34. Chelsi
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
chelsi
“I’m not sure whether this is such a good idea.
I’m hopeless in the kitchen. Just ask Kate,” I say when Alex hands me an apron.
We’re standing at a cooking station in the middle of the class, where I’m expected to help him prepare a date-night meal.
A rustic Italian dinner and dessert, to be specific.
Everything on the menu is exactly what I’d want for the perfect date night, minus the requirement that I have to be involved to make it.
If you need help assembling a kickass charcuterie board or pairing dinner with the ideal wine, I’m your gal.
Anything beyond boiling water is outside of my comfort zone.
Alex gently strokes my cheek with the back of his hand, instantly calming my nerves. “Ever think that maybe I want to show off?”
“Wait. You can cook?”
He shrugs and flashes me the hottest smirk, setting my core ablaze with want.
“Interesting,” I murmur, tying the apron around my waist. “Does this mean you’d be fine with cooking dinner every night?”
His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer to him. “I’m more than happy to make you dinner every night. Breakfast, too, if you want.”
I gasp softly, my heart rate speeding up.
We haven’t talked about what happened the other night, when he was on tour.
How hard he made me come. The way I screamed his name.
How I’ve read through those texts every night and used them to get myself off again.
But the comment about breakfast makes me envision what it would be like to wake up next to him. Have our morning coffee together.
He leans forward, his lips brushing my ear. “My only request is that you’re in the kitchen with me. My personal sous chef.” When he takes a step back, there’s a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Think you could do that?”
“Depends. What does a sous chef have to do?” I ask, unfamiliar with the term and curious about what he might expect from me.
His eyes darken with an intense hunger as he cups my face. “You’d help with the prep work, like chopping up vegetables. Stirring pots. Nothing too hard.” He eliminates all the space between us. “But I have one other requirement…”
“What’s that?” I whisper, my chest heaving.
“You wear an apron and nothing else.” He arches his eyebrows as he gazes into my eyes. “Think you could handle that?”
“Uh-huh,” I whimper and clench my legs, trying to stop the building heat in my core. The class hasn’t started yet, so the last thing I need is to be aroused the entire time, unable to do anything.
“Good girl.” His voice is low and raspy, further accelerating the inferno in me.
There’s a slight smirk on his face, making it clear he knows exactly what he’s doing. And he’s loving every minute of it.
“All right, class. Let’s get started,” the instructor at the front of the room begins confidently, wearing a black apron and her blonde hair in a ponytail. “We’re making three items tonight. Timing is essential, especially for the dessert.”
Alex wraps his arm around my waist as we both face the instructor. “The panna cotta takes about four hours to set after you make it. We’re likely starting with that one first. My guess is she’ll have us take it home to eat later.”
“Each of your stations has all the ingredients you’ll need. Anything cold is stored in the fridge beneath the countertop.” She pauses briefly, scanning the room. “You’ll also find recipe cards for everything we’re making. Those are yours to take home once we’re done.”
Alex picks up the panna cotta card and hands it to me.
What the hell is gelatin? And why is there sour cream in a dessert?
“You’ll want to start with softening the gelatin, then making the cream mixture. Follow the instructions on your card. I’ll be walking around the room to help anyone who needs it.” She flashes a bright smile, placing her hands on her hips before heading over to the first station.
I stand next to Alex as he effortlessly pulls items from the shelves and fridge.
He looks completely at home, like he’s done this hundreds of times, while I’m not sure I could execute the basic steps in this recipe without someone’s help.
He adds a small amount of some powder—maybe that’s the gelatin—in a little bit of water.
Then, he stirs together heavy cream, milk, and sugar in a saucepan.
He glances at me with a grin. “Can you scrape out the vanilla seeds?”
“Come again?” I ask, looking at the brown bean-pod-shaped item on the counter. “Exactly how would I do that?”
“Let me show you,” he replies softly, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “First, you’re going to take the knife and cut a thin line down the vanilla bean.”
Using the knife on the counter, I hold one end of the vanilla bean with my hand and use the other to split it open.
“Good job. Now, you’ll take the edge of the knife and softly scrape out the inside.”
His warm breath on my neck spreads a ripple of goosebumps across my arms and sends a tingle to my toes.
I inhale sharply, trying to focus on the task without messing up.
For an inexplicable reason, I’m eager to learn how to do this.
I want to know what it would feel like to have a partner who helps you become a better version of yourself.
As I drag my knife along the inside of the vanilla bean, I feel his body weight pressed against my back. In a way, he’s caging me, not letting me avoid trying something new. Believing in me when I don’t have confidence in myself.
“Perfect,” he murmurs into my ear. “Add the vanilla to the saucepan and stir.”
A sense of pride flows through me when I’m able to do exactly what he says.
Slowly whisking the cream mixture, bringing it to a boil, then removing it from the heat to whisk in the mascarpone and sour cream before incorporating the gelatin.
He watches me separate the panna cotta into small ramekins and place them in the fridge.
He cups my face with his hand and stares into my eyes before softly kissing my lips. The type of kiss that’s appropriate for a public setting and leaves me wanting more.
“I can’t wait to taste your dessert tonight,” he says in a low tone.
A shiver runs down my spine. “Are you talking about the panna cotta or something else?”
He flashes me a wicked grin. “Definitely the panna cotta, since it’s the first dessert you’ve ever made, but I plan to be on my knees for you in the very near future. Might get down there and never get back up if you taste as good as I think.”
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
“Ready to make the Tuscan Brick Chicken?” he asks, like he didn’t just mention eating my pussy.
I nod, unable to form words. This man is going to edge me so hard I’m likely to come the first time his tongue, fingers, or cock touch my pussy.
For the next hour, we work in tandem making the chicken, Parmesan risotto, and an arugula salad with a vinaigrette. Alex takes the time to help me with every step, and it’s not hard to imagine standing by his side every night, making dinner in our home.
Once we’re finished cooking, we sit down at a table for two to enjoy the fruits of our labor, the soft candlelight casting a glow on his face. And that’s when it hits me so hard it takes my breath away.
There’s no more falling for this man. It’s already happened.