31. All Hail Sal
Chapter thirty-one
All Hail Sal
Albany
A The first click of Chad's camera melts away my nerves. This is what I do—being sensual and provocative while maintaining artistic taste. I arch my back slightly, letting my head fall back as Chad captures different angles. The lights warm my skin as I move through various poses, each one feeling more natural than the last.
"Perfect, Albany. Now let's bring in the chocolate," Chad calls out.
My breath catches as Sal approaches, his chef's jacket hanging open to reveal his sculpted chest and abs. The look of intense concentration on his face as he tests the chocolate's temperature makes my thighs clench. He's in his element, too, treating the chocolate with the same reverence I treat my performances.
"Ready?" he asks softly, his green eyes locked on mine.
I nod, unable to form words, as he lifts the bowl. The first drop of chocolate hits my breast, and I gasp…not from the temperature, but from the intimacy of the moment. Sal's hands are steady as he creates patterns across my skin, the dark chocolate a stark contrast against my pale flesh.
Chad's camera clicks rapidly in the background, but I can barely focus on anything except Sal's presence. The way his muscles flex with each pour, the intensity of his gaze as he works, the slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth…it's almost too much.
Heat pools between my legs as another stream of chocolate cascades over my other breast. I bite my lip, trying to maintain my composure, but I'm getting seriously worried about leaving more than chocolate on this chaise. Especially when Sal's tongue darts out to wet his lips as he concentrates on his work.
He's so hot that I wonder if I can get Lorna to offer him a position at Behind the Lens. Chocolate slides between my breasts, over my stomach, pooling over my sex and thighs. Sal pauses as his eyes light up over the small puddle of chocolate between my legs, a devilish grin transforming his face so that I can tell exactly what he’s thinking. When he looks back up at me, his eyes are radiating his desire to taste me like I'm the rarest confection.
"We almost done, Chad?" I ask. Sal looks positively feral as he reaches a hand back for a towel. I think I'm going to skip cleaning up here and head straight for the car.
We're not going to make it two feet past the end of the drive before Sal cleans me bare. The thought of his tongue as a towel causes a burst of arousal to slick the underside of my thighs. I dip a finger in the chocolate and bring it to my mouth. My head falls back a little as my tongue darts out of my ruby-red lips.
But there's no click or flash. Sal shakes himself out of his lust filled stupor, growling, "Take the picture, Chad."
Nova giggles, walking onto the set. She selects a strawberry from the bowl. Bending over me, she drags the fruit in a serpentine, sloping over my breasts and down my belly to the pool of chocolate between my legs. Then she pops it in her mouth. "Fucking divine," she purrs, the words slightly muffled as she chews.
Sal chokes. I giggle, biting my lip as I meet Sal’s eyes.
Chad laughs as the camera clicks one last time. "God, I love my fucking job. That's a wrap, folks!"
“Not this room, little dove.” Two arms slide around waist, over the silk robe that is probably ruined with chocolate stains. I couldn’t give two poops about the robe. I own a plethora of them. But I did care about putting it back on after the shoot.
Marilyn would have.
My eyebrows draw together as I frown. Sal’s arms are encircling me, but his body is held slightly away from mine. I back up, intending to press my body against his, but he lets go of me and steps back.
I turn around, trying and failing to control the pout I know is plastered over my face. “Don’t pout, little dove. I have a surprise for you.” He takes my elbow and steers me out of the dressing room. “Let’s see,” he mutters, as we head up the stairs. His eyes trail the numbers beside the doors. “Ah. Here we go. This is it, according to Nova.”
“This is a livestream room, Sal.” I tilt my head, completely confused at why he’s led me here.
He turns the knob and pushes the door open, steering me into the room. Then he lets go of my elbow and reaches behind, pulling out a trifolded bunch of papers. “This,” he says excitedly, shaking the papers for emphasis, is an NDA.”
“For what?” I ask, following him as he walks around to drop them on the vanity.
“You know,” he says conversationally, completely ignoring my confusion, “I really like that boss of yours. Lorna is a no nonsense kind of gal, but she knows a great idea when she hears one. The way her eyes lit up at my little suggestion…I think she might be a distant relative of Haze. Those two are two business sharks in a pod.”
I huff out a laugh at his butchery of the common metaphor. A knock sounds at the door. “Come in,” Sal calls, like he owns the place.
Nova pops her head in the door. “Monty said everything is ready to go and Albany can take it from here.”
“Thanks.” Sal grins at her, his smile so charming I swear she blushes as she ducks out of the room.
I turn back, survey the space we’re in. The room is simple. There’s a pale pink latex sheet over a mattress. The walls are cream colored, with lattice. There’s a Wisteria tree in one corner and hanging vines draped about the walls. The place screams grand English tea party far more than Willy Wonka’s wild chocolate sex factory. On the end table, there’s a…wait. “Is that a pot? What’s in it?”
“You know what’s in it. I figured there are very strict rules in this place regarding fraternization. So I arranged everything ahead of time with Lorna. I’m officially an employee of Behind the Lens. I have nothing scheduled after today, so we need to make my debut stellar. It’s my responsibility as the set chocolatier to make sure you get properly cleaned up, little dove, so I thought, why not stream it? With your consent, of course. Just think of what your photo is going to do to your viewers when they open up their calendars and see a shot that reminds them of the best stream you’ve ever done.” He picks up my hand and pulls me in, dropping a sweet, chaste kiss on my forehead. “If you want to go home, we are leaving, right now. But if you want me to stream with you, I’m all yours.”
He steps back and hands me his phone. “Careful.” I take it from him and read the screen. “Recognize the number? That’s a link to the stream. No chat, no camera’s allowed.”
My eyes skate over the room again. There’s a pot of chocolate. “Look in the bathroom, little dove.” I walk over to the otherside of the room and open the door. There’s a steaming bubble bath, roses strewn over the room, and a stack of fresh, fluffy towels in the warmer. “That room is fitted to stream too. This is whatever you want. You shot like a dream today baby. I’m so fucking proud of you. You’re wish is my command. Tell me what you need.” Sal reaches over to the vanity and picks up a mask. He holds it up. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys.
My eyes prickle. My voice is thick with emotion. I have no doubt Haze won’t be upset if I’m a little late. Slowly, I untie the silk belt at my waist and let the robe drop to the floor. Sal grins, chucking the keys on the vanity.
I hit send.
Sal takes his jacket and shirt off, leaving his pants on. He picks me carefully, positioning me on the bed. Then he steps back and admires his handiwork. “Do you want to make a game plan, or just go with the flow?”
I lower my eyes. “I think,” I start, considering. “I think since this is your debut and possibly only appearance at Behind the Lens, that you should lead.” I lift my hands over my head, arching my back as I stretch. Sal’s eyes darken as his breath hisses through his clenched jaw. My pussy spasms, my thighs rolling in as my arousal gathers like storm clouds. Watching my normally sweet chocolatier grow feral turns my nipples to diamond points. A wild possessiveness surges like fire through my veins. Sal’s nostrils flare and my body temperature rises so high I think I might faint.
“We're ready Marty,” I purr. Red and green lights begin blinking. Sal gaze never leaves my body. I lift my upper body off the bed and park my weight on my hands, keeping my breasts thrust forward.
“Here’s what’s going to happen Mr. Chocolate Man. You’re going to coat my body, oh, so, slowly, in that delicious, scrumptious confection, and then you’re going to lick every inch of me clean. Then, and only then, will you be allowed to put your cock inside of me.”
The front of Sal’s pants, already tented with an obvious hard on, twitch. I twist, leaning on one hand, lifting the other to pat my curls, twisting my lips in my best Marilyn moue. “Come on baby. Don’t you know chocolate is a girl’s best friend?”
His intense expression cracks, a small smile reeling him back from into human male territory. His eyes dart to the camera. I bite my lip. Has he gotten himself in too deep? Is he afraid of being intimate in a forum that, although it feels private, is very public? Has the realization that he has no control over how many pairs of eyes will watch his every move finally sunk in?
I’ll never forget the first time that knowledge settled into my bones. I’d had my legs spread and two fingers knuckle deep into my pussy when the protective shield of my costume dissipated.
My arms tremble. I’m desperate for Sal to not just have a good time. I don’t want him exposing himself to the world just because he wants to do something nice for me. I wish with all my heart for him to revel in this experience…for him to find the joy and freedom, the power in expressing himself intimately as nature intends. His face has relaxed, but his body is still frozen in place.
“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.” I twist my upper body, batting my eyes over what I hope is an innocent looking face as I blurt out the quote I suddenly remembered from my Marilyn research.
Sal’s entire body relaxes. “I don’t mind living in a woman’s world, as long as I can be a man in it,” he breathes, earning a brilliant smile from me. He may have twisted her words to suit him, but he did it with respect. I know what kind of man he is. The world needs more like him.
He steps into the scene, eyes laser focused on me.
And then he begins.
He lifts the lid off the pot, choosing one of the multiple kitchen utensils lying beside it on the nightstand. He dips it in the pot, rolling it over the liquid as he gently pushes me back on bed. “Close your eyes,” he whispers, his brilliant, gold flecked green two dark emeralds boring into my soul.
I’m loathe to break the connection between us, but this needs to be Sal’s show. Letting my arm slide out from under me, I fall back to the bed, my lids fluttering shut as my axis tips. I bounce, once, knowing my breasts are now almost flat upon my chest and my belly is as flat as she’ll ever be. I bring one leg up, pointing my toes as I twist my hips, posing like Marilyn might until Sal decides to reposition me.
He lays the spatula, covered in warm, thick chocolate, against my skin and begins to paint. My heart is pounding. I drag in some slow, deep breaths, in an effort to calm myself. “Steady, baby girl, we’re just getting started.”
A small smile spreads across my ruby red painted lips. I adore him for not calling me little dove. For keeping that private. A sweet nothing to keep just between us.
He starts at my neck. Drawing the utensil over my skin in swirls and he makes his way over my chest and down my arms, occasionally reloading the spatula with fresh chocolate. This batch is lighter, milkier than the dark chocolate we used for the shoot. There is a gold, glittering sheen, telling me Sal put plenty of thought into his plans for today. My eyes sting and burn at the incredibly thoughtful foresight of this man. Pursing my lips to exhale, I blink and stare at the ceiling until I get ahold of my emotions. I won’t share those here. Only the physical pleasure he wrings out of my body. The magic he works on my heart belongs to me.
Sal works the chocolate over my breasts no differently than he does any other inch of my skin, slowing only when he reaches the bottom of my belly, where he finishes just before my pubis, swirling the chocolate into an infinity sign. His eyes glide up his canvas before he stands up and exchanges the spatula for some kind of long handled brush. Then he begins working up my legs.
This time he doesn’t coat my skin. The brush is delightful, drawing full body shivers of pleasure as he works. My eyes drift shut, my hips swiveling as I part my flexed legs to provide Sal with more surface area to paint. Up, up, up he goes dragging the brush in some places, pressing hard and then lightly in others, dipping inside of my spread thighs, so close to my weeping sex his brush is picking up my arousal and painting it into the sweet cocoa masterpiece surrounding the aching throb he’s created.
He backs off the bed and puts the brush down. Dipping his fingers into the pot, he smears his aural concoction over my lips, around the shell of my ears, and down my neck.
And then he kissed me. Licking and nipping, he cleaned every drop of that perfectly sweet dessert off my lips, my ears, and my neck. Balanced on his arms, he kept his body over, but off mine. He moved his mouth over me like he painted, slow and steady, artfully stealing my breath and my senses, leaving me panting and desperate for me.
The room disappears as he works his way down my body. Tongue swirling, laving, lapping at my flesh, as if he were a starving man, but still in complete control. His shoulders and back bunch as he crawls over me, never losing control, never touching me with any part of his body save his lips. Sucking and drawing my skin, grazing his teeth, he devours me mind, body, and soul.
I’m lost, breathless with need, my cunt throbbing and my tits aching. Unable to stop myself from writhing, I manage to maintain my silence. The small bit of tissue I’m biting inside of my lip to stop myself from crying out tastes like blood. Sal didn’t demand silence, but something was stopping me from giving in to my desire to open my mouth and release the sounds of my pleasure. I wouldn’t dream of allowing something as base as a moan to spoil the ambiance of Sal’s art upon my body.
When he gets to my lower abdomen, he drags his tongue all the way across, from hip to hip and then closes his mouth. I spread my legs wider as he draws up his knees and sits, blocking my pussy from the cameras behind him. But not from those in the ceiling and at the head of the bed.
“Are you good?” he asks.
Pushing myself up to my elbows, I nod, still unwilling to break the spell he’d painted across me.
He backs off the bed and shucks off his pants. Standing before me, fully naked, Sal is glorious. A single image of me painting his divine body with chocolate flashes through my mind. Full of tenderness, his eyes survey my body. I don’t know if all the chocolate is gone, but I no longer care.
I need him inside of me. No matter what happens tomorrow, or next week, whether Haze decides to accept me into his life or not, nothing can ever take this from me. I’m in love with Sal. Head over heels, full on obsessed, committed, stricken with longing for the beautiful man standing nude before me.
My gaze travels down his wide chest and broad shoulders, to his trim waist, to his long legs. And as it returns, back up over the gorgeous, thick cock that would have made Michelangelo weep, he shifts. My eyes snap to his face.
That feral gleam has returned to the emerald chips glittering above the masculine nose my fingers long to run down. He drops his chin, his eyes narrowing as he advances. My chest stutters on my next inhale. Sal is done playing. He’s done giving. He no longer cares about viewers or NDA’s or Haze Harmon getting his shit together.
Sal is done, He’s finished the quest I gave him and now he wants his just reward. He steps forward. I inch back on the bed. He bends over, lifting a knee and crawls onto the latex covered mattress as I continue to wriggle back on my elbows.
His hand darts forward, locking around my ankle.
I squeal.
He yanks me down and covers my body with his. I fall to the mattress as my arms wind about his neck, pulling him close as his back flexes. One elbow lands beside my ear, as his other hand snakes between us. As soon as he’s lined up, the head of his cock presses against my entrance. His hips punch forward, smooth as the chocolate he painted my body with.
And then he fucks me. My silence broken, I grunt and moan as I rock with him. There is no need to touch myself anywhere. I’ve been at the precipice of the biggest orgasm of my life for what feels like forever. My body works for me, undulating and fucking Sal back, my hips meeting his stroke for stroke, our flesh smacking together in a timeless rhythm. The feel of his cock driving into me is exquisite. It’s too much and not enough. The way he fucks me is a new language, a sermon of devotion tattooed upon my skin with every slap of his against mine. Every drag of Sal’s tongue, every scrap of his teeth, every eye I feel boring into his rippling back as he fucks into me goads me on until every cell in my body explodes with sparkling, champagne ribbons of pleasure. I’m turned inside out, rearranged, then put back together.
But there is no end to this orgasm. He keeps fucking, and fucking, and fucking me, his pelvis tilting just so until new waves of pleasure spark and zip through my flesh, until my nails rake down his back and my fingertips feel his ass begin to tighten under my clutching fingers. I come until there is nothing but a mindless scream filling the places between the stars in my mind. And then his fingers wind into my hair. His mouth slants over mine, swallowing the last of my cries as he punches into me one last time, his cock thickening and spurting his hot release inside of me. His hips grind against my aching clit, rolling out his last couple of thrusts as leans down and whispers, “I would give all the chocolate in existence to stay inside of you,” he taps the side of my chest, right where I’m sure he can feel my heart beating hard enough to burst through my rib cage, “forever. I love you, little dove. Let’s give these peeping fuckers a bath scene that will blow their minds and then get the fuck out of here. You’ve got a dinner to attend.”
Haze answers the door in a button-down shirt with rolled-up sleeves tucked into black pants. His black hair looks a little mussed, as if his stress was determined to even ruffle his appearance. His blue eyes are brilliant with the dark five o'clock shadow. They skate down my body as he slowly shakes his head. "I still can't believe I didn't put two and two together," he murmurs. He steps back. "Welcome to my home, Albany. I hope you like spaghetti. It's the only thing I can cook."
The sight of the man leaning in the doorway with his corded forearms out and his azure eyes hopeful quickens my breath. The three of us have a lot of work to do. A lot of healing to do. But I know exactly what language Haze needs me to speak to him in. And it's a language I'm fluent in.
I follow Haze inside, my heart fluttering as his masculine scent washes over me. The house is warm and inviting, with soft lighting that casts a golden glow over the hardwood floors. The aroma of garlic and tomatoes fills the air, making my mouth water.
"Spaghetti sounds perfect," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. His presence is overwhelming…the way he moves with such controlled power, how his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. "Though I'm surprised you don't have a chef on staff, given your reputation."
He leads me through to the kitchen, and I can't help but notice how pristine everything is. "I prefer privacy," he replies, his voice low and rich. "Especially for evenings like this."
"Would you like some wine?" he asks, reaching for a bottle of red. The muscles in his forearm flex as he works the corkscrew, and I have to force myself to look away.
"Yes, please," I manage, grateful for something to do with my hands. When he passes me the glass, our fingers brush, and electricity shoots through me.
Haze's eyes lock onto mine, that brilliant blue intensifying. "I've been thinking about you," he admits softly. "About how blind I was not to recognize you sooner. Tell me about working at Behind the Lens, if you're comfortable discussing your work. How did you go from the shy, quiet girl my son adored to the seductive, confident temptress I see on my screen?" Haze asks.
"Gracious, you're diving right in, aren't you?" I take a small sip of my wine and think back. "After Jake died, I felt...invisible. Like a ghost drifting through life. I stopped caring what people thought because nothing seemed to matter anymore." I trace the rim of my wine glass with my finger. "Then one day, I saw an ad for Behind the Lens. They were looking for new talent, emphasizing body positivity and creative expression."
I pause, gauging his reaction. His face remains neutral, encouraging me to continue.
"At first, it was just about reclaiming my sexuality on my own terms. Because of my condition, I'd always felt different, like I didn't quite fit in. But at Behind the Lens, my uniqueness became my strength. The more I performed, the more confident I became." I take another sip of wine. "It wasn't about being seductive…it was about owning who I am, every pale inch of me."
"The shy girl Jake knew is still here," I muse. "She's just learned to embrace all parts of herself. The quiet and the bold. The innocent and the sensual." I meet his gaze steadily. "Behind the Lens gave me so many gifts. They're a community, a family, and they took me in and loved every inch of me for exactly who and what I am. Their love and appreciation for both my inner and outer beauty guided me with loving hands to love myself. That's what I hope to accomplish with my work, to help the beautiful people on the other end of the connection love themselves."
Haze pauses plating our meal. "That's a lofty goal," he admits, coming around the island. "I wonder what you'd think of me if you knew how much shame I suffered the first time I logged on. How it only took mere minutes for me to quicken with desire and touch myself as I watched your body flush with the bloom of an orgasm."
"Haze," I start off hesitantly, my heart aching for everything he's lost. "I couldn't, wouldn't ever judge you for that." I reach for him, hesitating as he stills. He grabs my hand and brings it the rest of the way to his face. "I'm not going to stand here and offer platitudes or what I think Angie would have wanted for you. You're the only one who can answer that. But I can tell you what I think Jake would have wanted. He told me more than once how blessed he felt to be born into such a loving family. Jake would have wanted you to be happy. He would have wanted you to live. He'd have loved Sal, and he would have been over the moon that you bought the team." Haze shudders, closing his eyes and turning his face into my hand. Our dinner sits untouched, steaming on the counter, as Haze kisses the palm of my hand. I set my wine glass down and gently cup his other cheek, his whiskers bristling under the tender skin of my palms.
And then I kiss him softly, tenderly, my lips barely brushing his. The sound that rips from his throat as he picks me up is raw, and when he opens his mouth to let me in, I know there is no turning back.