Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Draven
Hours later, I’m not even halfway through dinner service yet and the sauce has almost run out.
Customers have continued to pile into Tartine over the course of the day, and the phone is ringing off the hook with reservation requests.
We’ve been forced to stop accepting to-go orders because the kitchen can’t handle them all at once.
The restaurant has made more money today than it has in two weeks combined. All because of Claire’s mouth.
Just thinking about her eager, young tongue twining with mine has me pressing my wood up against the handle of the oven, allowing myself a couple of humps.
I’m feverish, head to toe, needy for her body.
I’m addicted to her. It’s an addiction I don’t want to break; I just want to indulge it now.
Over and over again. All night. All day.
I stare down into the bottom of the pot where the remainder of the magical sauce simmers. I do not like that other people are tasting something that comes from her.
Not at all.
In fact, when I think about it too hard, I’m overcome with rage. Jealousy.
Her mouth is mine. No one else has the right to get this close to tasting it.
It’s mine.
My only saving grace is that no one knows she’s the unwitting mastermind behind the sauce that has the whole region in a frenzy.
Otherwise, there would be no way I could continue to spoon the sauce over chicken.
Or steak. Hell, people are coming in and simply ordering bowls of the stuff, drinking it down like water.
We’ve finally managed to get the dining room under control, but last I heard, there were several couples getting busy in the parking lot.
I feel Claire at my elbow, and I turn to her eagerly, wrapping her in my arms and inhaling the fruity fragrance of her hair. “Hey,” I say, gruffly. God, I missed her and she was only standing a couple of yards away at the sink. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” she says sweetly, kissing my cheek.
“Today is your last day doing dishes,” I say, stroking my hands down her back, wishing we were alone so I could simply lift her up and tuck myself inside her extra-snug hole. Bounce her around on my cock. God, I need in. “My girl doesn’t wash dishes for a living.”
She wrinkles her nose at me. “What will I do instead?”
I consider her question. “Well, you’re not going to be a waitress or hostess, because I’ll be goddammed if customers are going to ogle my wife.
” Turning her away from the rest of the kitchen staff’s regard, I give her ass a nice hard squeeze beneath her skirt, then I pet the sting away.
“I think our only option is to teach you how to cook.”
“I know how to cook,” she says primly, tossing her blonde hair back. “I cooked for my whole family for years.”
A weight turns over in my chest. “Then I’ll teach you how to cook for pleasure.”
Her eyes go gentle with affection. “If you give me any more pleasure, I won’t be able to stand it,” she whispers, tightening her legs around me, her breath hitching when she feels how fat she’s made my dick. “The whole kitchen staff are being nice to me now.”
Jealousy ticks in my throat. “Why?”
“Because I made the boss nice. You haven’t called anyone a pissant all day.”
She presses her forehead to mine and laughs, causing my chest to flood with emotion. “Christ, I’m so in love with you, Claire.”
“I’m so in love with you, too, Draven.” She kisses me softly. “That’s why I want to help you make some more sauce.”
I’m already shaking my head. Up until now, I didn’t realize how much it was killing me to send the essence of my girl out to strangers. “We’re not making anymore. Every part of you is mine and I’m not selling.”
“You can’t look at it like that.”
“Yes, I can,” I half-shout, agonized.
“No.” She holds the sides of my head. “Besides, it’s both of us that create the magic. You’re not sending me out to strangers, you’re sending us out. Me wrapped in you.”
A furrow etches itself between my brows. “How so?”
“Because I only taste so good because you kiss me,” she whispers, stroking her fingers through my hair. “I only taste so good between my legs because you make me wet. It comes from both of us.”
“It’s a good argument, I’ll give you that,” I say, smiling against her pouty mouth. “But I know when I’m being maneuvered.”
“Think of what we could do with our secret.” She rubs our lips together.
“If you ever wanted to move on from Tartine…and the guilt you can’t seem to escape here…
people will follow you.” She teases the seam of my mouth with the tongue, rubbing her cunt against my arousal at the same time.
“We make magic, Daddy. We should use it.”
“Claire…” I say, hoarsely, shuddering. Overwhelmed by lust and love and everything in between. “Thank God, I found you.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” she whispers, her eyes wet. Heavy with feeling.
For me.
How did I get so lucky?
Slowly, her legs drop from around my waist, but she remains pressed against me on her tiptoes. “Make a new sauce. I’ll meet you in the pantry when it’s time for the final touch.”
She saunters away, those fuckable ass cheeks twitching on her way back to the sink.
Damn, I can still feel those smooth buns sliding up and back against my stomach, the way they did early this morning. This day cannot end soon enough.
I put the sauce together faster than I ever have in my life.
I melt butter and add herbs, combining it all with chicken stock and red wine.
Mushrooms, onions, garlic. All the while, sweat is building inside of my chef’s coat, at the edge of my cap.
By the time the sauce has begun simmering, I’m laboring to breathe.
Turning away from the stove, I meet Claire’s eyes on my way to the pantry, closing myself inside and beginning to pace.
Claire enters behind me a few seconds later, closing the door behind her.
I lunge for my obsession with a desperate moan, our mouths fusing while I yank her skirt up to her hips, scrubbing the heel of my hand down the mound of her pussy.
Gripping and fondling her soft heat. The rush of flavor from her mouth nearly knocks me over, but somehow, I remain coherent.
Coherent enough not to fuck her up against the shelves laden with goods.
I can’t do that here, as much as I need it.
“Put your big fingers in my pussy, Daddy,” she purrs, biting her lip. “Take some juice. After all, you’re the one who makes it.”
Horny as a bull, her baby talk filling my head and rearranging what I thought I knew about myself, I rip her panties down and shove my middle and index fingers into her wet cunt, spend leaking from the tip of my cock when I find her drenched as hell.
“Tell me you’re soaked because you want my sperm. Tell me you’re soaked for breeding.”
Wide-eyed, she searches my face. “W-what’s that?”
At first, I think she can’t possibly mean the question.
She’s playing her part. But when I realize she’s being authentic, I’m awed by her genuine innocence.
And I vow to protect it. From everyone but me.
“It means I want to get you pregnant,” I explain, my composure unraveling.
“It means I want to pump my come into this little hole and watch your belly swell for nine months.”
“Oh,” she breathes, beginning to tremble. In a good way. With passion that I can see, feel, taste. “You’re going to make me a wife and a mother in one day?”
“You’re goddamn right I am,” I growl, consuming her with a kiss—and we refuse to come up for air, our lips greedy and growing greedier by the second, as my digits continue to fuck her between the legs, the tempo picking up until I’m pressed in deep as I can go and jiggling that little G-spot for broke, doing my best to swallow her mewls with my mouth, but I can’t catch them all and I’m positive everyone knows what we’re doing in here now.
I’m also positive I don’t care about anything but Claire and finishing her, my own cock beginning to jerk and convulse in my pants.
I’m going to pop as soon as she does, I guarantee it.
“Go ahead, little girl. Put that liquid gold in Daddy’s hand.” I move my fingers faster, and she stiffens, her eyes going big as saucers, pupils in a full eclipse. “Everyone is waiting to eat.”
“Oh! Oh my!”
Her walls twist around my fingers, her essence pouring forth, and I lose my grip on self-control, soaking the fly of my pants with molten hot jizz, my balls squeezing and releasing so violently, I choke her out of pure revenge with my left hand, and she loves it, the momentary lack of breath, her pussy shrinking up and creaming all over again the deeper I dig my fingers into her throat.
Until finally, we’re both shaken and drained and I slip my dripping right hand fingers out of her miracle cunt and tap them on her tongue, collecting from both sources.
“It’s going to be your best sauce yet,” she whispers in between pants of breath.
And she’s right.
We have to bar the doors at the end of the night to stop people coming in after hours, demanding more of Tartine’s now-famous offering. Finally, after what seems like a millennium, I am able to carry my fiancée out the back door.
Neither one of us sees the cigarette glowing in the dark.
Or the speculative eyes peering at us through a cloud of smoke.