Sweet Cravings (2 page)

I took a step closer, and his large hands surrounded my hips, pulling me to him as his butt backed against a stainless steel table. With his warm breath bathing my chin, I leaned closer, wanting to touch him. I traced my fingers down the placket of his white chef’s blouse, pausing at the buttons, impatient to undo them. My hands craved to tear past the material and caress the warm male skin underneath. My teeth yearned to take a little bite. After all, if he could make a cream puff that good, logic dictated he must taste heavenly.

A loud noise sounded behind me, and I whirled to see a riot of cooks carrying steam trays rush past us. He flinched at the intrusion, looking cross. Two servers followed, with the sommelier bringing up the rear. Suddenly the place seemed too damn crowded for a tête-à-tête. I sent him a resigned look. Our impromptu tryst would have to wait. He shook his head, frowned, and pulled his arm tighter around my back.

Pressed up against his shirt, I inhaled flour, sugar, and an unknown exotic spice in one heady rush and sighed into the dreamy scent of him. This was a man whose smell I could savor all night long.

“Come with me.”

His voice smoothed over me like glossy butter and my bones turned to liquid. I swayed on my feet, my mind still reeling from the heat of his hand on my waist, and the sugary cloud of goodness surrounding him going to my head. As I glided along effortlessly in his arms, he led me toward a stainless steel door off to one side with a small rectangular window. This area was enclosed in and part of the kitchen but somehow separate at the same time. We entered the secret chamber.

A row of stainless steel tables sat opposite each other, with an oven, a mixer, and workspace on one side and a small stove and sink on the other. Even on the cooking shows, I’d never seen a kitchen within a kitchen. I was intrigued and impressed. Top-secret things must go on here, things non-chefs could never imagine. If there’s a Nobel Prize for chefs, the journey to the award must begin here.

The door snapped shut behind us, entombing us in the quiet of his chamber. Was this his only clandestine activity, I wondered, or was there something more to this man who’d agreed to meet me halfway in this crazy, nutty, and oh-so-creamy endeavor? I didn’t have time to wonder for long.

He grabbed a giant roll of tinfoil and tore off a chunk big enough to cover a cat. This he pushed into the frame of the window and locked the door. Footsteps scurried outside in the hall. He turned and advanced on me, a hungry look in his eyes.

I shivered under his gaze. No man has ever looked at me like I’m edible. Like I might be naked and covered in barbecue sauce and bearing a fountain of beer on a hot summer’s day. I was flustered by his rapt attention, a little rattled, and the cream puff I somehow still held slipped toward the edge of the plate. Pastry emergency!

The chef grabbed the dessert before it crashed to the floor, and I blew out a breath of relief. But as soon as my hands were empty, I was left as weak as Popeye without his spinach. I didn’t know how to regain my former sugar-driven brazenness without another infusion. The dreamlike, comforting high caused by all those desserts had vanished. I desperately wanted it back. My gaze flicked to the door. Running sounded like a plan. “Um….”

Flashing me a wink, the pastry chef took my hand and led me over to a large mixing bowl. His mouth formed a soft smile as he unlocked the bowl from the commercial-grade machine and held it up for my inspection. It was full of gorgeous, buttery-smooth, almond-scented whipped-cream filling.

I gasped as warm rushes of sugar-power surged through my veins once more and nestled in my nether regions. Bam! I was back in business. With my mouth watering, I hurried forward and dragged my finger through the fluffy goodness. Mmmmm. What texture. So soft yet firm. So smooth and creamy. I brought a big, thick glob of creamy whiteness toward my mouth. With sheer heaven inches from my taste buds, I paused to glance up at his eyes. They glowed with acceptance and approval, and I realized he had done this on purpose—given me my confidence back. The laugh crinkles around his eyes lent a generous warmth to his face, and my heart squealed its tires in amazement. All the sudden, it wasn’t sweets I wanted, but to dive into those deep brown eyes and find a different kind of satisfaction, one I hadn’t experienced in a long time. And never with such a dreamy-hot chef.

Who was about to get stripped naked.

I licked the filling off my finger damn fast and reached toward his shirt buttons. He sucked in a sharp inhale and dug his fingers into my hips as I pulled him toward me. Excitement jolted through me at having him so close. I liked the fact my boldness surprised him. Liked even more that he did nothing to stop me. Just watched wearing an ever-increasing smile as, one after the other, the buttons were undone. I flung the material back to expose a magnificent, well-built chest with two half-erect, succulent, raspberry-tinted nipples. My tongue longed to lavish each one with personal attention.

But first, I spread the whipped cream over his darkly haired broad chest, creating a lip-smacking landscape as beautiful to me as a French Impressionist painting. He laughed. I stood back to admire my work and then leaned forward to taste my masterpiece. Mmmmmm. My mouth exploded with happiness at the intersection of male skin and flawless, honeyed flavor. I licked, moaned, and licked some more. He tugged my hips to his, leaving no space between our bodies. His cock ground against me, and I bit his chest, nipping with hungry intensity. Losing myself in the moment, my teeth scraped over a nipple and I savored his groan like a fine wine.

He cupped my ass cheeks, caressing my backside before his hands dove under my panties, fingers searching for a wet spot. He quickly found it, swirling a finger over my damp entrance, and I whimpered with heady desire. I traced my tongue across his chest to his left nipple and was just about to lick when he stopped me in my tracks. “Wait,” he said, and placed a finger under my chin, tilting my tongue away from paradise.

“But….”

“Your dress is getting ruined.” Gawd, even his smirk was sexy. I didn’t even think about my black dress getting covered with fluffy whiteness, but apparently his brain cells functioned better than mine at the moment. He gently pushed me back until I stood there in front of him, panting, probably looking like an overheated, giant cupcake. Before I could whine, he shushed me, and spun me around. His hands worked my zipper, and my dress opened. It slipped to the floor with little provocation, leaving me in my bra and panties. The refrigerated air hit my skin and I shivered, my nipples hardened to stiff peaks under my thin bra. For a few beats, I heard only silence behind me and started to worry. Maybe Mom was right, I’d had too many desserts over the years and he didn’t like what he saw…. I was about to turn around and tell him, “That’s okay, don’t trouble yourself,” when his knees hit the tile floor behind me and hot breath slashed a trail right above my panties. My legs went weak, and my heart sang halleluiah.

A tantalizing tongue dragged a searing trail down my lower back and over my tailbone, where it dipped below the panty line. The chef’s succulent lips paused to press a kiss, and I shivered as liquid heat surged through my core. Wetness I’d never experienced before drenched my panties, leaving me breathless. He blazed a path down my cleft and roughly tugged the remaining fabric away. The panties hit my ankles, and I lifted each stiletto heel to step out of them.

He slid his palms up my thighs to my ass and gently pressed me forward, urging me to bend over. The only thing in front of me was a gleaming, tundra-cold, stainless steel table. It didn’t exactly beckon. I leaned over, both hands flat on the table and paused, panting.

He stepped away from me for a second, and I immediately missed his touch. I was about to protest the loss, when he set the bowl of whipped-cream filling on the table in front of me just out of reach, right next to the wall.

Driven toward the sweet smell of sugar like a moth to a layer cake of light, I willingly bent and let my hip bones contact the freezing surface. My hands reached toward the bowl. I’d just dipped my forefinger in and covered it with a nice-sized dollop of cream when his tongue pressed against my exposed sex.

Orgasms floating on fluffy cream clouds formed a tango line inside my loins. My thighs trembled under his fingers; his clever tongue stabbed into me and my walls squeezed around the firm invasion, hungry for more. I moaned and pressed my finger farther into my mouth, sucking the cream off. His tongue did a swirly move to die for. Figures a chef would have his own recipe for rapture. I gasped, my walls quivering as the double pleasure intensified.

He pressed his tongue deeper into my flesh and the groan he issued behind me shivered through me, leaving me drenched and desperate to reach release…. I spread my legs wider and wriggled my ass in a silent plea for him to take me all the way—or fill me with whipped cream until I burst, whichever came first.

Not one but two of his fingers jabbed into my sex and a cry ripped out of me. At the same time, his devilish thumb pressed down on my clit, and he rocked his hand back and forth, spreading sensations the length of my pussy. I squirmed against the table, my hips flexing and grinding with urgent need. “Oh, yes. Yes. Please.”

When I half turned to beg for more and beg to have it faster, a sharp spank landed on my left ass cheek, warning me to stay put. Face-front, my gaze locked once more with the bowl of creamy filling. I drew a deep inhale of the sweet scent, his fingers scissored inside me, his thumb flicked my clit harder, and another sharp spank grazed my cheek, which caused my sex to squeeze.

The pleasures of sex and dessert at long last merged into one. A fervent climax roared through me, sending spasm after spasm from my cunt to my collarbones. I arched off the table and screamed. His mouth rode me higher, nibbling along the delicate sides of my folds until I clawed the steel table, unable to contain the sensations splitting me apart. When I could no longer draw anything but short, ragged breaths, his fingers slowed to a torturous caress that wrung every last tremor from my limbs. He lifted my limp body and turned me around in his arms. Delicious aftershocks thrummed through me.

Pressed tight against his expansive, hair-strewn chest still slathered with cream in places and now cold, I squealed in shock. But as soon as his mouth descended on mine, I sighed into the exquisite warmth of his lips. He was an excellent kisser. Not too greedy, not too fast, all controlled passion and skill. Down below, a stiff ridge of cock pressed into my belly, reminding me he’d so far only served the first course.
So this is bliss
….

I melted in his arms faster than an iceberg in Florida. Meanwhile, my hands had a mind of their own. They traveled over his softly rounded belly and gravitated to his zipper. It was all I could do to get my fingers and thumb to function in the hazy aftermath of release, but spurred on by the promise of having him naked before me at last, I soon had the zipper down.

His moan vibrated through my mouth when I slipped my hand into his underwear and circled his silken-hard shaft, and my body warmed even hotter. His tongue shot deep inside my mouth, matching my strokes while I learned the full length of him. Then he gripped my biceps and pushed me back. From his ragged pants, slow and deliberate was no longer on the menu, which was fine with me.

A couple seconds of his hands on his belt buckle, and his pants were off. They dropped to the floor. Then he grabbed my ass and pulled my hips to his. The tip of his cock rubbed against my clit and ratcheted my instant attraction for him from hot to blazing inferno. He felt ready and rigid and all man.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him hard, telling him how much I desired him with my breathless moans. Smart chef, he took the hint.

He surprised me by sliding his warm, thick hands under my bra, where he kneaded my breasts like soft dough. I savored the sensations. He caressed and squeezed, pinching my taut nipples, and rolling them into peaks stiffer than meringue. Nimble fingers unhooked the bra, and my skin pebbled. He tossed the flimsy fabric aside. My breasts ached for his touch again.

But he instead cupped my ass, lifting me up his body. My nipples got dragged through the creamy filling on his chest and coated in the satiny sweetness. I smelled the sugar as melted between our bodies, and my sex clenched.
I. Want. This
.

My dreamy pastry chef must have had a sweet tooth of his own to satisfy. He set me on the table, curled his moist lips around a nipple, and drew it into his mouth. Every suck and nibble teased my nipple harder, making my breasts grow heavy and full. I groaned and he laved the remaining whipped cream off them with the hunger of starving man. The glorious feel of him tonguing every inch of my breasts and nipples singed my body with an aching need for more. I arched my back and dug my fingers into his back. By the time he was done swirling and licking the almond colored filling off me, I was ready to explode. I couldn’t live another second without him inside me.

His breath came out fast and raspy and I knew he was as desperate for the main course as I was. With voracious firmness, his mouth crashed over mine and he rocked my body back. The table no longer felt cold against my tailbone. The heat between us was hot enough to melt amorphous ice.

He lined up and penetrated my swollen sheath like a spear. We cried out in unison as he filled me, leaving no room to spare. A wicked curve to his cock sent the tip crashing past my G-spot hard enough to make me shudder, and my sex clamped around him, holding him tight. Delirious with pleasure for the first time since I could remember, I tipped my head up to look in this wonderful man’s eyes.

His gaze was soft and deep, with a smoldering quality that pulled me right in and made me want to stay. His mouth latched onto mine, and I relaxed into his arms. He began to drive into me, each outward pull of his cock a sweet tease, each upward thrust driving me toward a more intense level of bliss. I cried his name into his mouth and my hips pivoted to get him in the exact place I needed him. There, there, and oh, Gawd,
there
. I teetered on the precipice of rapture, his moans and grunts sounded a heavenly chorus to my ears.
Yes. Yes. Yes
. I watched his body lunge into mine through hooded eyes. The momentum of his limber body was mesmerizing. Back and forth, swiveling all that male flesh in front of me. I had to taste.