8. Adrian
8
ADRIAN
I watch Maya step out of my car, her eyes wide as she takes in my home’s stark, modern lines. The setting sun casts long shadows across the reflecting pool, making the water appear like liquid obsidian.
“Your house is... unexpected.” Maya walks gracefully along the limestone path.
“What were you expecting? A gingerbread house?” I unlock the front door, breathing in the rich aroma of mole sauce that’s been simmering all afternoon.
“Maybe something more Gothic.” Her laugh echoes in the foyer. “This is almost minimalist.”
“I save the drama for my chocolates.” I guide her to the dining room, where I’ve set the table with stark white China and crystal stemware. “Please, sit.”
The candlelight catches the ruby depths of the wine as I pour. "A 2015 Chateau Léoville-Las Cases. The tannins complement the complexity of mole sauce perfectly.”
Maya lifts the glass, inhaling. “You made mole sauce from scratch?”
“Twenty-three ingredients, including three types of chilies and, of course, chocolate.” I disappear into the kitchen and return with two plates. “The chicken has been braising for hours.”
The sauce gleams and looks velvety over the tender meat. I’ve garnished each plate with a sprinkle of sesame seeds and fresh cilantro.
I watch Maya take her first bite, noting how her eyes close in concentration. Her fork hovers midway to her mouth as she processes the complex layers of flavor. A small moan escapes her lips.
“This is...” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Adrian, this mole is incredible. The balance of sweetness and heat, the way the chocolate deepens everything without overwhelming... you could run a Michelin star restaurant if you ever tire of making chocolates.”
Pride swells in my chest. “The secret is toasting the chilies and nuts separately, then grinding them fresh.” Sipping the wine, I savor both the vintage and her praise. “But I prefer the precision of chocolate work. Restaurants are too... chaotic.”
“Best mole I’ve ever tasted, and I’ve had it in Oaxaca.” She takes another bite, dragging her fork through the sauce to capture every drop. “The depth of flavor is remarkable.”
I lean back, pleased by her genuine appreciation. Few people understand the artistry of balancing flavors and the patience required to build layers of taste. But Maya does. Her synesthesia makes her the perfect audience for my culinary experiments.
“You’re too kind.” I refill her wine glass. “Though I must admit, hearing such praise from someone with your unique palate is particularly gratifying.”
I can’t take my eyes off her. Every movement Maya makes should be a study in human sensuality—how her throat moves as she swallows the wine, how her tongue darts out to catch a drop of sauce from her lower lip. My hands tighten around my utensils as she closes her eyes to savor another bite.
“The spices...” She practically purrs the words. “There’s something almost forbidden in how they bloom on my tongue.”
Heat courses through my veins. I’ve never been this affected by anyone before. Usually, I maintain perfect control, but watching her experience my cooking with such abandon makes my pulse race.
“I want to understand how your mind translates this moment—tell me everything you sense.”
Maya takes another bite, and I track the movement of her fork from plate to mouth. “Darkness. Mystery.” She pauses, considering. “But also... passion. An urgency underneath all these layers makes my heart beat faster.”
The candlelight plays across her collarbone, casting shadows that beg to be traced with my tongue. I shift in my chair, acutely aware of every breath she takes, every subtle movement of her body.
“The chocolate especially...” She leans forward, and her perfume mingles with the rich aroma of the mole. “It’s different from your usual work. More... honest.”
The word strikes something deep within me. I’ve never wanted anyone to see me—truly see me—until now. Maya’s ability to taste emotions in food should terrify me and make me want to push her away. Instead, I’m craving more of her insights and presence.
“You’re different,” I point out.
Her eyes meet mine across the table, and electricity crackles between us. She takes another sip of wine, her lipstick leaving a perfect imprint on the crystal. “Different, how?”
I watch a drop of wine cling to her bottom lip, fighting the urge to lean across the table and taste it myself. The need to possess her, to consume her, burns through my carefully constructed control.
“You see beyond the surface.” My fingers trace the stem of my wine glass. “Most people are content with the facade—the pristine packaging, the perfect temper of the chocolate. But you...” I lean forward, drawn to how her chest rises with each breath. “You taste the void beneath that feeds my creations.”
“The way you made me feel during our tasting...” She sets down her fork, her eyes meeting mine. “No one has ever made me come like that. Just from taste, from the briefest of touch.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “From your voice alone.”
My grip tightens on the wine glass. “You bring out something in me, Maya. Something I usually keep locked away.”
“Show me.” The challenge in her voice makes my blood sing. “I want to see what’s beneath your perfect control.”
I rise from my chair, circling the table with measured steps. My hand finds her throat, tilting her head back to look up at me. Her pulse races beneath my fingers.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for.” My thumb traces her bottom lip, and she parts them on an exhale. “The things I want to do to you...”
“I’m not afraid.”
“You should be.”
“Kiss me.” Maya’s words ghost across my thumb as it traces her lower lip. “Please.”
The same request she made during our tasting. My body tenses at the memory of her blindfolded, begging. I drag my thumb down her chin, tilting her head further back.
“No.”
But God, how I want to. Her lips part, waiting. I can smell the wine on her breath, imagine how she’d taste—spices from the mole sauce mingling with the sweetness of her mouth. My grip on her throat tightens fractionally.
“Why not?” Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers. “I feel how much you want to.”
I lean forward until my lips hover just above hers, close enough to share her breath. Close enough that the slightest movement would bridge the gap. The scent of her perfume mixed with arousal makes my head spin.
“Because, little critic—” I trace my nose along her jaw, breathing her in. “The moment I kiss you, there’s no going back. No more games. No more pretending this is just research for your review.”
Maya arches up, trying to capture my mouth. I pull back just enough to deny her, earning a frustrated whimper that sends heat straight through me.
“I don’t want to pretend anymore.” Her hands grip my shirt, trying to pull me closer. “I want?—”
“Shh.” I press my finger to her lips. “You have no idea what you’re offering. What I’ll take if you give me permission.”
She parts her lips, taking my finger into the wet heat of her mouth. The sensation shoots straight to my cock as she swirls her tongue around the digit. My other hand tightens in her hair, fighting the urge to crush my mouth to hers.
Not yet. Not until she understands exactly what she’s asking for. What it means to become the possession of a monster.
I pull my finger from her mouth, dragging it across her bottom lip. “Patience. Some things are worth waiting for.”
I clear our plates, watching Maya’s tongue dart out to catch the last drop of mole sauce from her fork. My cock throbs painfully against my zipper as she makes a show of it, her eyes locked on mine.
“Ready for dessert?” I ask.
She crosses her legs slowly, the hem of her dress riding up her thigh. “Mmm. What did you have in mind?”
Images flood my mind—Maya on her knees, those perfect lips wrapped around my cock, her eyes watering as I fuck her throat.
“I prepared something special.” The words catch in my throat as she uncrosses and recrosses her legs, giving me a flash of black lace.
“I bet you did.” Her eyes drop to my crotch, lingering on the obvious bulge straining against my tailored pants.
I turn abruptly, needing space, before I bend her over the dining room table. “Let me get it from the kitchen.”
Walking is torture. My cock is rock hard, and there’s no subtle way to adjust myself.
I brace myself against the kitchen counter, taking deep breaths. The dessert plates wait on the marble island—dark chocolate mousse topped with gold leaf and fresh raspberries. Simple, elegant, and a stark contrast to the filthy thoughts running through my head.
When I return, Maya’s eyes immediately drop to my groin. Her lips part, and she licks them unconsciously. The gesture nearly makes me drop the plates.
“See something you like, little critic?” I can’t resist taunting her.
She bites her lower lip, her cheeks flushing. “The dessert looks... impressive.”
We both know she’s not talking about the mousse.
“Maybe I should get on my knees and have a taste?” Maya’s fingers trail up my thigh. “Since you seem so visibly eager.”
A growl rips from my throat as her hand brushes against my hard cock through my pants. My control slips, vision goes dark at the edges. I grab her wrist, squeezing just tight enough to make her gasp.
“First—” My voice sounds barely human. “You’re going to taste the mousse I spent hours perfecting.”
Maya’s eyes flash with mischief. She pulls her hand free and dips her finger into the dessert. “What if...” She brings the chocolate-coated digit to her lips. “I smear it all over your dick?” Her tongue darts out, licking the mousse clean. “Then I can suck it off. Every. Last. Drop.”
My cock jerks against my zipper. The image of Maya on her knees, licking chocolate mousse from my cock, makes my breath catch.
“You’re playing with fire.”
“Good.” She stands, pressing herself against me. “I want to burn.”
“You’re a fucking temptress.” My voice rumbles through the room, thick with hunger.
Her eyes flash, challenging and playful. “Only for you.”
That’s it.
With a growl, my hand tangles in her hair as I tilt her head back, baring the column of her throat. Her pulse flutters erratically beneath my thumb, and I trail my lips along the sensitive skin.
“Get on your knees.” My command vibrates against the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her body.
Maya obeys without hesitation, her breath coming in short gasps. Her willingness to surrender sends a rush of power through me. I pull her hands behind her back, binding them with the silk scarf I’d intended for her blindfold. The fabric matches her lipstick—a deep, sultry red.
“Hands bound.” My voice is hoarse as I take in the sight of her on her knees before me, willing and wanting. “Mouth open.”
Her lips part as she waits, obedient. This control I have over her fuels the inferno raging inside me. She wants it too, needs it as desperately as I do. I step back, unzipping my pants. My cock springs free, heavy and aching. Maya’s eyes widen.
Slicking my fingers with the cool mousse, I stroke myself slowly, spreading the sweet cream over my cock. My breathing shallows as pleasure surges with every torturous stroke. Teasing myself, drawing out the anticipation. I want to savor every second of this.
“Look at you, Maya.” My voice is strained as my hips move, stroking my length. “On your knees, wanting so desperately to taste me. Eager to please.”
Maya whimpers, the sound going straight to my balls.
“Not a sound unless I command it.” My free hand dives into her hair, tilting her head back to expose the graceful column of her throat. “Keep those pretty lips open.”
With a firm grip on her hair, I step forward, drawing the tip of my cock through the plush wetness of her mouth. Her eyes flutter shut, and she moans around my dick, sending vibrations right to my balls.
“Shhh.” I withdraw my cock, leaving a trail of mousse across her lips. “Keep that beautiful mouth open for me. You have a dessert to finish.”
Maya whimpers again, and the sound rips through my control. Slowly, I ease forward, relishing the drag of her plump lips and her mouth’s softness. She makes a soft, desperate sound as I begin to thrust.
I pull back, holding her hair tightly in my hand. Her mouth glistens with mousse, her lips parted in anticipation. Holding her gaze, I scoop more of the dessert onto my fingers.
“You’re going to taste me.” I trace a line of mousse across her bottom lip. “But first, you need to finish your dessert.”
Her pupils dilate with lust, and she whimpers. The sound vibrates through me, making me tighten my grip on her hair.
I smear the mousse across her lips, covering her lipstick with a layer of chocolate. It’s messy, decadently so. I drag my thumb across her mouth, smearing the dessert across her chin. Her pupils dilate, and she leans forward, eager for more. But I hold her at bay with a sharp tug on her hair.
“Not yet.” I breathe the words against her mouth, denying her. “Open.”
She obeys, parting her lips. Using her hair as a leash, I guide her head, smearing mousse across her tongue, her teeth, and the insides of her cheeks. She closes her eyes, surrendering to the experience, tasting the dessert I crafted for her.
“Good girl.” My voice is harsh with restrained need.
The mousse on her lips tempts me, but I resist the urge to kiss her. Not yet. Her mouth is mine, and I plan to take full advantage on my terms. For now, I feed her bites of the mousse, alternating between giving her tastes of chocolate and my cock. Her moans and whimpers are music, each tightening my grip on her hair, sharpening my hunger.
“Please...” She doesn’t have to say more. The plea in her voice makes my control slip just a fraction.
I lean down, our mouths inches apart. “Beg.”
“Please, Adrian.” Her eyes are luminous with need. “I need to taste you.”
“Since you asked so nicely.”
I press forward, filling her mouth. Her lips stretch around my girth as I thrust slowly, steadily, using her hair to pull her tight against me. Seeing her on her knees with her red lipstick stained with chocolate sends another rush of power through me. Our game is no longer a game but a battle of domination—a struggle for control that I intend to win.
Maya’s eyes roll back as I fuck her mouth. She makes a choked sound, and I ease back, not wanting to hurt her. Not yet. Her tongue swirls around me as I pull out, teasing and tasting.
“That’s it.” My voice is raw. “Suck me dry.”
Her nose brushes the soft flesh of my groin as she takes me deep once more. With her hands bound, she has no way to steady herself, so I support her with a firm grip in her hair. Slowly, I thrust, feeling the wet heat of her mouth, the brush of her tongue, the tightness of her throat. She moans around me, and the vibrations shatter my control.
Gripping her hair, I fuck her throat, hard and deep. Her whimpers fuel my possession, and I revel in the evidence of my power, of her submission. This is what I crave. This is what I need.
Not chocolate. Not accolades.
Her.