dining room, my hands against his muscular chest. My fingers on his collar, I start unbuttoning his dress shirt, my knuckles brushing against his tanned skin. He grabs my hair hard and yanks on it; I throw myself back, sitting up on the table and supporting myself with my elbows on top of it. I keep unbuttoning his shirt, baring his chest inch by inch as he lays his lips against my neck, nibbling at my tender skin. As I open the last button, I un-tuck his shirt, pulling it out from inside his pants. I immediately press my hands against his chest, running my fingers over the marble edges of his muscles. Who sculpted this man? My God, the lines between his abs and around his pectorals… This is perfection. He kisses me around the neck, his lips traveling all the way to my shoulders. He bites on the straps of my dress, grabbing the right one between his teeth and pulling it down. He lets it fall down my arm and then grabs the other strap with his hand and tugs on it as well. The front of my
dress droops over my chest, my breasts and black lace bra jumping into view. The moment he catches a glimpse of my breasts, he grabs my dress and pulls on it harshly, sending the fabric down to my waist. With shaky hands, I run my fingers over his abs and up to his shoulders, sending his shirt down his arms and onto the floor. My eyes wander once again over his perfectly chiseled muscles—not even giving the time for my brain to tell me what to do, I lunge forward, reaching with my tongue for his abs. I lick them with the wet tip of my tongue, sliding it over the spaces between each block of abdominal granite. Leaning forward as I am, Palmer uses this moment to slide his fingers up my back and unhooks my bra. I feel the cups becoming looser over my breasts and, the moment I pull out from his torso, he curls his fingers around my bra and tugs on it hard. A shiver goes through me as my naked breasts come into contact with the air around me, my nipples hardening in an instant. He reaches for my breasts then, his spread
fingers gently squeezing my flesh. He starts squeezing harder and harder, my hard nipple pinned down between his hand and me. Reaching for him, I grab his wrist and guide his free hand to my left breast. He lays his fingers there softly, pinching my rosy tip between his thumb and index finger. I look up at the ceiling, close my eyes and take a deep breath. I came in here to tell him something, but oh…! How could I’ve resisted something like this? The moment I open my eyes he’s already coming for me. He presses his mouth against my neck, laying gentle kisses on my skin as his hands caress my breasts. Pressing my thighs together, I realize I’m soaking wet. My thong is completely drenched, and I already feel it dripping down my thighs. Have I ever been this wet? I’m so damn horny I’d need a perfect man to satisfy my cravings, and what do you know? I do have the perfect man right here, and he’s ready to do my bidding. I lace one arm around Palmer’s neck and, with the other, I reach for his crotch. I flatten the palm
of my hand there, my fingers pushing against the tented fabric. He’s already hard, his cock almost vibrating with furious desire. I close my hand around it, grasping it tight, and give it a firm a squeeze. As I do it, he stops kissing my neck, his mouth going straight down; he takes his hand off of my breast, opening space for his mouth, and immediately wraps his lips around my nipple. Softly brushing his teeth against it, he teases me with pain but, in the end, he delivers only pleasure: he pinches the rosy burning tip with his lips, sucking eagerly on it as he traces quick circles with the tip of his tongue. Curling my fingers around his thick member, he exhales sharply against my skin, sending goose bumps all over my body. I start to stroke him, my hand fighting against the fabric of his pants as I flick my wrist in a steady cadence. Not letting go of his cock, I lean forward again, pressing my lips against Palmer’s naked chest. I let my tongue run between his abs, the warmness of his skin making me lose all control. I need him now.
Right now. My fingers trembling with anticipation, I start to unbuckle his belt, and it comes undone with a metallic clink. I go for his zipper then, pushing it down, his cock pushes back against my hand, stretching the fabric of his underwear to the limit. I feel his hard cock brushing against my knuckles, and that only reinforces the fact that I need to feel him, to have him, right now. I'm actually surprised his throbbing member hasn't ripped its way out of the fabric that restrains it. Oh, well, I can help with that; with my fingers on his waistline, I slide his boxers down and over his cock, allowing it to jump straight into my hand. Instead of immediately grabbing it, I lean back, my eyes flying down to his cock as I run my tongue between my lips. Only then do I reach for him, curling my fingers around his long shape, feeling his warmness spread to my hands and up my arms. I start moving my hand, stroking him with back and forth and movements as I become wetter than ever. As I become possessed by desire, I start going faster,
both my hands working themselves up into a blur of movement as I stroke him. God, I want more, this isn’t enough. I jump down from the table, letting go of his cock and making him take a step back. Before he realizes what I have in mind, I go down on my knees, looking up at him. He towers over me, a perfect giant ready to unleash all his tension and desire upon my body. I won’t let this moment go to waste. Not a fucking chance. I move to grab his cock again, but first there’s still something I need to do. I push his pants and underwear down from his knees to his ankles, and he finishes the job by taking off his shoes and kicking off his clothes. My eyes sweep the room, looking with satisfaction at the pile of clothes scattered around the floor. With him naked in front of me, I finally curl my fingers around his cock, resuming my jerking motion with renewed strength. With a grin full of sin and promises, I lean toward his cock, slightly parting my lips and darting
my tongue out. I flick it against his tip, scooping up the few drops of pre-cum glistening there, and a shiver goes up my spine as his raw manly flavor coats my tongue. Circling his tip with my tongue, I brush my lips against it, teasing him hard. I can already feel his hand lying on my head, unconsciously nudging me forward. Happy to oblige, but at my own rhythm, I open my mouth slightly, allowing his tip to squeeze itself between my lips and over my tongue. I suck on it softly, slowly pulling my lips out before going in again. I repeat this motion over and over again, each time I go in my lips going just an inch further down his shaft, my hand still clutching his shaft. As my lips finally meet the base of his cock, I roll them back out completely. Then, I tilt my head sideway and lay my lips against the side of his shaft. I kiss him up and down, sucking on his shaft as I go. My mouth moves up and down until it finally inches closer to the root; I move even further down, kissing his balls and sucking one of them into my mouth. I roll it over my tongue as I caress the tip of his cock with my
index finger, driving him completely crazy. Going back up his member, I part my lips; instead of slowly allowing his cock inside my mouth, I simply take it all in at once. His cock rolls over my tongue eagerly, only stopping at the back of my throat. I wrap my lips around it and suck my way back, then bobbing my head back and forth as fast as I can. His scent and flavor blends into a perfume of manliness that crawls all the way up to my brain, digging its claws into it and driving me completely insane. I try to go deeper, pushing his shaft inside of me until I can barely breath. Only then do I pull out, my hand still on his cock. “Fuck, Nicole…you’re perfect,” he breathes out, grabbing my hand and pulling me up to my feet. Before I can do anything, he pushes me back against the table, my ass once more against the edge. Moving fast, he places his hands on my knees and pushes my legs apart; the moment there’s enough space, he slides his hand up my inner thigh, pressing his open palm against my drenched thong. He presses against me viciously, a submissive moan
climbing up my throat and jumping down my lips. With half a growl, he pushes my dress down. In under a second, he has me sitting on top of the table, my juices dripping down my thighs. He goes for my breasts, his hands exploring my body and making all of me buzz with excitement. “You have no idea what I’ll do to you,” He whispers against my ear, his voice brimming with promises. He kisses my neck, his lips traveling upward to my ear as well. “Once I’m done with you, you won’t be able to tell left from right,” he continues, nibbling my earlobe before continuing to kiss me down my neck. His lips keep descending over my skin, slightly detouring when he finds the valley between my breasts. He kisses the curve of my breasts and then takes one nipple inside his mouth, sucking it hard. Then, he goes up to the other side, doing the same there. My skin starts to prickle as he changes gears and lowers his mouth, going over my navel and dangerously closing in on my pussy. My unconscious mind guiding me, I part my legs even
wider, anxious to have him using my body. He takes his time, though, his lips kissing my waistline and then going down to my groins, never once venturing into untanned skin territory. I grab his hair viciously, trying to force him right between my thighs; to my surprise, he doesn’t fight back. I guide his mouth to my pussy and he presses his lips tightly over my wetness and against the drenched fabric of my thong. His finger goes up my legs and to my thighs; grabbing my thong, he starts to pull it down my legs. As he pulls back from my pussy, I lift my ass up from the table and he takes it off of me in a heartbeat, his eyes flying straight to my naked pussy, the expression on his face one of lust. Like a ferocious animal, he attacks; he leans into my pussy, his lips immediately finding my clit and wrapping themselves tight around it, choking it so intensely a sudden scream leaves my lips. With his tongue, he runs circles around it, my body completely electrified. Letting my clit escape his mouth, he runs his tongue between my inner lips, sucking my folds into his mouth.
With his lips on my clit, he presses down with his tongue, applying the right amount of pressure. Then, he brushes one finger over my inner lips; not a full second after that, he slides it all the way in, his fingertip flying straight to my G-spot. I arch my back, all of my nerves endings working overtime to send the overload of information up to my brain. Which isn’t an easy task, but I push through, hell bent on squeezing every last drop of pleasure from all of this. Grabbing him by the hair, I ball my hands into fists, thrusting wildly and rubbing my pussy against his mouth as I come. He makes it even more intense by keeping that perfect pressure on my Gspot, his finger never moving through the storm that is my orgasm. I let my head down and take a deep breath, pleasure raging through me. When I open my eyes again, he’s looking straight at me, mischievousness flickering there, but then he’s gone. He plunges into me, his tongue jabbing at my clit mercilessly. His finger slides out of my pussy and he places both his hands under my knees, forcing me to place my legs
over his shoulders. I can’t help but moan as he ravages me completely, devouring my pussy mercilessly, a sensation I never thought I’d feel exploding inside my brain. He keeps moving, his tongue squeezed tight between my pussy lips as I come. I can’t help but scream as well. My body trembling, I let the sound of my scream inundate the whole room, a powerful orgasm taking the steering wheel and driving me right off pleasure’s cliff. Working in tandem with my climax waves, his tongue settle into a lazy rhythm, caressing me with a suspicious gentleness; somehow, I know this is just the calm before the storm. Propping myself back up on my elbows, I look down at him. He pulls back, his eyes travelling up my body. I smile at him, the orgasm washing over me and immediately leaving my body ready for more. Standing up, he places his hands under my knees and pulls me into him, dragging my ass to the edge of the table. I sit up, my hands darting to his
rock-hard cock; I grab it, immediately moving my hips forward so that his tip is just an inch away from my pussy. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?” he asks, his voice lustful and mischievous at the same time. “I think I do,” I reply with an anxious nod, flames of desire crawling under my skin. “I’m not sure about that,” he mutters under his breath, but he smiles all the same. “But I’m going to show exactly how much I want you.” “Then do it,” I groan, anxious to feel him inside of me. I don’t want to waste any time on idle conversation: with my fingers curled tight around his cock, I pull him into me. He comes willingly, grabbing his member and rubbing its fat head against my inner lips. His tip goes up and down over my folds and, when I least expect it, he finally thrusts. Fuck, I’ve missed him. There’s something ethereal about it; in a sense, it has to do with the size, but that’s not the most important thing… It’s the way he’s capable of
wielding it that leaves me pining for more. If fucking is an art, he has reached the pinnacle of mastery. Thrusting hard, his cock strains against my inner walls as it goes in, pleasure whipping my brain like a foreman. It doesn’t matter how many times I’m with him, it’s always transcendent whenever he slides his cock in for the first time. He keeps ramming me, his hands on my breasts squeezing hard. “God…” I mutter under my breath as he starts to go faster, his cock ravaging me with such intensity that I’m afraid my own soul might just shatter into a thousand little pieces. He doesn’t care about any of that, of course he keeps pounding and pounding, my body giving in to ecstasy. Moaning, I let my body fall back over the table. I arch my back as I climax, my body burning from the inside out. Like a wave you can’t fight off, his thrusts pull me deep into an abyss of pleasure and, for a second here, I almost pass out. Then, my body still adrift in a sea of pleasure, something lewd and wild crosses my mind.
I’m not done yet. I want more. “I want more…” I say, echoing my thoughts as I try hard to speak between breaths. He doesn’t even respond. He simply pulls his cock out of me and leans forward; he picks my limp body up from the table and, going down to his knees, puts me down onto the floor. Breathing hard, I roll to the side, anxious for what comes next. “Lay down,” I whisper at him, placing my hands on his chest and pushing him down. He does as I say and I climb on top of him, holding his cock with both my hands and pointing it straight up. I ease myself down, leaning forward and placing both my hands on his chest. He starts to trust then, but he does it at a gentle pace, Slowly, I move my hips at the same time, rolling them over his waist as I feel his cock sliding in and out of me. Slowly, he starts to up the pace, bucking his hips harder at me. “Harder,” I find myself moaning, my voice echoing in the empty restaurant. He understands
what I mean pretty fast. I close my eyes, surrendering to heavenly bliss has Palmer buries his cock inside of me. I can’t even start to describe how it feels. It’s almost as if I died and went to Heaven. He’s thrusting as hard as he can, his cock sliding in my pussy to the hilt while he keeps his lips pressed against mine. My nerve endings are a mess, pleasure coming at me from all angles. My brain is shutting down, all of my senses becoming overloaded. And, amidst all this chaos, all I do is scream as loud as I can, the fact that my throat is sore as hell long forgotten. “You’re mine,” Palmer says, his hips slapping against my ass. “No,” I somehow manage to mutter between screams. It’s hard to get the words out - scratch that, it’s almost impossible. Even so, I struggle and do it. “You… You’re mine,” I say, my heart tightening up as the words roll out from between my lips. I feel his hand on my hair then and, twisting it, he grabs a handful. I throw my head back as he
pulls, my back arched as he starts thrust at a completely maddening pace. My sense of self disappears, and all of my senses shut down. I don’t feel pleasure - I am pleasure. I come hard. No, that doesn’t make justice to what I’m experiencing right now. I explode. I go off like a nuclear bomb, my body burning in ecstasy. Supporting myself with my hands on his chest, I breathe out sharply, trying not to pass out. My mind is running on fumes, all of my thoughts nothing more than a scattered collection of images and sounds. I roll to the side, a cascade of moans falls from my lips, my body sensitive to every single touch. His cock pops out of my pussy, and I close my eyes as I lay down on the floor. A few seconds—that’s all I need. God, I need to catch my breath. Have I ever felt this exhausted? “Need a break?” I hear him say, and that wakes up something inside me. Of course I don’t need a break. Not when I’m with him. Grabbing me by the waist, he forces me to roll
to the side, making me lay belly down on the floor. He climbs on top of me and, sliding one hand under my belly, makes me stick my ass up. "Fuck me..." I whimper, my voice tinged with what sounds like begging. I raise my ass back in his direction, my back tracing an upwards line towards him. He grins as I beg, and slaps my ass, a red mark appearing immediately as I moan loudly. "Fuck me, please, Palmer." His fingers go under my ass and between my legs, rubbing against the wet lips of my pussy. I’m desperate right now, I need his cock more than anything. Luckily, he doesn’t want to make me wait: he presses his hips against me, the tip of his cock finding my wetness and, parting my folds wide, slowly enters me, each inch of his earning a gasp from my mouth. He’s going slow, but I want it all, and I want it here and now. I press my body back against him, forcing his cock to go all the way in one swooping motion, like a sword sheathed to the hilt. I don’t need to say a thing; he knows what I want, and he knows how I want it.
He grabs me by the hips, both his thumbs resting against the dimples in my lower back and, holding my body still, he starts going back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of me furiously. My ragged breathing turns into wild moans, and these moans turn into low screams of furious pleasure. My fingers turn into claws against the floor, lines of pain and pleasure forming around my eyes. My lips are pursed, my teeth gritted. He’s coming at me hard and mercilessly, the sound of his thighs slapping my ass growing louder as his cock keeps on ravaging me. "Harder! Harder!" I scream out and Palmer obliges, upping his rhythm to a tempo so rough I’m amazed I can keep up with him. But not only can I keep up, I also want and need to keep going like this; I need to feel ravaged, to feel utterly and completely destroyed with a pleasure so intense it scorches all of my thoughts. He wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, both our bodies glistening with it. Palmer grits his teeth in effort as his body keeps on rocking against mine, my whole body hurting with
the ferocity with which he’s fucking me. "Yes... Yes..." I moan, over and over again, my head resting against the mattress as if I have no more strength left in my body to raise it. “So… fucking… tight,” he groans and, even though I can’t see him, I can already imagine the wide grin he has on his face. He slaps my ass hard as his cock ravages me, my inners walls tightening around his member, each stroke of his driving us closer to the brink of madness. And he simply can't stop. He’s fucking me wildly, my mind completely overwhelmed by the sensations jolting through my body. I feel like his prey right now. "Don't..." He doesn't need to hear the rest of my words to know what I want, but I carry on. "Don't stop! Don't stop!" He keeps going and going until my pussy tightens so hard around his cock it’s almost a miracle he still manages to keep on thrusting. He savors my tightness with each stroke, burying himself deep inside me and then retreating until
only his tip remains in me. One final and deep stroke and a wild scream scratches the back of my throat, bubbling up to my lips as a desperate cry of pleasure. Palmer tightens his grip in my hips, keeping me in place as he fucks me into obliviousness with a savage fury, my whole body spasming in a seizure of ecstasy. I twitch and spasm until all strength leaves my limbs, my body collapsing onto the bed completely spent. Following after me, Palmer rests his body on top of mine, his cock still firmly planted inside my pussy, his chest and stomach lying against my back. He rocks his body against mine like that, his cock moving back and forth with a will of its own; Palmer’s rhythm only changes when the insanity of release takes over him. I can almost feel the adrenaline raging in his veins, crawling under his skin and making him feel as if he’s about to burst. His muscles tense hard and, for a moment, he even stops breathing, his mind directing all vital functions to the only thing that matters right now—pleasure.
He chokes a groan on his throat, and I feel a current going from deep inside of him to his cock. He exhales between gritted teeth as his cock spasms violently inside me, his cum darting out and filling me up. He buries himself as deep as he can go, drawing a cry from me as he does it; he holds there, feeling the spasms of his cock spread through his whole body. “This…this was perfect,” he whispers against my ear, and then rolls down to the side and sprawls his arms to the side. “It was,” I agree, rolling to my back and looking up at the ceiling. Yes, this was perfect…but I still haven’t told him all about Percy. And I’m afraid of what might happen when I do.
Nicole
“It feels so different,” Palmer whispers, looking up at the ceiling. We’re still lying on the floor of his restaurant, my head resting against his chest as he holds me close. “What?” I ask him, slowly moving my face so that I’m looking at him. “The restaurant,” he replies, his eyes still focused on something that I can’t quite see. Maybe he isn’t looking at anything. Maybe he’s just looking inward, rummaging through all the thoughts he guards so well. “It’s always full, you know?” he continues, distractedly running one hand through my hair. “It’s different when it’s empty. It feels like an empty shell.” “Tomorrow it’ll be full again,” I tell him,
turning to him and placing one hand on his chest. “You’ll see.” “I doubt that,” he whispers, the tone of his voice so casual and indifferent that I can’t quite decide what he’s feeling right now. It almost seems like he’s trying to detach himself from his restaurant, the one thing in the world he seems to care about. It breaks my heart to see him talk like this. “You can’t doubt yourself,” I try and tell him, my mouth going dry as the words leave my lips. How can I be telling him all this when I’m the one that took the leash off Percy? It’s my fault The Pearl on Park is having issues. If I hadn’t behaved like I did, complaining about a man I knew nothing about, none of this would be happening. Sure, the slow march of progress would eventually force me to close down my restaurant, but so what? That’s the cycle of life. If it isn’t Palmer’s restaurant, it’ll be a shopping mall next week, or some high-rise condo. But no, I had to bitch about the competition to Percy, and he took it upon himself to start a war
against a man who doesn't deserve any of it. “It’s over, Nicole.” His voice ... so casual; cold even. It’s almost as if he doesn’t care about what happens next. It hurts to hear him speak about his restaurant like this; I know that, more than anything, he wanted it to be a success. And now his dreams seem to have been crushed. “It doesn’t need to happen like this,” I insist, not sure if I believe my own words. What do I know about anything? I’m just the owner of a small bistro restaurant; I never had to deal with investors or anything like that. I know absolutely nothing about the inner workings of a multi-million dollar enterprise. “Forget about it. Whatever happens, happens,” he whispers, his vacant gaze reaching for some place where I can’t reach him. I just stay there, nestled against his body and staring at his face, the dim lights of the restaurant making his features sharper. He’s smiling, but there’s a certain sadness to it.
It’s almost tragic. More than just it being about the restaurant, I see a deeper worry in his eyes. He feels as if the clock is running out on him, and I know he believes his next breath might be the last one. I can’t even imagine how it must feel to know he won’t have the time to see his dream come true. Then, almost as if we we're commenting on the weather, he simply shrugs and sits up. He stretches his arms and then goes up to his feet, jumping inside his boxer briefs and pants. He starts making his way toward the kitchen and I follow after him, throwing his button-up shirt over my shoulders. “Hungry?” he asks me, opening the large fridge that seems to take over half the wall of his industrial kitchen, large enough to house a small army of cooks and waiters. “I’m fine,” I reply offhandedly, still thinking about how I should tell him. Because I have to tell him I’m to blame; if it weren’t for me, The Pearl on Park would be a success. “No, you’re not,” he chuckles, more to
himself than to me. “Nothing good happens on an empty belly, you know?” He continues, grabbing a couple of eggs and bacon from inside the fridge. He grabs one of the frying pans hanging overhead and lights up the stove, and I just watch as he cuts a small square of butter and lets it fall from his fingers into the pan. “Palmer...there’s something I must tell you.” I don’t even know how I summoned the courage to tell him that. But, somehow, I did. He raises his eyes, his gaze meeting mine, and then he just waits for me to continue. “I was the one that -” The words lose themselves on the way up my throat as I catch a glimpse of something on the counter next to me. There’s an open notebook there, a fountain pen resting between pages, and my eyes are immediately drawn to what’s written in there. “Nicole?” I hear Palmer’s voice, but I’m not even processing what he’s saying. I’m just reading what’s on the notebook; it’s a long list of ingredients and
procedures, all of them a step toward reverseengineering my grandmother’s recipe. No, it can’t be. I try and tell myself that I’m dreaming, but there’s no mistaking it. It’s all there, in his little notebook. He’s been trying to figure out my family’s recipe, and that without telling me. But why would he do that? Unless...unless he was planning to use it as a hail Mary attempt at saving his restaurant. Maybe he hasn’t given up on The Pearl on Park. Maybe he’s still trying to save the only thing he cares about, even if that means stealing from me. Even if that means betraying me. “Nicole, are you okay?” He asks me, taking one step toward me, but I can’t even look into his eyes. I just purse my lips, throw his shirt over the counter, and walk back to the dining room. He follows after me, surprised, but I remain silent as I pick my clothes up from the floor and get dressed. “I just remembered,” I tell him, lying with every single tooth I have, “there’s somewhere I need to be right now.”
“Nicole -” he calls after me, but I don’t stop. I just walk out of his restaurant, tears stinging my eyes. How could I’ve been so wrong about Palmer?
Palmer
One minute I'm offering to make Nicole bacon and eggs, and the next she's running out of the restaurant as if her feet are on fire. She couldn't get out of here fast enough. She didn't so much as give me an explanation, or even a look. I've never seen her act that way before. Things were going so well … maybe even perfect. At least more perfect than I've ever known a relationship with another person to be. My mind replays all of the moments we shared this week, to see if anything was amiss. Was there something I didn't pay attention to? But the more I think about it, the more I think that all of the moments were perfect. Like the other day—sharing one of the best steak recipes with her. I stirred the chocolate sauce on the stove. The
kitchen smelled amazing, and we were still standing there in an after-sex glow. I was shirtless and she couldn't keep her eyes off of my body. I couldn't keep mine off hers either. I mixed in heavy cream, dark chocolate, and chili pepper. To give it some kick, I said with a wink. "And you're serving this on a steak?" It's going to be mind blowing—just wait and see," I promised her with a smile. "When I think of chocolate, I think of ice cream, or sundaes, or strawberries, or cake, or even truffles … but steak?" she said. "Trust me." "I do," she said. The way she said that with the depth of her eyes more than her words, made me know she meant it. And it also made me melt faster than the chocolate in that saucepan. I continued to whisk the chocolate until it was thick and glossy like a silk robe. I added a splash more cream, and a sprig of rosemary to top it off. "Perfect," I smiled. "Could you grab me that
filet?" She nodded, and brought me the perfectly caramelized steak. "How did you get so good at cooking steaks?" she asked. "That's a secret," I smiled. She watched me as I drizzled the chocolate sauce over the filet and carefully sliced off a piece. "Here," I said. "Taste this." She leaned in and carefully parted her lips. I brought the fork to her mouth, carefully placing it on her tongue with my free hand underneath it. "Oh. My. God. That's good. Sinfully good, Palmer," she said, her face flushing—either from the heat of the chili pepper, or from me hand feeding her the amazing steak. I smiled at her reaction. "There's a hint of coffee in there too," I told her. "Can you taste it? It brings out the chocolate." Her eyes rolled back in her head as she chewed. "You are a culinary god," she said. "I'm dead serious."
My thoughts come back to the present. That was one moment of many perfect moments. She called me a god. Everything was going so well. But now? Now Nicole's colder than a freezerburned drumstick. I pick up my cell phone and dial her. The phone rings and goes to voicemail. Fuck. Now she's ignoring me. What the fuck is going on? I call her restaurant and Kate picks up. "You've reached The Old Tale, how can I help you?" "Hi, Kate—it's me, Palmer." "What do you want?" "I need to talk to Nicole and she isn't answering her phone," I say. "Is she there?" There's a moment of silence. "Please—I just need a quick word with her." "Sorry, she isn't here," Kate says. "She left me running the restaurant today." "Is she OK? I mean, she isn't answering her phone," I say. "She isn't returning my calls. I left
countless messages, and it's driving me crazy because I have no idea what's wrong." "Look, I'm going to be blunt with you," she says. "Nicole is through with you." "What?" I say, unable to comprehend what she's saying. But instead of clarifying, or saying anything further, Kate hangs up and the line goes dead. Well, that wasn't helpful. That gave me more questions than answers. I look around the kitchen and pace back and forth. What is it, what is it … why is she so upset? Then I look down at my recipe notes. They're in an open notebook on the counter. Did she see these notes when she was here? I shake my head. No, I'm sure she didn't. I walk over to the bar and pour myself a drink. I look across the kitchen, and then walk out into the dining room. To think—in no time, this place will be turned into god knows what. It will no longer be the culmination of all my hopes and dreams. All of my goals will be gone down the drain. I pour a second drink and feel my body start
to relax. At least I gave it everything I got, right? I can look myself in the mirror every morning and say I tried … and I guess that's more than most people can say. I pour a third drink and gulp it down. Now the liquor is really starting to take affect and I feel a slow blurring of my thoughts at the edges of my mind. My body is completely relaxed at this point, and my mind doesn't have a filter. With Nicole deserting me … and the restaurant closing … what do I have left in New York City? Maybe it's best if I leave this place … this city completely. As soon as this thought enters my mind, it takes hold and solidifies itself as a real solution. It feels like the right thing to do. Yes, I should leave. There's nothing left for me here.
Nicole
I'm home wearing my favorite stretchy pants, a pint of chocolate ice cream in one hand, and an entire bottle of red wine in the other. And I've already eaten my way through half the pint of ice cream and am on my second bottle of wine. Don't judge. Desperate times calls for … some indulgences. I'm almost through that second bottle of wine, and I'm lying on the couch watching an old romantic comedy. It's called "When Harry Met Sally" and it's one of my favorites. It doesn't matter how awful of a day I've had, when it comes on TV, I'm captivated and my mood is transformed. Literally, there is always at least one scene that will have me laughing. Like when Meg Ryan's character, who plays Sally, does the famous
fake orgasm scene in Katz Delicatessen. She just keeps telling Harry that all women fake orgasms and he can't believe that. He says no way, that can't be true because he's been with countless women and they've all had orgasms. But Sally just kind of smiles and insists he's wrong and that what he's saying is a typical guy thing to say, you know? They go back and forth like this until Sally sort of puts her foot down and proves it to him by having a fake orgasm right there in the deli. In front of the other diners, and waitresses, and everything. I always get a kick out of that because she doesn't seem embarrassed ... she just launches right in. And she does it so well and is so convincing that when a waitress walks by she famously says, "I'll have what she's having." And of course she totally wins Harry over … and the rest of us. It's a great scene. And you know why? Because it's an honest scene. I know someone who could stand to learn a lot about honesty: Palmer. I take another swig from the wine bottle and lie back down on the couch. My body is warm and
loose, and I have the distinct underwater feeling that I get when I've had too much to drink. I watch as Harry's character finally says, "I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." That line always gets me. I don't know if it's the excessive wine, or my hormones, or both, but now I'm crying. Literally crying. I can't help it. I'm even sniffling a little. I pull the sleeves of my sweatshirt down low and use it to wipe my eyes. I feel stupid for crying, but it's uncontrollable. The movie poses the problem—does sex mess everything up? Like can a man and a woman be friends without letting sex get in the way of things? I sigh. What if I never slept with Palmer? How would things be different, if at all? Why couldn't I have just kept things professional? Instead, I let down my guard. I was so stupid. I
made myself vulnerable. I was too available … even getting out of bed to see him in the middle of the night, and look what happened? What the hell was I thinking that night? I was used. Plain and simple. And the worst thing about it is that I was blind to it all. I didn't even recognize what was happening. Just then, I hear a knock on the door. My head feels like it weighs a ton and is lodged in a fish bowl, but when I open the door, I play it off like I haven't been drinking a thing. But the person at the door is Kate, and she's not buying it. She knows me too well. "Uh oh … how many bottles of red have you had tonight?" she says in a mocking tone. "None," I lie, and then backpedal. "Ok, well … maybe one." Kate looks around my living room and spies both bottles. "You mean two?" "OK fine, so sue me… I've had two, but I've also had a rough week so cut me some slack," I say.
Kate laughs. "Not this movie again," she says, looking over my shoulder and directly at the TV. This must be the millionth time you've seen it, right? "Not a million," I laugh. "But OK … maybe nine hundred and ninety nine thousand." "Sounds about right." "Did everything go OK at the restaurant today?" I ask. "Went great," she says, "But I did get a phone call?" "A phone call?" "Palmer called looking for you," she says. "He sounded pretty desperate." Hearing his name makes me cry all over again. I try to hide it by looking away. I don't want Kate to see me like this, but nothing gets past Kate. "Come here, babe," she says, putting one arm around me. "It's OK. Everything's gonna be fine." "I'm so stupid," I mumble into her shoulder. "So so stupid." "Don't say that," she says, brushing the hair away from my face with her fingers. "You're one of
the smartest people I know. I wish I had a quarter of your drive and determination." "But look at me," I sob. "I'm a mess. I feel for a man who was the enemy, and he used me. I honestly believed me had something special. I believed we were falling for each other." "Look at me," Kate says, pulling my face close to hers. "Forget about Palmer. There are plenty of fish in the sea."
Palmer
“You were telling the truth,” the blonde girl cries out, her jaw hanging open as she takes in the luxurious dining area of The Pearl on Park. “You really are Palmer!” “That’s right,” I tell her casually, taking off my jacket and throwing it over one of the empty tables. I knock down a vase of flowers, but I couldn’t care less; this ship is already going down, so what do some flowers matter? As far as I’m concerned, the whole place could go down in flames. Hell, I might even be the one setting a match to it. “Where are you going, Palmer?” The girl asks me, closing the distance between me and trying to kiss me. I guess now that she believes I’m Palmer, the oh-so-fucking-famous-chef, that she won’t
grow tired of using my name. I sidestep her fast, and then make my way toward the bar. I step inside the service area, and then grab a bottle of a 35year-old Yamazaki whisky. The whole bottle costs more than thirty thousand dollars, but I don’t give a shit; I need a fucking drink right now. Well, I need another drink. I’ve spent the whole night trying to drown myself in beer and cheap liquor, trying to forget all about The Pearl on Park, Nicole, and what must be my impending death sentence. A failing restaurant, a girl on the run, and a fucking brain tumor—yeah, my life’s perfect right now. Even Pollock’s paintings aren’t as messy as my life has become. “Oh, I don’t like whisky,” the girl tells me, and I instantly regret bringing her here. What the hell was I thinking? Sure, she looked fine from a distance—firm breasts, curves that seemed like a perfect fit for my hands, and a smile easy enough for me to know she’d be down for some fun. But that’s not all there is to a woman. Not after Nicole. “Can you fix me a Sex on the Beach?” she
asks me, looking at me as if she expected me to put down my bottle of whisky and get started on her fucking cocktail. “Here,” I mutter, grabbing a beer from under the counter and slamming it down in front of her. I do it so fast that foam starts rising up the neck of the bottle, and she jumps back from the counter to avoid spilling some on her dress. “I didn’t ask for a beer,” she continues, her tone of voice now telling me she’s getting slightly annoyed at me. Not annoyed enough to leave, it seems. “That’s what you’re getting tonight.” Without even looking back at her, I start pouring the Yamazaki into a glass, watching as the amber liquid splashes on top of two ice cubes. I let it flow from the bottle onto the glass until I’m sure there’s almost five thousand dollars of whisky on top of the ice, and only then do I put the cap back on the bottle. “It’s true what they say about you,” she says, leaning against the counter in such a way that I can see nothing but her cleavage.
“And what’s that?” “You really are an asshole,” she replies, giggling as if she had just told me the funniest joke in the universe. “A rich asshole, mind you,” I shrug, waving my free hand at the empty restaurant. “I guess being rich balances out all the rest, doesn’t it?” “Maybe it does,” she laughs, going around the counter and biting down on her bottom lip. “Amanda, I -” “My name’s not Amanda,” she tells me, taking one more step toward me. “Listen, Anna.” “It’s not Anna either,” she continues, placing one hand on my chest and allowing it to slide down to my belt. “Look, whatever the fuck your name is, I’m not interested,” I find myself saying. And, fuck, I can’t believe I’ve said it. This is a first for me. She was about go down on her knees and here I am, refusing a pretty woman’s lips just because I’m feeling down. “Then why did you bring me here?” she snaps
at me. “I have no fucking idea.” I’m guessing she didn’t like my honesty, pursing her lips, she steals the glass of whisky from my hands and throws its content at my face. I stand frozen in place as five-thousand dollars worth of whisky drip down my hair and face, and then I just watch her snatch her purse from the counter and storm out of the restaurant, slamming the door behind her. Good fucking riddance. Alone again, I turn my attention back to the whisky bottle sitting on the counter. “Hey, ol’ friend,” I whisper to the bottle as I pour some more inside my now empty glass. “Now that we kicked out Amanda—or whatever the fuck her name was—I guess we can enjoy each other’s company, huh?” Without even blinking, I throw my head back and down the whisky in one single gulp. Then, as the fire goes down my throat, lightning seems to take over my mind. The memories come fast, and they come hard.
Cooking with Nicole in here. Having her cook for me at her apartment. Having lunch with her family. Her curves, the warmth of her skin. Her smile. What the fuck am I doing here, talking to a bottle of a whisky like an alcoholic jackass? I love her. If there’s one thing I’m sure of in my life— however long it may be—is that I fucking love Nicole. Leaving the bottle forgotten on the counter, I grab my jacket from the table and put it on. Then, I grab my helmet and put it on as I race out of the restaurant, my heart beating at a thousand miles per hour. I can’t even think straight as I hop on my bike and make my way toward her apartment, hell bent on kicking down her door and taking her into my arms, the one place where she belongs. Forget about money, fame, and restaurants. Nicole’s the only thing I care about. I park my bike just around the block, and I’m
about to make my way down the street as I see a cab stop in front of her apartment building. I stare at it through the visor of my tinted helmet, and I feel my heart shrinking inside my chest as I recognize the guy getting out the cab. Percy fucking Whitman. What is he doing in Nicole’s apartment building? I watch him enter the building, and then I just sit there on my bike, my pulse quickening. I see dark spots taking over the corner of my eyes, and I grit my teeth to try and regain some focus. Nicole knows Percy, which means she was aware of the war he was waging against me. But it doesn’t make any sense, unless ... unless Nicole’s behind Percy. Unless she wanted to see The Pearl on Park close its doors for good.
Palmer
"Where would you like these tables placed?" a man says. "Load them into the truck," I say. "Everything goes." "Roger that." I watch as every last piece of furniture, every utensil, every steel cooking tool is hauled out of the building. They're going to be auctioned off, and the money used to pay back my investors. I watch as my dream is dismantled, piece-bypiece. The Pearl on Park … a one-time dream, is now a painful reminder of my failure. But it's over, and I'm ready to close these doors for good. I'm ready to finally let this all go and put it behind me. I walk outside and tape an announcement to
the door. It reads: "Closure notice: The Pearl on Park is now closing its doors until further notice. We apologize for the closure. The building will be under new ownership. We thank each and every one of you for your loyal support." I stand back and look at the notice. I could've had someone else do it, but this restaurant was my dream. If someone has to bury it, it'll be me. It seems like the right thing to do, anyways. "You're finally admitting defeat," a voice says. I swing my body to see who it is, and my pulse increases. It's the last person on earth who I wanted to see. It's Percy Whitman. "What do you want?" I ask. It's an unseasonably cold day in New York, and he's wearing a black coat that sits in start contract to his pale skin. He has both hands shoved into his pockets and he's rocking on his heels. The wind lifts the edges of his thin, pale hair. "I just had to see it for myself," he says, a smile parting his lips.
I can't help but ball one hand into a fist. Who the fuck does he think he is? That arrogant bastard has the gall to come here and rub it all in my face? It's taking everything in me to not put my fist through his face right now. "See what?" I growl, taking a step closer. "Your handy work? It's unbelievable how quickly you moved. But I guess you had help, with Nicole and all. Did you two plan my restaurant's demise over cocktails? Or was it over lunch?" He looks at me and there's a genuine surprise in his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says. I laugh. "Oh come on—spare me the bullshit. You know exactly what I'm talking about." "It's true that I've never liked you," he says. "You've made that loud and clear." "And I think you're a cocky bastard, and am glad you aren't triumphant with this place," he says. "But Nicole had nothing to do with it." "What?"
Wait, is he telling me the truth? Have I misunderstood this situation? Is Nicole innocent? "It's true," he says, his lips still cracked in a smile. "She had nothing to do with it. I was the one who never liked you. And I've been genuine in the fact that I've never appreciated your style of cooking. You call it high-end cuisine, but I've seen it done better elsewhere. You cook without heart. It's like I can taste your cockiness through the cuisine." I'm trying not to roll my eyes. I'm in no mood to get a lecture from this food critic asshole. Here I am, standing on the street corner, taping a closure notice to my dreams, and Percy's feeding me a line of bullshit. Percy continues, "Your restaurant closing is well deserved because you're an asshole for anting to steal Nicole's grandmother's recipe." Those last words catch me off guard. "Wait, what did you just say?" "Oh don't play it off like you don't know what I'm talking about," Percy says. "Even Nicole
knows. She saw it with her own eyes." My heart leaps into my throat and my head spins. The realization sinks in—so that's why Nicole has been acting so strange and is refusing to speak with me! I've got to act fast. I can't waste another minute. "Thanks, Percy," I say, patting him on the shoulder. He looks confused, but shrugs it off and walks away. I walk away from the restaurant and take out my cell phone. I have a few calls that I need to make. Maybe I still have time. Maybe it isn't time for me to lock my restaurant doors just yet.
Nicole
I'm zipping my purse and getting ready to leave when Kate shows up. "You have to see this," she says. She reaches into her own purse and pulls out a small envelope. She hands it to me. "What is it?" I say. "Just open it." Kate loves to keep me on edge sometimes, but I hate surprises. I break the seal and open the envelope. Inside there is a card the color of crème Brule. The weight and texture of it in my hands tells me it was printed on high quality stationary. The paper almost feels like linen. An expensive linen. Its edges are lined in gold foil. The card starts with a quote and I read it out
loud: "In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit." That quote is followed by yet another one that reads: "The finest steel has to go through the hottest fire." At the bottom of the quote, there's a goldfoiled imagine of a fire, the flames dancing at the edges of the card. "Who gave you this?" I say, handing the card back to her. "Turn it over," Kate says, refusing to take it back just yet. So I turn it over and read it out loud again: "Join us for a special evening at The Pearl on Park as we host our final dinner." I look up at Kate. "You have to be joking, right?" Why would she give me this? She knows how
I feel. She knows how many pints of ice cream I've eaten my way through over Palmer, and how my ass is now probably going to be wider than the state of Texas because of it. "I think we should go," she says. "Well, I was trying to leave when you showed up." She shakes her head. "I mean that I think we should accept the invite and go to Palmer's dinner," Kate says. "No way," I say, shaking my head in return. "I'm not going. There's nothing you can say to change my mind. I have to put my foot down because that would be like pouring salt into an open wound." "No it wouldn't, trust me," she says. "Remember that time you crashed a motorcycle and I met you at the emergency room and the doctors insisted they give you a shot right in the muscle of your ass—as an effective painkiller —and you resisted and tensed up so terribly that they had a hard time getting the needle in? I thought they were going to break that needle in
your ass." "Thanks for the reminder … but what does that have to do with anything?" she asks. "I just mean that if I show up to Palmer's dinner, it will be like that—equally painful for me," I say. "Oh come on, that's a little dramatic," Kate says rolling her eyes. "Trust me, it's not. You've seen what a mess I've been over this." "You do have a point—the night I showed up to find you watching romantic comedy re-runs with wine stains all over your shirt I thought I was going to have to stage an intervention," she laughs. "Ha ha very funny … go ahead and laugh now," I say with a smile, "but the next time you go through some messy break up, I'll be the one laughing." "You're over thinking this. Look at it this way," she says. "After what Palmer did to you, you should go there and watch him go down in flames. This isn't something you should miss. That's all I'm saying."
Maybe she has a point. Palmer screwed me over, and it would be kind of satisfying to see him get what he deserves. Because he does deserve this. That's for sure. And I'm not the kind of person that seeks revenge. It might be the closure I need. Like when you see someone deceased one final time and the realization sets in that they are no longer the person you loved and you know that person is really gone, and everything is different. Maybe I need to see that Palmer is gone from my life, instead of running from him. "I'll think about it," I say, and Kate smiles.
Palmer
I'm more nervous than I've ever been in my life. The restaurant is packed. The invitations were a success by the sheer number of people who have showed up so far— friends, acquaintances, colleagues, and what seems to be nearly every restaurant critic in the city … even Percy Whitman. It's exactly what I hoped for. I shake hands. I smile. And I make my rounds. As I walk around the restaurant, I pick up pieces of conversation. I get a personal peek into the lives of all these people. I hear one man say, "It's been weeks, but I think I've made up my mind. I want her back." The other man considers this, chewing the last bites of his crostini. "Did she get a haircut?" he
asks. "I think so, yes. Why?" "Forget about her then," the man says. "I hate to break it to you, but you're out of luck. She doesn't want you back." I continue walking, unable to hear the rest of that conversation, but it gives me some comfort to hear that not everyone's life I perfect. I walk past a group of women holding wine flutes filled with champagne. They are all wearing short, pearl necklaces, and I wonder if it's in honor of The Pearl on Park. I overhear their conversation as well. One woman says, "Can you believe the bouncer at the door asked for my ID?" "You didn't bring it?" another woman responds. "I totally forgot it, so I look the bouncer in the eyes and I tell him I'm 30. But he just stares back at me and insists that he still needs my ID. So I turn to him and say that I've just told him I'm 30. What woman lies about that?" The women laugh at this, but one remains
fairly quiet. The woman telling the story turns to her and says, "Why are you so quiet, Heather?" And in a nonchalant sort of way, Heather turns to them and says, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm just saving my personality for when everyone else gets here." They all have a good laugh at that, and I have to admit, despite my nerves about the whole evening, even I'm amused. I hear another group of women talking. They're eating the blue cheese and pear tartlets that I've prepared especially for this evening … and they're not just eating one, they seem to be eating them by the handful. I love seeing that. People enjoying the food, and relaxing enough to have a good time. One woman says, "Every psycho I've ever dated was an Aries." The other woman replies, "Every psycho I've ever dated believed in astrology. But my new boyfriend Tom, well, whenever he travels internationally, he texts me the minute he gets WiFi."
The first woman puts one hand over her chest. "That's so sweet. That's all I want … to be someone's first thought when they WiFi." I move on, and smile. But my smile fades when I see Nicole's table. It's still empty. What is she doesn't show up? If she doesn't show up, this will all have been for nothing. Just then, I feel a strong hand clap me on the shoulder. "I must tell you," the man says, "These Prosciutto-wrapped asparagus might be some of the best I've ever eaten. And that's saying something because I've eaten my way around the world." "That means a lot," I say. "Thank you." But as much as it does make me feel good to see people enjoying my cuisine, it doesn't fix the fact that Nicole isn't here. Brit walks out from the kitchen and whispers into my ear, "We need to get started," she says. "It's time for the main course." "Let's give it a few minutes," I say, hoping to buy a little more time. I don't want to start without
Nicole. "Fine, a few more minutes," Brit says. "But that's it. We can't keep stalling." As she walks off, my heart's on fire. Maybe this was a stupid idea. I mean, if Nicole has refused to take any of my calls or even text me back, what makes me think she'll show up to this dinner? I can feel my optimism fading faster than a phone battery on 20 percent. Yes, this was definitely stupid. I never should've— But then my thoughts are interrupted when I see who just walked through the front door. And she's gorgeous. Drop-dead gorgeous with her hair framing her face like a halo. Everyone seems to turn in their seats when she enters. It's Nicole. She came.
Nicole
As soon as I walk through the doors of the Pearl, I'm taken by surprise. This doesn't look like a restaurant's final night. Every critic in the city is here. There's Francis Ball, the food critic for the New York Times for the last decade. There's also Rachel Smith, a celebrity chef with over a dozen #1 cookbooks under belt, and also Joe March, the obnoxious chef who tells it like it is and in doing so has won a Pulitzer for keeping every chef in the world on their toes. Even Percy Whitman is here. Why is he here if he hates Palmer so much? Maybe he's here for the same reason I am … to watch him go down in a ball of flames. But sitting here now, that's not the impression I get. It doesn't feel like Palmer's going down at all.
In fact, it feels like the opposite is true; it feels like he's on top. This room is filled with the most impressive culinary group of people ever gathered in a single room. I get the sense that something big is coming. A waiter comes by and offers me a glass of champagne. I thank him and take a sip. I recognize the variety right away. It's Champagne Collet Brut Art Deco. One of my favorites. Did Palmer know that? I take another sip and am overcome with the flavors of raspberry and apricot, and even candied lemon peel. Everything about it is perfect. "Can I have your attention please, everyone," Palmer says, and my eyes dart to the front of the dining room. "First, I want to thank each and every one of you for being here tonight—even my most outspoken critics." Palmer looks directly at Percy as he says this and I hear some low murmurs in the crowd. He continues, "I have a very special evening
planned tonight." "This should be good," Kate whispers into my ear. She promised to join me tonight, and I'm glad she came. If she didn't, I'm not sure I would've been able to muster the courage to come here alone. "I'm excited to present a dish to you this evening that I've worked long and hard on," Palmer says to the crowd. He then lifts the silver lid off of a dish and everyone's necks are craning to get a good look at it. "Tonight I present to you a Bodacious Bucatini Bolognese with heirloom tomatoes," he says, and the entire dining room erupts in applause. I hear whispers from the table next to me. "I didn't know he had a dish like this," one woman says. And my heart sinks. It's sinking faster than the Titanic. I've been tricked. Again. If I weren't already so emotionally spent, I'd cry. But I can't even cry right now because that emotion has turned into anger. I'm angry and shocked.
He adapted my grandmother's secret recipe and he invited me here tonight to rub it in my face and use it as his own. My face is hotter than a campfire. "I told you," I say to Kate. "I never should've come here tonight. This was a huge mistake." Kate doesn't say anything, but instead tenderly places her hand on top of mine. Waiters are bringing this dish to every table and diners are smiling. Critics are taking notes and their faces tell me just how impressed they are. I'm astonished as I look around the dining room. I've never felt so bad in my life. There's this blackness in the pit of my stomach. It's like I don't want to die, but I don't exactly want to live, and I feel lonely … but I don't want to talk to anyone. I just want to crawl into my bed and hide away from the world. I feel lost. I'm disgusted with myself. My limbs feel heavy, like they're weighed down with lead anchors. It feels like I'm on a bus and I'm ringing to signal the driver to stop because all I want to do is
get off this ride, but the bus just keeps going, and all I can do is watch the world move by through the windows. I think I've hit an all-time low. Great. Just when I thought I wasn't going to cry, I feel hot tears well up behind my eyelids and they're threatening to spill over. I beg my body to not betray me like this. I can't cry. Not now. Not in front of this crowd. I gather my purse and turn to Kate. "I'm sorry, but I have to leave." But just as I'm about to stand up, Palmer makes another announcement. And it's so surprising that I'm frozen to my seat.
Palmer
There are murmurs circulating through the crowd and my heart is beating so fast, I feel as if I might die right here, in front of the world's most powerful culinary critics. That would be embarrassing. I tell myself to breath. Just breathe. Everything is going to be OK. I hear a song play in my head: "Everything's gonna be alright, everything's gonna be okay." Right. It's now or never. This is the moment I've been waiting for. "I'm glad you are all enjoying this dish, but I have a confession to make," I say to the room, and every table goes silent. I'm talking silent enough to hear a fly land on a napkin. Every single set of eyes
is now fixed on me. "I invited you here tonight to help me surprise Chef Nicole," I say, and everyone is turning in their seats, looking for her. She seems genuinely surprised. "You see … one night she cooked this most amazing dish for me. It transported me to another time and place. A place of her ancestors. It was authentic, and so full of depth of flavor, and love, and creativity … and it told a story. More than that, it showed her genius as a fellow chef. I was planning to surprise her with this new dish tonight." There are now murmurs rumbling through the room again, but I continue on. "This new dish was supposed to be a blend of my style and hers … a collaboration, if you will." My eye's lock on Nicole's and I can't decipher what she's thinking. But she still seems to be in a state of shock. "I did this as a way to say that I love her—I love this woman—and sometimes different things come together, combine, and become something beautiful."
Now Nicole's holding one hand to her mouth and she's crying. Even from this distance, I can see the tears streaking down her cheeks. The entire room is clapping. "Bravo—congratulations!" I hear the crowd shout. But I raise my hand to silence them. "Please don't clap for me," I say. "Clap for Nicole. Congratulate her instead because she's the only reason I managed to do something like this. She has elevated the way I approach cooking and my own cuisine." The crowd grows louder. The clapping has now reached a fever pitch and everyone is on their feet, and is turning to Nicole. I watch as the major food critics approach her table. Rachel Smith reaches her first. "It's an honor," she says to Nicole. "I'd like to talk to you about a potential book deal. I think we could create a best selling cook book together." Nicole is speechless. She's beaming from ear to ear. Then Francis Ball and Joe March approach her, showering her with accolades, and I can tell this all feels so surreal to her.
It's as if she's trying to pinch herself, to ensure it isn't just a dream. I walk to her table and reach my hand out toward her. She takes my hand in hers and I pull her to her feet. As soon as she's standing, I pull her into my arms, and embrace her in a tight hug. God it feels so good to hold her again. It's been so long without her. Too long. And I never want that to happen again. I don't think I could be without her. I look directly into her eyes. "I love you," I say. "I love you too," she says, her lips curling into a smile. There's a new sparkle in her eyes, and I realize that I'm happy. Truly happy. I'm happier than I've ever been in my life. You know the feeling you get when you come home and your dog is excited to see you? He's so excited that his tail is wagging so hard it's knocking things off the coffee table and he's running up to you and licking you and making all sorts of excited puppy noises and so you pet him and smile and feel
content? Well, it's like that. The rest of the world dissolves and takes a backseat to Nicole … to my happiness. Nicole drags one hand to my cheek, tenderly cupping it. "I have a secret for you too," she says. "And what's that?" "I went behind your back and saw your doctor." "You did what?" I say, looking into her eyes. Why would she do that? I told her about that in strict confidence. She knows I didn't want to get a second opinion. "Before you get mad," she says, "you're an idiot." "What?" "You're an idiot because you were worried for nothing," she smiles. "The scans were wrong. You're not gonna die." "Well aren’t you full of surprises," I say. She brings her lips to mine, and as soon as I taste her sweet lips, an electric current travels down my spine.
"I want you, Palmer," she says. "I want you … now."
Nicole
I’ve never been this happy in my entire life. More than just happiness, there’s also love as well. For the first time in my life, I’m ready to share everything I have with another person. It doesn’t matter what—a recipe, my heart, my body… everything I have, now belongs to Palmer as well. I don’t even hear anyone. The whole place is completely packed, and everyone is looking at us, but I just don’t care. I’m looking into his deep blue eyes, and everything I care about seems to live in that gaze of his. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispers, grabbing my hand and offering me one of his heart-melting smiles. “Where to?” I ask him, even though I don’t
care about the where. I just want to be alone with him. “Have you ever ridden a bike before?” he asks me, that devious grin of his on his lips. I shake my head, biting down on my lip as I remember that roaring bike he drove to my restaurant that one night, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity to hesitate. “Come,” he tells me. With his hand on mine, he drags me out of the dining room and into the kitchen. “Brit, The Pearl on Park is yours for the night,” he tells one of the women in there. He grabs two helmets and his jacket, all of it sitting on a counter at the end of the room, and then guides me toward a corridor that leads to a service door. We’re in the building hall now, and we make our way toward the elevator at the end of it. He presses the button on the wall, and a fraction of a second later the doors swing open to allow us in. “I love you,” I tell him, my heart beating so fast it feels as if it’s about to explode. “I love you so much.”
“So do I,” he tells me, and then he’s on me. He pushes me back against the elevator door, crushing his mouth against mine, and I surrender to the most intense kiss of my life. My heart melts as I feel the tip of his tongue running between the crevice between my lips, and I simply rest my hands on his waist. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I shouldn’t have doubted –” “Shh,” he silences me, placing one finger over my lips. “No need for that,” he continues, and that’s when the doors slide open once more. We walk out into the lobby, and a few seconds later we’re in the street, the coldness of the night making my skin prickle. “Here,” he says, handing me his leather jacket. I try to protest, but he just forces me to wear it. Then, gently, he places one of the helmets over my head. “Ready?” he asks me, leading the way toward a bike parked around the corner. He swings one leg over it, and then fishes a key out of his pocket and revs up the engine, its roar cutting through the night.
Hesitantly, I climb on the back of the bike, and a few moments later we’re already cruising down the streets, my arms wrapped around his chest. Right now, I hear nothing but the roar of the engine and the thumping of my own heart. I keep my arms tight around him, and not because I’m afraid of falling, but because I don’t want to let go. We drive toward his apartment building, and the moment he parks his bike it takes us only a few minutes to get inside his apartment. The moment I hear the door closing behind me, I simply push myself up against him and go on tiptoes, my lips looking for his. “I need you,” I tell him, the words tumbling out from my lips like honey and silk. “Not as much as I need you,” he replies, taking his hands to my shoulders and pushing off the jacket down my arms. “I need my girl,” he continues, sweeping me off my feet and carrying me toward the couch in the center of the living room. I rest my hand on top of his and, looking into his eyes, I realize just how much I need him. I need
him now, and when I say now, I mean right now. I slide myself over to him, closing the gap between us, and place my hand right on his crotch. In two heartbeats, I feel his cock hardening under my fingers, straining against the fabric of his pants. Smiling, I curl my fingers around his thick shape and press hard on it. “You can’t wait, huh?” He says, echoing my own thoughts as he places one hand on my knee and slides it up until it meets the hem of my dress. I shiver softly at his touch, the sting of desire striking me at point blank. “No, I can’t," I tell him, squeezing his cock more harshly than I probably should. I just can’t help myself. “That makes two of us…” He whispers at me, a wicked grin dawning on his lips, “I’m just like you: I can’t wait.” With that, he slides his hand under my dress and only stops when he has his fingers pressed tight against my pussy. I grow wet in a fraction of a second, my thong dampening immediately. Biting on my lower lip, I let an expression of desire take over my face and lean
into him, crushing my mouth against his. Forcing his tongue past my lips, he pushes it inside of my mouth and runs it in soft gentle circles around my own. We start slow and tenderly, but our kiss quickly degenerates into wildness: we start to kiss as if we are possessed and, really, we are. We are possessed by lust and love; and above all, we are possessed by happiness. As we kiss, Palmer presses his hand harder against my pussy and, with a quick flick of his fingers, he pushes my thong to the side. I pant as I feel his index finger brushing against my pussy lips and, when he presses it over my clit, I go completely mad and nibble at his bottom lip, pulling it back with my teeth. Taking one hand to my hair, he yanks on it and, at the same time, slides his finger all the way inside of my pussy. I press my legs together, trapping his hand in place, and he pushes his finger even deeper inside of me, his fingertip rubbing against my G-spot. As he touches me there, the gentle flames of pleasure and desire start raging and raging, turning my mind into a furnace.
“I’m going to fuck you right here,” he says, hunger in his voice, “I can’t wait. I really can’t, Nicole.” “That’s all I need to know,” I say, my voice quivering as he rubs his fingertip against my G-spot. Flicking his wrist, he starts to move his finger in and out of my pussy, always pushing it all the way in until it’s touching that sweet hidden spot in my body. Anxiety rushing through my veins, I start to stroke him over his pants and then, not satisfied with it, I unbuckle his belt with trembling fingers. Tugging on his pants, I force the zipper to go down and, moving fast, I slide my hand under his boxer briefs and grab his thick mast. My skin prickles as I feel his warmness, his shaft pulsing against my fingers, and I start to move my hand up and down at a furious pace. Throwing my head back against the headrest, I grit my teeth and hiss furiously, my pussy clenching around his fingers. He feels me on the verge, and so he presses his fingertips tighter against my G-spot just like that, I come undone. I have to clench my
teeth in order not to scream, all the muscles in my body twitching as if I’ve just been shocked. “God!” I moan in a low tone, opening my eyes and looking at him with anticipation and pleasure flickering in my eyes. “Shh,” he whispers, sliding his fingers out of me. “We’re just getting started,” he continues, taking his fingers to my mouth and brushing them over my lips. Without even knowing what I’m doing, I part my lips and allow him to slide his fingers inside of my mouth and, as he pulls them back, I suck them dry. My own flavor and scent hits me at once, coating my tongue and making my head spin. Moving like a wild animal, I lean into him and, pulling his boxer briefs down, I grab his cock and point it straight at my mouth. I place my lips against his tip, lapping at it with my tongue, and then just push my mouth down until I feel my lips touching the skin around the base of his cock. I hold my position there until my lungs are screaming for air, and only then do I move back. As my lips are around his glans again, I start to bob my
head up and down his cock, sucking him as fiercely as is humanly possible. I’m not sucking or blowing him - what I’m doing is devouring him. He likes to say that my pussy is delicious, but let me tell you this: if there’s anything delicious in this world, it’s his cock. Swear to God, I could suck on it for hours and hours. I suck on him hard and, if he didn’t grab me by the hair and forced me to stop, I would just keep going until he came in my mouth. As it is, he pushes my head back - but I simply can’t control myself. If I can’t have him in my mouth, then I need him in my pussy. Moving with cat-like movements I climb on top of him, spreading my legs and straddling him. Before he can even react, I grab at his cock and angle it upward; with my other hand, I flick my thong to the side and push his tip against my wetness. He holds me by the hips as I try to ease myself down; then, grinning, he only allows me to rub my pussy with the tip of his cock. He’s torturing me, and loving every single second of it. “Please,” I moan, repeating the word over and
over again until he finally surrenders to me. Easing up the pressure on my hips, he allows me to go down and, just like that, I impale myself on his cock, his shaft sliding easily inside of my pussy. I start to sway my hips like a mad woman, placing my arms over his shoulders as I ride him. He places his hands on my ass, hiking my dress up to my waist. As I keep on rocking my hips, he pushes the string of thong that covers my ass to the side, and starts to brush one fingertip along my crack. I go even faster, riding as if tomorrow will never come. I tremble and shiver, my skin prickling as I feel his touch, and a deep moan climbs up my throat. “Oh, God…” I moan, and his fingers start digging into my ass cheeks. I close my eyes, enjoying the moment as the movement of my body matches his rhythm, electricity crackling inside my mind. I’m moaning hard, and I don’t even care if everyone in the building can hear us. I’m no longer that same Nicole, the one that was always coy and shy around men. The Nicole that didn’t care about
dating, and lived to work. That Nicole has…grown. “I’m going to… I’m going to…” I start to say, but I don’t even manage to finish my sentence. Clenching my ass cheeks and gritting my teeth, I feel my pussy tightening around his shaft and I come. I take my hands to his chest and, completely out of control, I grab at the fabric of his shirt and pull as hard as I can. His buttons pop out, and I even feel the fabric tearing under my hands, but I don’t care - all that I want is to feel is naked skin under the open palm of my hands. Ripping his shirt open, I press my hands on his firm pectorals and dig my fingernails into it, hard enough to draw blood, and just keep him riding as I come my brains out. Instinct taking over me, I summon whatever energy still lives in my body and clench my legs, going up on the couch and placing my arms over his shoulders. “Your mouth,” I pant, “I want it.” Knowing what I want, he places his hands on my ass cheeks and reels me in, placing my pussy against his face. I close my eyes as he jabs his tongue past my drenched folds, running it up and down and then
focusing on my clit, lapping at it harshly. “Oh, God… It’s so… Fucking good,” I moan loudly, swaying my hips and rubbing my pussy all over his face. Sucking and licking, he moves one hand around my waist and presses one finger against my pussy. He moves it in, pushing it all at once and drawing one loud scream out of my lips. “Fuck, fuck…” I cry out and, the moment he touches my G-spot, I start to convulse as if I’m having a seizure. I go down, sitting on his lap and my body feels as if it’s on fire. I don’t think I’d feel this hot if I was standing right in the middle of a raging inferno. “My turn,” he whispers against my ear, nibbling at my earlobe with his teeth. “I want your pussy again. But not in my mouth,” he grins at me, and I feel my pussy aching to have him in it again. With a growl, Palmer takes his hands out of my ass and grabs me by the hips. He pushes me to the side, throwing me down on the couch, and I lay down. He spreads my legs open and lays on top of me, grabbing his cock and pressing it against my pussy in one single breath. With a sigh, I cross my
legs around his lower back and lace my arms on his neck, pulling him into me as the desperation to have his cock completely demolishing my pussy reaches the height of its intensity. “I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll forget your name,” he whispers before pressing his mouth against mine, kissing while he thrusts. My insides burn as his thickness pushes back against my inner walls, and I grip him hard with my legs around his waist. He’s fucking me so hard that fireworks are going off behind my shut eyelids, and I already feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. He was right about what he said - if he keeps fucking me like this, I doubt I’ll remember anything at all. He’s moving so fast that I no longer know when his cock is sliding out or sliding in and, to be honest, I couldn’t care less about it. All that matters is that I feel every single throb of his cock, the warmness of his shaft spreading through me and numbing every single one of my senses. Each thrust of his is like a pure blessing, and I’m already feeling the pressure mounting inside of me.
I open my mouth to tell him not to stop, but all I manage to produce is a weak croak. It doesn’t matter, though; he’s not thinking of stopping. Instead, he goes even faster, pushing me close to the edge and then forcing me to jump straight into a pool of pleasure. “Oh, my, GOD!” I scream out, the sound of it crawling up my throat, clawing at my vocal chords and then exploding on my mouth like a bomb. My scream turns into a high-pitched scream, the flames of ecstasy licking at my skin from the inside out. When my muscles finally stop twitching, Palmer lays one gentle kiss against my cheek and then whispers into my ear. “I hope you’re not tired already…” He says and, even though I’m already feeling as spent as I could be, I shake my head. “More,” I simply say, running my tongue over my lips. “Are you sure you can take more?” He teases me, pulling his cock out of me. “I won’t hold back.” “I don’t want you to hold back… I want you to give me your all,” I tell him, the way the words
roll over my tongue making the adrenaline race through my veins. “That’s my girl,” he says, grabbing me by the hips again. He sits me up on the couch and then he lays down, looking at me with an expectant look. “Come here,” he calls me with a grin. “I’m not done with devouring that pussy of yours.” Grinning back, I climb on top of him and, placing my knees at the side of his head, I offer him my pussy. He cranes his neck and, grabbing me by the hips, presses his mouth against my wetness once more. I sway my hips back and forth, thrusting against his face as he eats me out, all of his movements pregnant with a wild and insatiable hunger. A deep certainty fills me and I can’t help but smile - somehow, I’m sure that when we are finally old and wrinkled, our joints and muscles a ghost of a time gone by, he’ll be as hungry as he is now. And that fits me just right, if you ask me. I have absolutely no intention of going without sex even one single day for the rest of my life. Hey, what can I say? Now that I know how
good sex is, there’s no way I can resist it. He just makes me be like this… I mean, I’m sure that he has this effect on pretty much every woman he comes across, but now he’s mine. Just mine. As I grind against his face, he moves his hands back to my navel and allows two fingers to fall over my clit. Pressing down on it, he starts rubbing it fast, his fingers tracing circles around it. My body tenses up and relaxes, the orgasm washing over me with an ebb and flow. The tides of pleasure are lulling my mind, the high waves of this ocean of ecstasy lapping at my body and spending the few reserves of energy I still have inside of me. But I still want more… And I want one last showdown before making him fuck me for the last time. I lift my legs and turn around and, now with my ass turned to him, I go on all fours on top of his body; I reach for his cock and, grabbing it, I point it straight at my mouth and lower my head. At the same time, he hooks his fingers on my hips and forces me to ease my pussy down on his face. The moment I feel my wetness against his
lips, I start to sway my body at a frantic pace, bobbing my head at the same rhythm. We go like this for God knows how long, the whole concept of time becoming completely meaningless. With his mouth on my pussy, and my mouth on his cock, I can’t really focus on anything else. And, as he licks my clit with renewed ferocity, I feel my brain on the verge of shutting down. Still, I manage to remain unconscious, only to have another orgasm explode inside of me, the shock waves of it rushing through my muscles and forcing me to take his cock out of my mouth. Coming up for air, I scream as loud as I can. Breathing so hard that I’m dizzy, I climb out of Palmer’s body and, without waiting to see what he wants me to do, I go on all fours on the couch. He gets up in a heartbeat, kneeling behind me, and smacks my ass harshly with the palm of his hand. He does it again and again, and only stops when the pain becomes so deliciously unbearable that I’m moaning in ecstasy and thrusting back at him. I have my head down, my hair cascading down my shoulders, and so I can’t see him, but I
can imagine the wicked grin he has on his face as he presses his tip against my pussy. With one simple thrust, he’s in me again, stretching me as wide as only he can do. I moan and scream, the sound of it blending into something almost inhuman. My voice caresses my eardrums and then claws at it, all while a firestorm rages inside of me, threatening to consume everything that I am. Maybe I’ll die of pleasure now; maybe my final orgasm will be so intense that I’ll stop breathing, my heart will stop beating, and then my brain will shut down. My soul will float away into the afterlife and, if all this happens, I’m sure that I’m going with a grin on my face. I mean, to go out with Palmer’s thick cock ravaging me wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, would it? No…no, it wouldn’t. When I finally come, there’s no screaming or moaning; I throw my head back against the couch and just hiss like a rattlesnake, my throat too ruined to carry on. I almost think that Palmer’s done, but when he pulls his cock out of my pussy he keeps its tip pressed against my inner lips. Oh, sweet God…
I think I’m really going to OD on pleasure. “Do it… Do it…” I beg him, and he starts to push his cock back inside me. It moves in at a slow pace, but it goes steadily all the same. Even though my throat has given up on me, I force myself to scream one more time, the pressure of Palmer’s cock on my insides too good for me to remain in silence. “Hard… I want it hard,” I continue, and he doesn’t need any further instructions; he starts to thrust as if his life depended on it, ravaging me like he never did before. He buries his cock so deep inside me that I have to scream again. At the same time, he slides one hand around my waist and presses down on my clit with two fingers, immediately stroking it at a furious and almost too violent pace. It doesn’t take long for me to come undone one more thrust of his cock and my mind snaps, my soul shattering into a thousand little pieces with it. I thrust back, forcing him to push his cock deep into me, and then I hold that position as a violent convulsion takes over me. My muscles are burning, my skin is boiling, and both my heart and lungs are
working overtime to keep me alive. It’s a wonder that I still haven’t passed out… I feel exhausted enough to fall unconscious, but I refuse to do it as pleasure still courses through my veins. Even though me and Palmer have a lifetime ahead of us, I don’t want to waste one single second of what I’m experiencing now. “I want you to come,” I find myself telling him, my brain having no say on what words leave my lips. As if my voice has a magical effect on his body, his cock starts to spasm and, half a heartbeat after that, it throbs violently and I feel the warmness of his seed filling me. Instead of gushing all his load inside of me, Palmer pulls his cock out and, still on his knees, starts to stroke himself. I feel his thick ropes of cum cover my lower back, beads of it sprinkling my skin. By the time he’s done, all I can do is roll around so that I’m lying on my back. I take a few deep breaths, then I sit up. He’s sitting up as well, his head thrown back against the couch as he tries to catch his breath.
Slowly, I run my fingertips down his forearm and take them to his hand. I tangle my fingers on his, and then lean into him and press my lips on his face. “I love you,” I whisper again, somehow knowing that I’ll never grow tired of these three words. As silly as it might sound, I feel like I’m the luckiest woman on Earth. “I love you too,” he whispers back at me, his fingers tightening around my own. My body grows cold suddenly, and perhaps feeling it, Palmer reaches for his discarded shirt on the floor and makes me wear it. He dresses me as one would do to a small child, and I keep my eyes on his as he does it, just enjoying the delicate way in which he’s handling me. For a man capable of such dominance and raw power, I can’t help but be surprised at how kind he truly is. I can’t believe I used to see him as someone cold and heartless, a total asshole. To say that I was wrong doesn’t even begin to describe it. Standing up, his large shirt covering most of my body, I make my way toward the large windows
of his living room. “Where are you going?” He asks me, picking his boxer briefs from the floor and getting inside them. He goes up to his feet and then joins me by the window, his arm laced around my waist. “The city…it looks so beautiful from up here,” I whisper, not even knowing why I’m saying. At ground level, from the windows of the Old Tale, the city is nothing but a blend of smog and dirty concrete. But from up here, there’s a certain magic about it all. The streets have an orange glow at night, and the tall spires of office and apartment buildings rise up in the air like Christmas trees. And though I know that no one really sleeps in a big city, right now it feels so…calm. It’s almost relaxing. “It does,” Palmer agrees with me, and then he’s the one brushing his lips against my cheek. “But only because you’re here with me.” I look into his eyes, but this time I don’t say anything. Sometimes, words just get in the way.
Smiling, I go up on tiptoes and kiss him, closing my eyes as I let the memory of this moment be forever imprinted on my mind. Love—sometimes it’s even better than what we imagine it to be.
Nicole
“More pepper,” I tell Brittney, nodding as I watch her grind some more on top of the pasta. I wipe my hands on the apron, and then quickly scoop up the plate and set it on another counter, ready to be picked up by the waiters. The Old Pearl is full tonight, and it’s been all hands on deck since we’ve opened doors for the night. All waiters on payroll are working tonight, and even Palmer and I have been hands-on inside the kitchen, checking every single plate before it goes out. It’s been a busy night, but I wouldn’t change any of that. “Hey, take a break,” Palmer whispers into my ear, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.
“I can’t, I still have to -” I start to protest, but he just turns me around and looks into my eyes. I don’t know why it still happens, but I always forget what I’m saying whenever my gaze meets his. Something about those deep blues ... it never fails to make me lose all focus. “Forget about that,” he continues, gently smiling at me. “I want to show you something.” His hands go around my waist, and he undoes the knot on my apron; taking it off me, he throws it on top of a counter and then grabs my hand. He starts dragging me out of the kitchen, but I sink my heels on the floor, trying to stop him. “I can’t go out there like this!” I protest, imagining the reaction of the patrons if they saw my hair tied in a bun and my tired expression. Not exactly the best way to leave an impression. Besides, tonight’s a special night. It’s been one year since Parker and I joined forces and combined our talents. Both The Old Tale and The Pearl on Park disappeared, and in their place arose a new restaurant: The Old Pearl. We’ve been running it for the past year, and
the whole thing feels like a dream. A combination of high-end cuisine shaped by more traditional food, the whole concept has left such an impression that we’re already booked for the next six months. Critics from all over the country fly in to try our food, and we’ve never failed to impress. Not that we have to try hard; it just comes naturally to us. We’ve combined our strengths, and in the process we created something unique, something that arose from deep inside our souls. It isn’t about food. The Old Pearl is a product of love. Palmer and I have been together for one year now. We’re business partners, yes, but we’re more than that. We’re friends, lovers...we’re everything I dreamed of when I used to stay awake late at night as a small child. “Come on, let’s go,” Palmer laughs, trying to drag me out of the kitchen. “You should go, Nicole,” Kate joins in, standing next to Brit smiling at me. “Everyone in the dining area is waiting for you. They want to see both chefs.”
“But...I can’t!” I continue to protest, digging my heels in. No way am I going to step out there. I still haven’t left the kitchen ever since dinner started, but I bet the place is full of food critics, politicians, and all these big shots I never cared about. That isn’t my idea of a celebration, but I guess you can’t help it when you run the most beloved restaurant in the country. “You can,” Parker smiles. “And you will.” With that, he closes the distance between us and picks me up from the floor. Carrying me in his arms, he walks out of the kitchen and into the dining area, only putting me down when there’s no way I can escape. I feel my cheeks growing red as I look around the room, ready to face the scrutiny of dozens of important people I’ve never heard about. That’s not what I find there. The moment my feet touch the floor, the whole room starts clapping, and I look around to meet the gaze of my family and friends. My parents and brother are sitting at a table right at the center of the room, and all the other tables are filled with
both old and new friends. Even Percy’s here, sitting in one of the corner tables. “Surprise,” Palmer whispers into my ear, his hand on my lower back. “I wanted to have a real celebration,” he tells me, and I have to bite my lip down to stop the tears from coming. I can’t believe he planned this whole thing. “I...I don’t even know what to say,” I mumble as everyone keeps on clapping and cheering. Then, feeling more awkward than I’ve ever felt, I offer all them a small bow. “Alright, alright,” Palmer laughs, holding one hand up in the air and silencing the whole room. “I know we’re all eager to congratulate the best chef the world has ever known, but there’s something I want to do first.” Still smiling, he reaches inside one of his pockets and produces a small velvety box. My gaze goes down to that box, and I feel my eyes widening as I realize what he’s about to do. “Nicole...You know me. I’m no good with words,” he tells me, and then lowers himself until his right knee is on the floor. He raises the box up,
and then props it open to reveal a small golden ring on the inside. My grandmother’s wedding ring. He must've asked my parents for it. “I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you. You’re my life, Nicole. And I don’t want to spend it apart from you. Will you --” I don’t even let him finish. I throw myself down, my arms over his shoulders, and we both tumble down onto the floor. “Yes! Yes!” I cry out, tears stinging at my eyes as I kiss his lips. “Yes, I will!” “I’ll never leave your side,” he whispers, caressing my face and smiling. “I’ll never want you to,” I reply, and then I just press my lips against his as everyone in the restaurant starts clapping and cheering again, making so much noise that I’m almost sure everyone in this damn city will hear it. And that’s exactly the way it should be. I’m in love; let the whole world know about it.
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