Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
“Thank you.” He untied the apron and draped it over a stool, casting a curious glance around the kitchen. “This is a cool space.”
I followed his gaze, trying to see the controlled chaos through someone else’s eyes. The area was divided into three main sections—food prep, cooking, and serving with a large storage and wine room and two commercial refrigerators. For breakfast, the fry cook generally only needed the cooking and serving areas, so the rest was my domain to prepare and plan for dinner.
To me, it looked like any other restaurant kitchen with its stainless steel appliances, wide islands with prep counters, and open shelving. The atmosphere was upbeat and fun with music playing and friendly chatter buzzing in the background in the mornings. I liked it to be more serious during the dinner hour when the diner transformed into a haute-cuisine establishment.
As Nolan’s head chef, I’d been personally responsible for overseeing the kitchen renovation, and perhaps that was why I liked it more than any other place I’d worked. It was mine. Well…sort of.
“Yes,” I agreed. “I like it. If you’re ready to go, I can let you out through the side exit.”
Riley tilted his chin and met me at the door. He moved outside, pushed his sunglasses on his nose, and snapped as if he’d just remembered something. “Shit. I forgot the tuna.”
“I’ll get it.”
I grabbed the bag from the island and stepped onto the porch. Riley had wandered along the hedged-in walkway toward the gate leading to the herb garden in the backyard. He paused when he saw me and removed his glasses, tucking them into his shirt collar, his gaze fixed on the package.
He grabbed the bag from me, set it on the ground, and shoved me against the wall, fusing his mouth to mine.
I was too shocked and dazed to respond immediately, but that didn’t last. I cupped his neck and pulled him close before slipping my tongue between his lips. We moaned at the first glide and twist, picking up where we’d left off last night.
I nibbled his bottom lip as I gave in to temptation, allowing myself to touch and feel and fondle any part of him I could reach. He did the same. My hands were on his ass, his were in my hair. We sucked on tongues, swaying and pawing at each other as if in a trance.
A bark of laughter from behind the garden wall broke the spell. We jumped apart, panting like animals in heat.
Riley put his sunglasses on and bent to retrieve the bag. “Come over tonight.”
“I work late.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll be awake,” he said.
No, no, no.
That was a bad idea. A terrible idea. An idea that didn’t deserve a second thought. And there was only one acceptable reply.
“Okay.”
Oops, that wasn’t it.
Too late. Riley was gone…and apparently, so was my self-control.
5
RILEY
Jean-Claude showed up on my doorstep at midnight, wearing a dark jacket, black trousers, and a beanie. I’d joked that if he hadn’t knocked, I might have mistaken him for a burglar. He’d smiled wanly at my silly attempt at humor and informed me that he’d stopped by on his way home from the diner to let me know that he couldn’t come inside. It was best if we continued as friends only. His words, not mine.
I’d agreed because it had seemed like the correct response, then asked him about his evening and the special of the day. His eyes had lit up as he described a Quebecois dish called tourtière that he made with a twist. I’d said it sounded delicious and when he quipped that it was better than tuna salad, we’d chuckled.
But as our laughter had faded, it was replaced by a potent silence, so thick with desire, oxygen felt scarce. I’d sucked in a gulp of the crisp autumn night and waved good-bye, but at the last second, I’d grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the foyer, slamming the door shut.
We’d collided like magnets, bouncing off the wall and rattling picture frames as we’d stumbled into the living room and fallen onto the sofa with our mouths fused. We’d humped and grinded as our tongues dueled, separating long enough to peel off a few layers of clothing. But with Jean-Claude on top of me, caging my head between his arms as he licked my lips and pressed his erection against mine, I hadn’t stood a chance.
Yeah, that was the night I came in my boxer briefs for the first time in nearly two decades.
We did a variation of the same thing the following evening, but skipped the initial coy “Are we really doing this?” song and dance.
The third night…same story. But by some miracle, we made it to my room and got mostly naked before we blew our loads.
Tonight was our fourth “sexy session.” We locked the door, shedding clothes like snake skin on our way upstairs. Naked horizontal writhing was kind of amazing, but it got even better.