Sweet Cravings (7 page)

Riding him wasn’t what I’d had in mind, but the tension of the last few days and the madness of all those mystery desserts bubbled over, sending me into urgent need zone. I’d passed horny and left it on the side of the road with an untouched three-tier torte. Spread out on top of him, as my hands wandered over his shoulders, his chest, down his sides, and onto his hips, I knew a different type of happiness that didn’t come from chocolate. Or pastry. Or whipped cream.

It came from the realization I could be with another person who wasn’t going to laugh at me or my desires. True, he was smiling…. In fact, he kept right on smiling as he grabbed my hips, centered my aching core on the head of his cock, and slammed me down.

His grin split wider when I gasped at the shock of his fullness and smacked him in the ribcage.

And then he did laugh, so did I. He drew me down so our lips met, and we both smiled like gap-toothed fools who’d discovered gold in them thar hills. After a few seconds of sloppy lip-sliding kissing and giggling into each other’s mouths, his hand began to rock my ass forward and back, forward and back. His cock slid in and out at a delicious pace, and all giggling stopped.

My clit bumped his pubic bone and my inner walls squeezed tight as I ground out a moan.

He lifted me up and pressed me down harder and faster, and stars shot into my vision. He raked his teeth along my neck, licked, bit, and then murmured into my ear, his hot breath setting my pussy on fire. “How’s my hungry one now?”

I moaned out a whine of ecstasy and arched my back, taking him deeper on his next lunge. He took that as the invitation it was. His hips came off the bed to drive him into me faster, harder, spearing me with his full, iron-hard length, driving both of us to the brink. Lost in my fast-approaching orgasm, I could only gaze down into his eyes and surrender. I swear I saw his eyes turn chocolate brown as he watched the tremors ripple through me then they closed as he stiffened and screamed out my name as he arched under me, driving his cock hard into the depths of my still-throbbing pussy.

God, having him come underneath me was good. Better than a hot fudge sundae on a boiling summer day. And infinitely more satisfying. I collapsed on top of him, breathing like a warhorse after a long battle.

His arm came around my back and held me tight. “Dinner plans?”

I shook my head. Images of hamburgers and French fries danced in my brain.

“Come on. I’ll take you to the Chez Cochon.”

The hamburgers quit dancing and skidded to a halt. The spendy French hundred-dollars-a-plate place? Was he kidding? Who in their right mind would take me—who doesn’t even know the difference between a Shiraz and a Cabernet Sauvignon—to a fine-dining restaurant? I gulped and sat up, blinking at him like a deer seeing a flaming Crepe Suzette barreling toward it on a lonely unlit highway.

He ran a hand down my hair. “It’ll be great. Get dressed,” he soothed.

I numbly stood and went to the closet, searching for something appropriate to wear. Eventually my hand grasped the same black cocktail dress I’d worn to the chamber of commerce event. I hesitated to wear it again, but when I held it up and turned around, he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Perfect!” he announced.

So I brushed my hair, fixed my makeup, and slipped on some heels. When we got out to the parking lot, and saw the pastry box sitting on the trunk of my car, we laughed and took bets on whether it would be there when we got back.

He slipped his arm around me as we entered the restaurant, and the warmth his touch lent me encouraged me to stand a little taller. To act like maybe I wasn’t such a misfit after all. Shockingly, not one person gave me a second glance. I started to feel like a regular lady.

Chef Hottie ordered from the menu in French, poured the wine liberally before, during, and after the meal, and didn’t even glance at the check before handing over his credit card. The whole time, he gazed at…me. He laughed with me. Joked with me. Snorted over stupid French names for things with me. And his hands rarely left my body. He ate with one hand on my thigh, sneaking its way under the hem of my dress. When I crossed my legs to avoid embarrassing myself, he nipped at my earlobe. Needless to say, I ate with gusto, and the food tasted fabulous.

When we got back to my apartment, I had a sudden moment of panic this would be the end. That I’d somehow failed a vital, secret girlfriend ability test and this was his final parting gift. That this was his good-bye.
Again. See ya
. I hovered outside his vehicle in an effort to delay the inevitable. The cake box was still on my car, which made me wonder what kind of neighborhood I lived in. Who’d leave free pastry untouched?

“Hey.” His fingers stroked from my shoulder, which was growing cold in the night air, down to my hand. “What’s the matter?”

I didn’t want to seem ungrateful for the meal or the sex or all the attention. But fear of making an ass of myself had me swallowing back the words threatening to spring from between my lips. So I shoved my needs to the back burner. “I…um….”

Max glanced at the box, frowned, stepped closer, tilted my chin up, and locked his gaze with my eyes. “Still hungry little one? Shall we go upstairs and take care of that for you?”

Damn
. Tears sprang to my eyes and my lip trembled. So much for hiding my emotions.

He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. “Shhh, my little cream puff. It’s all right. I’m here.”

His hands rubbed my back, attempting to lull me into a false sense of ease. That pastry box started to look real good. But I forced myself to be a big girl and get back to the matter at hand. “But….” I sniveled against his chest. “You left last time….” I choked on my own spit as soon as I said it.
Yeah, that didn’t sound whiny. Uh-huh. Good one, Vi.

His arms pushed me back.
That didn’t take long. Here’s the good-bye. Bye-bye, sexy chef. Bye-bye cream puffs.
But he looked down at me with concern in his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. His expression filled with regret or maybe guilt. “I know I did. And I’m sorry.”

Say what
? I blinked.

“I got a last-minute call and had to go. My son was on leave and only in Ritzville for a few days.” He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t know if you were…ready to meet him.”

I blinked the tears out of my eyes. “You have a son?”

He nodded and caressed my arms. “Are you still mad at me for leaving?”

I shook my head, feeling foolish for thinking it was all my fault. “No, but why didn’t you tell me?”

A huge sigh left his mouth. His head tilted from side to side, as if considering his words carefully. “After that first time, you seemed so…skittish. I figured if I told you too much about me too soon, you’d run away.”

Gawd. Did I always act that insecure? I mentally banished my mother’s demons from my mind, and purged her words from my heart. Her opinions could go suck an egg. I’d nearly lost a wonderful man because of them, because I didn’t believe in myself. I sucked in a breath and held it, watching his beautiful eyes turn a darker brown.

“I also didn’t know if…you wanted me just for the sex, or if…you know….” His voice trailed off, sounding a bit wistful. “I never know if women really like
me
or not. Sometimes women they…just see the food and not…me.” He shrugged and looked damn cute doing it, even a little insecure.
Wow
. The notion that chefs had to fend off sex-crazed groupies caught me off guard. Totally. I mean, who’d be so nutty as to practically rape a chef over a dessert?
Oh dear
.

I cleared my throat. “I, uh, wow.” I thought back to our first night and could see how he’d totally think I was a one-night wonder, after one thing and one thing only: dessert. In a way, he’d be totally right. Except deep down, I’d wanted two things with equal desire.

“Dessert can erase the inhibitions in people.” He ran his finger along my bottom lip nice and slow.

I sighed at the contact. “Sometimes, it
is
all about the dessert,” I admitted. “But for me, the dessert just wasn’t enough.” I reached behind his neck and let my fingers sift through his thick, dark hair. “I wanted…
more
.”

His face lit up like a candle on a birthday cake. A very handsome cake. “I’m glad to hear that, my little cupcake,” he whispered, and kissed me on the forehead. “You are a complicated and fascinating woman.” He kissed me on each cheek and then brushed his lips over mine, sending tiny chills zinging up my spine. “I
like
that you have so many needs to satisfy.”

Wow. I decided not to add to those needs by springing my mother’s dinner plans on him and gave him my best shy smile sprinkled with predatory promises. From now on, I vowed, I’d start looking at myself differently. Not as a dessert-obsessed, oversize loner, but as a complicated and fascinating woman. A woman who fascinated chefs! “So…wait. I just have one question. If you were out of town, who delivered the pastry?”

“A sous-chef from the hotel.” He tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear as he leaned closer, his warm wine and rich French food breath fanning my face. “Someone I swore to absolute secrecy. He called me every day to report on whether or not you’d eaten your gift. When he called me last night about the note, I knew something was wrong, so I drove back early to meet you.”

I made a very unladylike choke of surprise. “You did?”

“Of course I did.” His purr in my ear was full of heady promise. “You silly girl.”

My knees weakened and my gaze flicked to the box on my trunk and back to his. “What are we going to do with the cream puff though? It’s not right to abandon it. We should put it out of its misery.”

“Ah,” he said as he grabbed the box, slipped an arm around me, and guided me once more toward the building entrance. “Tonight I will show you all the different uses for whipped-cream filling, and I promise, you will be quite satisfied when I’m done.”

And damned if I wasn’t. Completely satiated, we fell asleep in each other’s arms. I tried to keep one eye open—just in case he made a run for it—but that didn’t work out. Snuggled into his warmth, I slept solid and deep until awakened by a firm cock nudging my backside and whispers of chocolate-sauce sex that had me moaning before my eyes were fully open. As his hands cupped my breasts and his teeth nibbled my neck, I knew we’d spend the perfect Saturday together.

Until our second round of coffee in bed when I remembered dinner at Mom’s…. If my myriad needs didn’t break his resolve, meeting my mom surely would. Gulp.

“Um…Max? Remember when you were hesitant to tell me about your son?”

“Yes, pumpkin.” Warm lips pressed the tip of my nose. “You are not angry with me, are you?”

I sat up straight, almost spilling the coffee. “No. I totally understand. It’s just that….”

His eyebrows melded together in a very cute way.

“Well….” My arm flailed, giving voice to my frustration level. “My family’s a bit of a problem.”

He seemed amused as he propped himself up on one elbow. “Oh?”

My lips twisted, not wanting to let the words pass. But in the end, it was better just to admit it. “My mom’s not very easy to get along with. She doesn’t approve of my…appetites.”

That made him scratch his chin.

“I mean….” The air left my lungs in a loud depressed sigh. “She thinks I’m fat.” Way too fat to get as good a man as him for instance.

“Oh no, no, no,
mon amour
.” His hands drew me back down on the mattress. I narrowly avoided spilling the coffee once more. “Nothing could be further from the truth.” Moist lips left trails of kisses on my bare neck and shoulder. “I assure you, she’s wrong. And I’d be more than happy to convince her.”

The snort I emitted turned into a low rumbling laugh. Picturing mom versus Max in a boxing ring practically made me hysterical. “Well, after you meet her, you might just change your mind.” I secretly feared he’d change his mind about a great many things, but held my tongue. I’d been wrong before.

But did lightning strike twice in the same lifetime?

***

Mom answered the doorbell wearing an apron and a shocked look on her face. I’d wager Max was far from the “little man” she’d been expecting. Truthfully, I’m not sure what she’d been expecting—a cross between a marmot and an alien species perhaps? Well no matter. Max grasped her hand, kissed it in a very French manner, and murmured “
Bonsoir, madame
.” Mom fanned herself and shot me a look containing equal parts disbelief and suspicion. I bit my cheek to keep from saying something snotty, turned, and gave Dad a hug.

Mom grabbed Max’s arm and led him into the kitchen. I fought the urge to grab his belt and pull him back out.
He’s mine damn it
. I clenched my teeth as she fanned herself again, all gooey-eyed over Max. “Well…it’s certainly getting hot in here.”

Groan. My mom, the ham
.

“It’s always hot in the kitchen,” Max said, flashing me a wink.

“Yes, well, I’m sure your roast chicken is much better than mine; I hope you don’t take offense at my inferior cooking skills.”

My eyes rolled to the back of my head. If they could have rattled out my ears, they would have.

Max placed a hand on the small of my back. “I wouldn’t call them inferior at all. After all, you instilled a love of good food in your very pretty daughter. Any woman who could pass on such a robust culinary appetite to such a gorgeous young woman deserves my thanks.”

“She does?” Mom squeaked.

“She does?” My eyebrows rose. Good Lord, Max was complimenting my mother?

“As you know, a woman without a healthy appetite is merely a clothes hanger.” He placed a possessive hand on my ass. “So unattractive, don’t you agree?”

Mother glanced my way, issued a cross between a choking and gurgling sound and nodded. A few seconds later, she busied herself stirring gravy. I never thought I’d live to see it: my mother…defanged. Victory at last was mine.

I beamed at Max with my most radiant smile, the one reserved for only the most perfect pastry. “Thank you,” I whispered.