Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Claire
The following morning, we are driving to Tartine.
Draven holds my hand against his mouth as he maneuvers through traffic, sneaking longing glances at me the entire way downtown.
I feel so happy and safe in the passenger seat, I’m too giddy to stop smiling.
I woke up this morning to the smell of coffee and soreness, Draven’s scent all over me—and it’s no mystery why.
I woke up twice to his hands on my naked body, his urgent requests for permission in my ear.
The first time, he spat on my sex and threw my legs over his shoulders, riding me so hard the headboard left marks all over his wall.
The second time, closer to dawn, I was rolled over onto my stomach and pinned down, his lovemaking deep and grinding and slow this time, the sheets damp with sweat by the time we finished.
Hours later, his hoarse groans of pleasure still echo in my ears.
I can’t hardly believe the girl I’ve become since meeting Draven. For one, I never knew I would enjoy sex so much. Though it’s more of a constant craving, isn’t it? Even now, I ache to be straddling his lap and rubbing myself on his thick tool. Tempting my Daddy.
Yeah…I have a Daddy now.
I don’t really understand how it happened or how we both magically knew how to proceed, since neither of us have been in this kind of relationship before, but I feel like I’ve fallen from the sky and landed in an endless field of feathers.
I’ve found my home. Draven is over a decade older than me and maybe some people will frown on that.
But his maturity and experience are so attractive, I can barely sit still.
I could never feel this secure with a boy my own age.
I could never feel like this with anyone besides Draven.
“How are we going to explain me arriving to work for the lunch shift?” I ask Draven. “Pierre only hired me for evenings.”
“I don’t give a fuck what my brother said.” He gives me a stern look that releases a series of flutters in my belly. “You don’t leave my goddamn sight, Claire.”
“I don’t want to leave your sight,” I whisper, watching breathlessly as he mashes my knuckles to his mouth, kissing each of them one by one. “I’m surprised you and Pierre have been able to run the restaurant together for so long, considering how different you are.”
“Different is a mild way to put it,” he mutters, taking a right turn onto the avenue. “I probably would have opened my own place by now if…”
“If he wasn’t keeping you at Tartine with endless guilt trips?
” I turn sideways in my seat so I can sit up on my knees and lean over the console, kissing the side of his face.
“What happened to your mother was a tragedy, but it was also an accident. You can’t punish yourself forever.
And it’s wrong of him to hold such a painful memory over your head. ”
Draven sighs. “I know you’re right, but when he brings up what happened, the guilt just takes over. Shame that I could make such a monumental mistake.”
“No,” I whisper, flooded with sympathy. “Mistakes are human.”
“Mine had the ultimate consequence, though. Maybe it’s right that I live with the intention of making up for it. Maybe I should have to bear a penance.” He squeezes my hand tight in his grip. “I can bear anything now. I can get through the worst days, as long as you’re with me at the end of them.”
“I will be,” I whisper, planting kisses along his hairline and jaw. “I always will be.”
We’re almost to the restaurant when we hit a snarl in traffic.
I plop back down in the passenger seat, trading a perplexed glance with Draven.
Cars honk their horns at the stoplight across the street from Tartine, and when I look out the window, the intersection in front of the establishment looks like a parking lot.
“What the hell is going on?” Draven asks. “There’s never traffic mid-morning.”
“Strange,” I murmur, the daylight overhead catching my eye. “Open the sunroof and I’ll look out and see if I can find the source of the holdup.”
Draven hits a button and the sunroof opens.
I kick off my shoes and climb up, scanning the intersection. I’m wearing a cropped white t-shirt and a short, black, drawstring skirt that isn’t really appropriate for work, but I plan on wearing the apron over everything once I make it into the employee locker room.
Obviously, Draven appreciates my outfit because, while I’m looking out the sunroof, he’s down below in the car, skimming his palms along the curve of my hips, giving my breasts a rough squeeze through the thin material of my shirt.
“God, little girl,” he moans against my stomach.
“I used you like a little fuck toy last night and you still woke up smiling at me. I’m terrified you’re a dream. ”
“Um. Draven,” I say, distracting by what I see up ahead.
His pushes up my T-shirt to expose my breasts with a shaky exhalation, his open mouth latches onto my nipple, worrying my flesh into a pink pebble.
“Draven,” I breath, fighting off the inundation of lust. “All these people…they’re trying to get into Tartine! There’s a line out the door!”
His warm mouth gradually leaves me, and he pulls my shirt back into place.
“What?” I sit back down in the passenger seat, still trying to comprehend the scene I’ve just witnessed.
“People are literally fist-fighting and tackling each other to get through the door of the restaurant. Do you have some kind of…special promotion today?”
Slowly, Draven’s eyes have started to darken, his chest rising and falling. “Oh fuck.”
“What?”
“Pierre…” He wheels the car into the closest parking lot, his tires squealing as he pulls into a spot. “He must have served the new sauce to the lunch crowd.”
Understanding dawns. “Our sauce?” I whisper. “The one y-you seasoned…”
“With that perfect mouth?” He drags five harried fingers through his hair. “Yeah. That one. Son of a bitch.”
Draven lunges out of the car, circling around to my side.
He wrenches open my door and pulls me out, pressing me between his body and the vehicle.
“We can’t let anyone know why that sauce is so good, Claire.
” He points to the clogged intersection.
“Or those people won’t be trying to beat down the door of the restaurant.
They’ll be fighting tooth and nail for a chance to drink from the tap. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
A shiver carries down my spine. “They’ll…want me.”
“I’m not going to let that happen,” he says fervently, his mouth capturing mine in a hard kiss. One that leaves his eyes glazed. Because of my taste. “No one is ever going to touch you, except for me. That’s why we need to keep the secret.”
He’s right.
The idea of these people turning their aggression on me is horrifying.
“Don’t worry,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck, my heart soaring when he picks me up in a cherishing bear hug, rocking me side to side. “No one will find out.”
When we walk through the rear entrance of Tartine five minutes later, we both stop in our tracks. The sound of people moaning is muffled, but there is no mistaking what it is. Draven looks down at me and all I can do is blink in dismay. What is going on?
Keeping my hand locked tightly inside of his, Draven pulls me into the kitchen where, sure enough, the infamous pot of sauce bubbles on the stove, one of the line cooks ladling it over two plates of waiting roast chicken, visibly stressed by the row of tickets pinned to the metal rack overhead.
His fellow kitchen staff appear stunned, to say the least, but they rush to keep up with the overflowing restaurant
We pause at the swinging doors that lead into the dining room, before Draven finally pushes open the left door a few inches.
My jaw drops to the floor.
What I’m seeing simply cannot be real.
There is an…orgy taking place in the dining room.
Diners are openly having sex at their tables.
At least five different women are bent over the salt and pepper shakers, clutching the white cloths in their hands while men deliver frantic drives from behind.
A foursome of diners make scandalous use of a booth, discarded clothes flying in every direction.
Other diners watch in a mixture of shock, lust, fascination.
The waitress is sitting on the busboy’s face, writhing.
Right there on the floor.
Her tray? Forgotten.
“Didn’t I tell you, Claire, that you’re an aphrodisiac?” Draven says for my ears alone. When I glance up at him, his upper lip is shiny with perspiration and he’s staring at my mouth. “Even with all this commotion, I can’t think of anything but licking your tight little pussy.”
“Draven,” I say, my skin dotting with goosebumps. “All of this really c-can’t be because of me, can it?”
“It is. And after a night of experiencing you, I’m not even remotely surprised.
” Cursing, he swipes the sweat from his upper lip.
“Jesus Christ. I need to get the situation under control, so I can get through this day and take you back to bed.” He takes my hand and brings it to his erection, cupping my hand around the intense stiffness.
“You’re going to have me like this all day, little girl. When I get you home…”
My pulse thrums with excitement. “What?”
A shudder goes through his big frame. “Let’s just say you’re going to regain consciousness in the bathtub again.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper, owning my role.
Embodying it…until it no longer feels like a role.
It’s just me.
I’m still marveling over the new sense of rightness when Pierre appears in front of us, his face a mask of glee. “Would you look at this? The public is beating the door down!”
Draven drags me up against his side, pressing my face into his pec. “I don’t know why you look so thrilled, Pierre. We can’t have people fucking in the dining room.”
“You’re the one who made the incredible sauce!” Pierre crows, prodding Draven in the chest. “You were holding out on me. That sauce is going to get us a Michelin star. When did you finalize the recipe?”
“Last night,” Draven says through his teeth.
Hooting, Pierre gives me a leering once over. “She must be one hell of an inspiration.”
Every muscle stiffens in Draven’s body, and he pushes me behind him. “This is your final warning. You talk about Claire with anything less than respect again, I will make you wish you were never born. Do you hear me?”
“Why so protective of the dish washer—”
“She’s going to be my wife,” Draven growls.
Pierre does a double take.
As do I.
“What?” I whisper.
“What?” Pierre sputters. “You’ve known her for one day!”
“I know she’s mine,” Draven states with total confidence and authority. “And that’s not for you to question.” He points to the dining room. “Get this fucking mess under control before someone calls the police.”
“You’re the one who created such a seductive sauce,” Pierre points out, gesturing to the waitress who was now on her knees, blowing the stupefied busboy. “And come on, you can’t buy this kind of a publicity. Did you put drugs in it or something?”
“No, I didn’t put drugs in it,” Draven says, rolling his eyes at his brother, and drags me back into the kitchen. “I put the ultimate drug in it,” he mutters, just for me, his gaze softening on my face. “My fiancée.”
I swear, I’m floating. “You really caught me off guard with that one.”
“I’ll ask you properly later.” He pulls me to a stop in front of the stove where the pot of sauce is halfway gone. Looking at me closely, he frowns. “You’re going to say yes, aren’t you?”
“Of course, I am.”
Pride and relief go to war on his face and suddenly, I’m scooped up, giggling as my thighs wrap around Draven’s waist. Just before Draven kisses me, I notice Pierre watching me with narrow-eyed suspicion just over Draven’s shoulder.
But then my fiancé's mouth is on mine and the kitchen is cheering while we groan into a celebratory kiss.
Pierre’s sharp watchfulness slips right out of my head.
For now.