Cockney: A Stepbrother Romance (10 page)

“You did good tonight, cupcake,” he says with a grin. He holds his hand out, passing a can of cheap-looking beer my way.

I make a face.

Oliver rolls his eyes, “What do you want, fucking champagne?” He smirks, “Welcome to kitchen life, luv. Now drink up.”

He cracks a second beer for himself before moving next to me to lean against the counter-top and peer down into the bowl I’ve been mixing. “So what are you making?”

“Just experimenting with a recipe for savory tarts. Balsamic-glazed wheat berry and brussel sprouts.”

He nods slowly, arching a brow, “Not bad, not bad. Tarts, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“A bit different from those
buns
of yours this morning then, eh?”

My face grows red and I shoot him a look. But for some reason, this time there’s nothing behind the look; at least none of the honest vitriol from earlier. This time it’s more a flirting look.

God, what am I doing?

And honestly, when and how exactly did me being pissed at this cocky little shit turn into whatever little
flirtiness
I’m showing now? Am I so cheap that I can be bought with a can of beer and a single mediocre comment about my
job
performance?

“You’re not drinking.” Oliver nods at the foamy beer in my hand, “C’mon, you’re like pissing on sacrament here.”

I roll my eyes. There’s Oliver for you, always so cocky and dominant.

Demanding.

“
Fine
,” I say, taking a big sip of the cheap beer in my hand. Hey, at least it’s cold this time. “But I’d ask that you please get my
buns
out of your head, thank you very much.” I roll my eyes as I pick up my whisk again and start to whip the batter I’ve got going in the bowl.

“Oy, you’re doing that wrong.”

I raise a brow as I look at him, “Excuse me?”

“The whisking,” he says with a shrug, “You’re beating the batter, not mixing it.”

“Seriously?” I give him a withering look before I roll my eyes and turn back to my mixing bowl.

“Look, it’s not a power thing,” he says, “I’m just saying there’s a better way.”

“Oh, right because you know all the best techniques.”

“Oh, trust me,” he grins at me, “My techniques would blow your mind, sweetheart,” he finishes with a wink that has the blood rushing into my cheeks.

Oliver moves behind me suddenly, his hand circling around me and coming to rest on top of my own over the handle of the whisk. 

“Hey! Just what do you think you’re-”

“
Relax
, I’m just going to show you.” 

I feel a shiver up my back at sound of his voice, so deep and low in my ear, as well as the feel of him so close behind me. I can smell whatever clean-smelling soap he’s used to wash his face. I can feel the heat and the hardness of his muscles pressing into my back.

“You’ve got to
love
the whisk, darlin’,” he husks into my ear, “Right now you’re jerking that thing like you’re giving it a fuckin’ handjob.”

“Jesus, Oliver,” I wrinkle my nose.

“What! That’s what it looks like!” He chuckles, and I feel his laughter through my back as he moves close, his other hand circling my waist. “Look, you just need to be more gentle. It’s more like you’re brushing hair, or conducting an orchestra or something.” He chuckles, “Not jerking a cock.”

I flush again, and I can feel him pressing against me. I can feel something
else
pressing against me too, actually.

I swallow thickly, “I’ve- I’ve got it now.”

“Do you?” He murmurs.

“Mhmm.”

But we’re still moving the whisk together, his hand over mine and our bodies moving together almost imperceptibly side to side as he guides my hand.

And I don’t want him to stop just yet.

I blush, knowing that hardness I can feel pressing into my ass is his cock growing rock hard against me, and feeling how, well,
not small
, that bulge is has me biting my lips. It has me questioning what it is we’re doing here and why I’m not pushing him away.

He leans in closer to me, his breath a warm tickle against my neck. I bite my lip, letting my eyes close for just a second as I let the fact that Oliver Beckett has one hand on my hip, the other on my hand, and his erection pressed firmly against my ass.

“You smell good, you know,” he murmurs, that accent melting over me.

I take a shaky breath, “Don’t.”

I can practically feel him smirk behind me, “Don’t what.”

“Smell me. I’ve been working all night, I’m gross.”

“Well you smell fantastic to me.”

My heart starts to race, and I feel my breath catch as the hand on my hip begins to circle around to my front, slowly pulling me back into him. “Oliver, we shouldn’t,” I say quietly, my eyes closing just a little as I let myself be pulled against him. Why does it have to feel so good?

“Shouldn’t what.”

“Do
this
.”

“And what exactly are we doing, Chloe?” He growls into my ear.

I have no idea, but I don’t really want to stop doing it.

Instead, I open my mouth, “So what do I smell like?”

“Like cookies.”

I laugh and start to turn, but he keeps me hard again the table, and I gasp at the feel of him as he presses his hardness right against me. 

“No, you smell like jasmine, from your shampoo. And you smell like sage from the stuffing you made earlier.”

I bite my lip and close my eyes, the movement of the whisk slowing and then stopping as I feel him lean into my neck, his lips
just
shy of touching me as he all but nuzzles the curve of my shoulder.

Oh my god what are we doing?

“You smell fantastic, actually,” he says, rocking his hips into me, the bulge pressing hotly against my ass and those strong arms sliding around my waist. And I’m trembling for him. I hate that this cocky, arrogant little shit is having this effect on me, but it’s undeniable. 

It’s undeniable that I’m absolutely soaked for him.

“Fantastic, huh?”

“Lovely, actually,” he murmurs, and this time I shiver as I feel his lips graze the side of my neck just under my jawline.

“Oliver...”

“But I’d wager something else smells even better right now,” he says darkly, his arms pulling me tight against him as we start to drop all pretense of him being here to help me bake. 

“Something else that I bet smells like honey and smells like you’re as hot for this as I bet you are.”

“You’re delusional,” I whisper.

“Am I?”

“Mhmm,” I manage to croak out, feeling my body begin to betray me more and more by the second. “I’m not
hot
for...
oh God-
”

His lips slide across my collarbone and up to the delicate skin of my neck, and then I’m actually
moaning
as I sag into him with a whimper.

God
, I’m
whimpering
. When the hell have I ever whimpered for anything?

“Please; you’re so hot for me I can practically smell you right now, luv.”

I groan as I feel his teeth just barely graze my skin; nipping me enough that I let out a small gasp, my hands dropping to grab at the countertop in front of me. 

“You are
such
an arrogant prick, you know.”

“Sweetheart, you’ve got no idea,” he husks into my ear, “but if you want, I can show you a lot more of my prick than that.”

God he’s so crude, and yet it’s getting me hotter than I’ve ever felt before.

“You want it, don’t you,” he says, grinding his thick erection into me. His hand moves up my arm from the mixing bowl to slide up and down my side, just barely grazing the underside of my breasts through my chef’s coat. “You want me to bend you over this table right here and fill you up with every inch of this cock don’t you, luv,” he murmurs, his thick accent like honey in my ear.

“Mm-mm,” I shake my side to side, my eyes squeezed shut, not trusting myself to open my mouth.

“Or
maybe
- maybe you’d want my
tongue
.” He leans close, his lips brushing my ear as just the tip of his tongue slides out to tease my earlobe. “I’ve got a
wicked
tongue, darling, but then, you already know that don’t you.”

I remember that tongue. “Mm-mm, nope,” I say quickly and breathlessly, my eyes tightly shut as I shake my head. I’m melting right there in front of him; dripping into a puddle so quickly that I’m so close to saying and doing virtually anything he tells me to.

Oliver chuckles lowly, as if reading my thoughts, “Just say the words, luv,” he growls into my ear.

I whimper again as I feel him press his thickness against me, “
What words,
” I breath out.

“You just have to ask me nicely, that’s all,” he says darkly in my ear.

“
Uh-huh,
” I’m close to babbling, so close to just breaking down right here and begging him to fuck me like I’m dying for him to.

“Just say ‘yes, chef’.”

That. Fucking. Prick.

I’m suddenly ripped from the free-fall I was in, and my eyes are wide and my focus is sharp as I whirl in his arms and glare up at him, “You
asshole!
”

He’s grinning; grinning like a jackass, like he
knew
how much that would tear me out of the moment. 

“It’s just two words, sweetheart,” he says, smirking arrogantly at me. “Just say the words and I’ll do
everything
I just promised.” He leans close, “I’ll do
everything
to ease that ache I just
know
you’ve got in your knickers right this very moment.”

But right there, my mind is
set
. Right there, I know without a doubt that I will
not
be yielding anything to this pompous prick, and I will most certainly and under no fucking circumstances be
begging him
to do
anything
to me.

Ever.

Yes, chef?
Are you fucking kidding me?

I want to punch him, or slap him again, or, or
something
to wipe that cavalier, swaggering
smirk
off his damn face. But instead, I only smile; I bite my tongue and I smile up at him as sweetly as I possibly can. 

“Are you hard for me?” I breathe out, batting my eyes and biting my lip seductively at him.

His brows shoot up for a second before he grins and starts to nod, “You know I am.”

I smile bashfully, “And you want to taste my sweet little pussy?”

A dark, hungry look comes over his face as his eyes flash fire at me, and his jaw tightens as he nods.

“And you wanna bend me over this table and fuck this tight,” I lean closer, “
dripping wet,
” I reach up and trail a finger across his jaw and over his lips, “
perfect
little pussy until I can barely walk?”

Oliver
growls
then, grabbing my hands and pushing me back hard into the table as he leans into me, “You fucking know I do, Chloe.”

I bite my lip and smile coyly, savoring this moment before I drop my bomb. And then, ever so slowly, I crane my head up and let my lips trail across his ear. 

“Too bad,” I whisper, “Because you’re not going to, and I’m
never
going to ‘beg’ you for a single thing.”

I would give almost
anything
for a camera at that exact moment, just to capture the look on his face as I push him back from me and start to step away, “Oh, and Oliver?” I smile sweetly at him as I start to step away before pointedly dropping my eyes to the huge bulge in jeans, “Good luck with that.”