CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
K ate and Pat—the chefs from Two Spotted Cows and a Gray Duck—wait at the head of the table while servers deliver the next course. Mouthwatering aromas waft from the plates, steam rising to tease my taste buds. Before we take a bite, the culinary pair will launch into an explanation of what’s in this particular dish. I’ve learned this is customary during events such as a Benson dinner party hosted by my husband. There’s an exclusive menu that they created just for tonight.
It’s a rather impressive affair.We’re dressed in our Saturday evening best. The men have their hats hanging on the backs of their chairs. Brody hasn’t taken his eyes off me or the sequin dress I chose to wear. A thrill rushes through me whenever I catch his fiery stare.
Pat clears his throat once the final plate is set in front of my brother. “What you have in front of you is cider-braised, slow-roasted pork. We’ve included a salad that features farm-fresh ingredients. Apple, avocado, blue cheese, and radish tossed in a maple vinaigrette.”
Several looks of confusion are exchanged between us, especially from my side of the family. We’re unfamiliar with such an elaborate presentation. It sounds too fancy for us to eat, much like the three dishes before this.
Who knew caviar went into deviled eggs? Or how pumpkin complements beer cheese soup? Certainly not me. I’m still scratching my head about the hamachi crudo with pickled squash, but it sure was tasty. The confusion has been filling my belly with delicacies I can’t afford.
At least until Kate takes her turn to speak.
“You’ll notice one more item on your plate,” she announces. “As an added indulgence, and a special surprise for Mrs. Benson, we’ve included a baked five-cheese macaroni with bechamel and toasted breadcrumbs.”
I gasp and swing my gaze to Brody. “You asked them to make my favorite?”
“Even had them leave it off the menu to get this reaction.” He cups my cheek before giving the couple responsible a cool grin, which is a big gesture coming from him.
“Thank you.” My gratitude spreads my lips a bit higher.
The culinary experts bow in unison and disappear into the kitchen. Utensils instantly scrape fine china in a collective wave. Boisterous foodgasms erupt around us, but I’m distracted from digging in just yet.
Brody’s palm glides along my thigh under the table. “You’ll have to tell me if their version is better than mine.”
“That doesn’t seem like a fair comparison.” Drool is about to spill from my lips just looking at the macaroni.
He squeezes me gently, drifting higher under my dress. “ Don’t worry about hurting their feelings. Chefs are used to harsh criticism.”
I laugh at this cocky cowboy. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
My adventurous spirit stabs at the salad first. It’s zesty and packs a crisp punch. The dressing is rich but subtle. This is another exquisite mix of ingredients that I wouldn’t have thought of myself. I eagerly dive in for more.
The prongs of my fork glide into the pork like it’s melted butter. Countless flavors burst across my tongue in a savory wave. I barely trap a moan, my eyes sliding shut in pleasure.
The meat is tender and cooked perfectly. Whatever seasoning they used adds more depth, not that it’s needed. My taste buds are dancing for joy.
And last, but certainly not least, I lick my lips while spearing several noodles for consumption. High expectations are stacked against this recreation of a classic, but it doesn’t disappoint. An explosion of bold goodness and comfort fills me. The cheesy blend demands appreciation. Delicious bliss spreads from my mouth and I slump against the chair with a wistful sigh.
“Careful,” my husband warns. “You’re making me jealous of what’s sliding down your throat.”
I choke on my next forkful. “It’s very thick and creamy. You should try it.”
“I’d rather watch you eat.” His voice is wolfish, jaws ready to snap me in half.
“That’s a little creepy.” But I blush and focus on my plate before bursting into flames.
Brody rushes through the process of trying a bite of each thing. “Satisfied?”
Desire pools and I gulp. “Far from it. ”
His gaze is riveted on the pasta sliding past my lips. “What’s the verdict?”
“This might be the best meal I’ve ever had.” My gaze cuts to him, catching his conflicted expression. “But I prefer your recipe for the mac and cheese.”
He chuckles and our families pause their gluttony. “If you recall, there’s nothing soft about me. No need to spare my feelings.”
“Your ego might be a bit gooey ‘round the edges,” I reply. “Especially when trying to get my approval.”
His fingers roam between my thighs. “Do you need a reminder of who gets off on praise?”
I clap my knees together, trapping his attempt to rattle me. “Nope. Completely unnecessary.”
My husband sits back, his heated stare devouring me whole. His hand moves to a more respectful position considering our company. “That’s my good little wife.”
“Babes,” Bianca murmurs from the corner of her lips.
My body jolts as if shocked by her gentle whisper beside me. “Um, yeah?”
She examines me for several seconds. “I don’t want to know what you did to my brother to get us this food, but bravo.”
I flush from head to toe, fighting the urge to squirm under Brody’s smolder while his sister talks to me. “Thanks, I guess.”
“If the portions were any bigger, you’d have to roll me out of here.” Dad pats his belly.
A chorus of agreement circles our full group.
Once the plates are cleared, we’re informed that dessert will be served shortly. I glance at Brody while my pulse kicks. This seems like an opportune moment to shatter the illusion. Brody tilts his head, allowing me to do the honors. Such a gentleman.
I clasp his hand, linking our fingers in solidarity. “There’s something we wanted to talk to you about.”
“You’re pregnant!” Mom claps in celebratory fashion.
An indignant puff escapes me when I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Not this again.”
She pouts. “Does that mean there’s no baby?”
“No baby,” I confirm. “And there probably won’t be.”
A sharp grunt from my left has me glancing at Brody. His brows are drawn tight to match his frown. I’m not sure why, but an image of this broody billionaire changing a dirty diaper pops into my mind. It’s adorable, and too endearing to resist. I roll my lips between my teeth to trap a laugh.
“Um, okay. Maybe we’ll have babies eventually,” I amend.
The noise that rumbles from him in response is pleased.
My mom is satisfied with that revision as well. She smiles while twirling her wrist. “What do you have to tell us?”
“Well… uh,” I stall and fidget with the tablecloth. “We have a confession.”
“It’s mostly mine to make,” Brody pipes in. His grip on my palm tightens while I gladly hand over the reins. “I needed a wife in order to secure ownership of Benson Farmstead. There was a very recent and bogus contractual obligation put in place before the company could be officially mine.”
Dennis clucks his tongue. “Just did what needed to be done.”
“And I followed by example,” Brody says gruffly. “I convinced Paisley to marry me using… unconventional methods. ”
Bianca snorts. “Mhmm, and that’s just the half of it. He had Colton steal my phone so I couldn’t stop him.”
He gives her a stern glare. “Thanks, sis.”
“Just doing my part.” Her smile is gratified.
My dad’s stare pins Brody with violent intentions. “What kind of unconventional methods?”
“It wasn’t anything bad,” I rush to explain. “Well, it was bad, but not that bad.”
“Blackmail mostly,” my darling husband clarifies. “And I was never going to actually sell Echo.”
“Ah,” Dennis breathes. “That explains a lot.”
Mom appears puzzled. “Paisley wouldn’t agree to do something that she wasn’t comfortable doing. I’m sure she would’ve told us if she felt forced into it.”
My siblings exchange a glance and I glare at them to keep quiet. Those two have gotten me into a lot of trouble when I’ve spared them from it.
“I didn’t want to disappoint you.” My focus shifts between all three parents seated across from me.
Dad silently chews on that for a moment. “You don’t love him?”
“I didn’t at the time,” I mumble.
“But now?” Mom is sitting forward, eager for another modification to this scene.
I gnaw on my inner cheek, sliding a glance to Brody. “Maybe?”
His smirk has me ready to throw caution to the wind. “We’ve come a long way, Twinkles.”
“Pretty quickly,” I murmur in return.
“This is super romantic,” Gemma croons.
Ryder pulls a face. “The grub is worth sitting through it. ”
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad he buckled me in barbwire.” I hold up my ring, which sparkles in the dim lighting. “Our relationship is real and I’m happy.”
My husband presses a kiss to my inner wrist, which earns him a unified sigh from the peanut gallery. “You gave me more chances than I deserved.”
“It’s turning out to be better than the best bad decision I’ll ever make.” I wink and blow him a kiss.
“Okay, enough of that. Dad?” Bianca turns the spotlight on Dennis. “Don’t you have anything else to say?”
He shrugs, scratching at the whiskers on his chin. “Not sure what all the fuss is about. They’re crazy ‘bout each other. I just gave Brody a nudge in the right direction.”
“More like a shove,” my husband corrects.
“Okay, fine,” the old man concedes. “This might be my fault. I put too much pressure on you.”
Brody’s scoff smothers the excuse. “That’s not the issue, and it never has been.”
Dennis exhales a wry chuckle. “I selfishly wanted to see you settled, but my intentions were good. Besides, arrangements like this used to be common practice.”
“In ancient history,” Bianca huffs.
He waves that away. “Doesn’t matter how it started. It’s about what you do with the opportunity. Walking away is easy. Sticking around for the fight takes effort. From what I can see”—he points his fork between us—“it’s worked out just fine.”
And the rest of our meal follows that theme. Dessert is served soon after our parents give us their blessing. Again. We gobble the cranberry upside-down cake like heathens. An orange glaze and maple whipped cream were the literal icing on top.
When we’re about to burst, hugs and warm wishes are exchanged before calling it a night. I hug my parents and siblings, sending them home with plenty of leftovers. Dennis wanders off in the direction of the backyard while Bianca saunters to her prospective personal space of the mansion.
“This might be a silly question,” I ponder while Brody escorts me back to the dining room. “Do we have to do the dishes?”
He grunts and shakes his head. “But I’m going to do you on top of them.”
“What’s that now?”
“Dinner was great, but food is just bland sustenance. I barely taste it. You’re the only thing my appetite craves.”
That’s how I find myself hoisted onto the table in front of his chair. Warmth washes over me when Brody unbuckles his jeans before sitting down. His cock juts upright in obvious excitement. My stomach clenches, still hungry even after that incredible feast.
“Take off your underwear,” my husband commands.
“Bossy.” I immediately settle into the role while removing the scrap of lace from underneath my dress.
He grabs the discarded bundle from my grip, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deep. “Fuck, you smell like sugar.”
I gawk at the filthy act while his eyes burn into mine. “That’s dirty, husband.”
“You love it,” he rasps. “Now lie down and spread your legs.”
I do as I’m told, thankful that the place settings have been taken away. My feet slip before gaining a grip on the arms of his chair. Brody flips the hem of my skirt to put me on full display. His voice is rough with the next demand.
“Wider.” A rumble spills from him when I allow my thighs to split apart.
Cool air tingles my slick flesh and I shiver. The solid wood beneath me is cold too. That keeps me from spontaneously combusting as fire rushes through my veins. I peek at Brody, admiring the way his forearm flexes while he strokes himself. He’s rolled up his sleeves to reveal his ink and ropey veins. The sight fills me with need, eager for release.
My husband doesn’t make me wait long. “Feed me your pussy while I fuck my fist.”
There’s no hesitation from me. I scoot my butt to the edge until I’m holding myself aloft for his taking. My elbows ache from bracing in this position like a serving tray. Brody ducks forward, hooking my knees over his shoulders. His palms cradle my ass and allow me to relax.
A long exhale blows against my parted heat. “Are you wet for me?”
“Yes,” I whimper.
His tongue swipes through my center and I jerk from the stimulation. A low groan vibrates my clit. I cry out, curling my fingers over the end of the table to stay grounded.
“Already close,” he observes.
It’s not a surprise that he can tell. Our relationship might be in the learning phase, but we don’t require training wheels for this journey. Natural attraction and chemistry blaze between us. My body speaks to his in a language that’s been fluent from the start.
I grind forward when his tongue spears into me. My tentative motions fill me with him in a jerky loop until he licks to my clit. Hard suction pulls the promise of relief closer. My soft mewls beg for more.
His mouth doesn’t relent the pressure on my arousal, but there’s subtle movements elsewhere. I bobble slightly as he adjusts his grasp, shifting my weight to balance on one hand. Lust fondles me while I imagine his other palm wrapped around his shaft.
“Pinch your nipples,” he growls into my sex.
Green desire swirls in his stare as he watches me comply. I scramble to rip my breasts free from the cups of my bra. A sharp sting radiates outward and I repeat the clamping motion. My empty core clenches in silent demand. I’m almost there.
Rapid lashes against my clit douse me in flames and pleasure. My mind swims while I launch over the peak. Spasms attack my limbs, quaking me against the table.
As the convulsions are thrashing through me, Brody stands and guides my legs around his hips. One thrust shoves him inside of me to the hilt. I scream against the added pressure when he bellows his release. Heat consumes me, muscles contracting for every drop of him. We ride the high wrapped together as one. His arms clutch me tighter against him, rapid breathing jostling us in an uneven tempo.
“And that”—he exhales against my throat—“is how we’ll end our dinner parties from now on.”
My body goes lax in his capable grip. “Won’t hear an argument from me.”
Brody pulls away slightly to catch my bleary gaze. Green clashes with blue. “Can I carry you to bed?”
I laugh and kick my feet. “As if you even need to ask, husband.”