Chapter 15Wine, Whiskey, and Wicked Hands – Kerry
Chapter 15
Wine, Whiskey, and Wicked Hands – Kerry
W hat a day.
What a week.
What an unpredictable summer this has been!
I feel like I’m on an adrenaline-pumping rollercoaster, and I love it!
I’m talking about teaching.
Yep, just teaching.
I’m almost tempted to make this gig permanent.
Almost .
But that’d be crazy, right?
I still miss teaching in a big classroom but at the same time…
I can’t imagine not seeing this family every day.
The laughter, the chaos, the way we’ve all fallen into a rhythm—it feels right.
But the contract says one year and one year only.
Still…
I wonder if Vic would ever consider extending it.
And honestly?
I’d even take less money.
My first few paychecks alone were enough to get me caught up on old bills and then some.
For the first time in forever, I can shop online again!
My cart has been waiting for me to click that checkout button.
I can order food whenever I want, but I don’t even need to do that because I’m dating, not really , a whole chef!
I’m finally breathing again.
And lately, I feel like I’m being adored again.
Well, not again…
I feel like I’m being adored for the first time ever.
Vic spoils me in ways that, to him, are just the standard, but to me, they feel like a luxury I never knew I deserved.
My definition of breakfast is a bagel or bowl of cereal, something quick and simple.
But to Vic?
It’s cooking a homemade breakfast complete with Belgian waffles, fresh turkey bacon, eggs benedict, and a fruit platter .
My poor little Honda only gets driven when I go home on the weekends because here?
I’m either being driven around by Gary or handed the keys to one of Vic’s luxury cars, half of which I can’t even pronounce.
He checks in on me every morning and throughout the day—not like I’m his responsibility, but like I’m his person.
His friend.
Like my well-being actually matters to him.
He doesn’t do anything for praise.
He doesn’t do anything for show.
He does everything because he wants to and that’s just who he is.
He gives without hesitation, without expectation.
And when he asks how I’m feeling, I tell him I’m good, but he doesn’t just accept it; he asks me what he needs to do to make me feel great.
And it unnerves me because I don’t have an answer.
He doesn’t understand that I’m not used to being taken care of like this.
And he does these things not for show, not for selfies, or for the public.
He just does it for me.
And what does he ask for in return?
My company.
The evenings are ours.
No matter how busy the day or how exhausted we both are, we always find each other.
A glass of wine for me and a whiskey neat for him.
He isn’t the grumpy, no-personality having man everyone assumes him to be, at least not with me.
With me, he lowers his guard just enough for me to catch glimpses of what’s beneath the veil.
We have great conversations with laughter and sometimes even flirtation, but I want more.
I want intimacy.
Not sex or anything but deeper than that.
I want him to know all of me.
Not just the happy-go-lucky Kerry he sees every day but the woman who exists beneath the surface.
The one who has scars and stories, weaknesses and fears.
The one who isn’t always strong, or good, or pure.
I want to know him too.
Not the CEO, not the legend in the kitchen, but the man who still mourns, who still questions, who still wonders if he deserves happiness again.
I guess we’ll see what we learn tonight because the girls are finally asleep, and it’s time for wine and whiskey .
So, I close my laptop, shutting off the list of lesson plans I’ve been tweaking for the week, and stretch my arms above my head, to ease the aching pains from a long, busy day.
I already know how this night is going to go.
Vic will be waiting downstairs, whiskey in hand, sitting on the couch in his usual spot.
The only light will be the dim glow of the fireplace, whose warmth always makes our evening feel more intimate.
I’ll settle into my usual spot beside him.
And just as I expected, when I arrive in the great room, he’s already there, leaning back on the couch, glass in hand, staring into the flames.
And, like always, my seat awaits.
He looks up when he hears my footsteps with an unreadable expression for a split second before softening.
“Took you long enough.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling as I sink down beside him, my fingers brushing his when I take my wine glass from his hand.
That small, fleeting touch sends a spark up my arm, and judging by the slight shift in his breathing, he felt it too.
We start off with our business-as-usual conversation, discussing the girls’ academic progress, reviewing their dance and soccer schedules, and planning our next staged outing together.
Then, we venture off into more personal conversation.
“So,” he starts, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, “what’s been your takeaway from the last three months?”
I raise an eyebrow, pretending to think as I take a slow sip of my wine.
“Well… I learned that I can fake a relationship pretty damn well.”
He chuckles, low and smooth.
“That you can.”
“And you?” I challenge, turning to face him fully.
He exhales, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he thinks.
“I learned that my daughters are friendship magnets who have made five new best friends, which is five more friends than I’ve made in my entire life. And that not only does the town love us but apparently so does half the country. Have you seen our social media? My PR team was on the verge of quitting on me four months ago. But look at me now. You made me famous, Kerry Kind .”
He laughs, then takes out his phone to scroll through some of the comments of the posts we’re tagged in .
Commenter #1 : Whoa!
Chef Vic is such a hot dad!
Commenter #2 : I stan Chef Vic for dating regular folk.
I think I want him even more!
Commenter #3 : Forget the chef.
I want Kerry Kind!
I steal his phone from his hand, scanning the comments myself.
“Well, well, well. Looks like the internet thinks I’m the prize in this relationship,” I tease, nudging his knee with mine.
He huffs out a laugh, taking a slow sip of his whiskey before settling deeper into the couch.
“Because you are.”
The words come out so casually, so effortlessly, that for a second, I think I imagined them.
But then I look up, and Vic is watching me.
His expression is unreadable, but his fingers idly trace the rim of his glass.
His playfulness lingers, but underneath it, there’s something else.
Something heavier.
Something that makes my skin prickle with curiosity.
I swallow, then grip his phone tighter and shift the conversation.
“You know… PR-wise, this is all good news. People are loving the idea of us. I mean, the Hot Chef and Small-Town Sweetheart is trending.
He hums; his gaze still locked on mine. “And how do you feel about that?
”
I shrug indifferently.
“It’s fine, I guess. Though, I wish people would stop calling me a sweetheart! I’m not that innocent. I can get pretty wild, if you know what I mean.”
The words are out before I can snatch them back.
Vic’s brow lifts, slow and knowing.
The smirk that follows is pure trouble.
“Oh?” His voice is rich and teasing yet laced with something deeper, something that makes my stomach flip.
Damn you, wine.
I stare at him, silently trying to figure out if I can just disappear into thin air.
Instead, I throw back the rest of my drink and point at his glass.
“You should drink more. You look thirsty.”
“Well, maybe it’s because I am.” His grin widens.
Lowering my head to hide my nerves, I deflect.
“So, are you ready for tomorrow night? You and your mom have been talking about this dinner with the City Manager for months. ”
He sighs, his energy now shifting again.
“I’m definitely not ready, but I really need to get him on my side. I messed up when surveying the land for the restaurant.”
I lift my head, catching the tension in his voice.
“How bad?” I ask, instinctively reaching for his hand in support as he rubs his thumb over the top of mine in return.
“Not bad enough to tank everything, but enough to slow me down. I facilitated the permits, the land purchase, all of it myself instead of letting Hudson take the lead for once. I thought I had it under control.” He lets out a low, humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Turns out I missed a few things. Some zoning technicalities, and now there’s a hold-up on the liquor license and the use of outdoor space.”
I frown.
“Can it be fixed?”
“That’s what I’m working on.” He leans back, shaking his head.
“I shouldn’t have screwed up in the first place. Hudson’s already waiting for me to fail, and I’ll be damned if I give him the satisfaction. If I can get the City Manager behind me, I can push the permits through faster and get everything back on track.” He taps his fingers against the table, tension still radiating off him.
“I gotta prove that I deserve to be the one running things.”
I squeeze his hand, grounding him back to himself.
“Then we need to make sure we woo his professional socks off. I’ve known Jeff and Kendra since middle school and taught their adorable kids. They love love. They can see it, feel it, and know when it’s fake. Now, I think we’ve been doing great executing each task, except… Number five.”
I open the coffee table drawer, then pull out The Love Syllabus .
The Love Syllabus
Intimate conversations – Get to know each other more, childhood trauma, irrational fears, middle school horror stories.
The whole bonding package.
Build an Online Presence – Couple posts and flirty comments.
Ooze Chemistry – Stolen glances, lingering touches, inside jokes.
Enough tension to make onlookers uncomfortable but intrigued.
Public Appearances – Business dinners, casual brunches, spontaneous dates where we’re just so in sync.
Physical Touch – Seal the illusion!
A well-timed touch, casual hand on my back, whisper something in my ear that makes me laugh.
And a well-timed forehead kiss in public wouldn’t hurt ??
“ Physical Touch ,” I dare to admit, the both of us looking at one another with fierce intensity and want and relief.
“I think our conversations are great, social media’s been surprisingly fair so far. We fake our chemistry so well.” I pause, hoping he’ll flinch at fake , but he doesn’t, so I continue.
“We’ve fooled the outsiders and even many of the townsfolk, but…we can definitely turn it up a notch.”
No expression.
No emotion.
Just another swig of whiskey.
“Continue, Kerry.”
I feel like he’s egging me on, so I just say it.
“I think you should touch me more…for the outside perception, of course, not for me. Not because I want you to.” I lie, nervously biting my lips.
Then, Vic leans back, arms crossed, studying me with amusement.
“Okay,” He says with a slow grin.
“Let the learning begin.” He swallows the last bit of his drink, sets the glass down, and asks, as blunt and straightforward as ever.
“How do you like to be touched?”
My lips part, but only a weak, unsteady “Huh?” slips out.
He huffs a quiet laugh through his nose.
I feel as vulnerable as I am intrigued.
Vic’s studying me now, sizing me up like he’s already prepared to ace this lesson.
“You said I should touch you more so I will,” He explains, voice smooth as silk.
“But I’ll be dammed if I fail at it, so I need to know what makes you feel good.”
My pulse jumps when his fingers ghost over my arm, trailing up and down in slow, deliberate strokes.
His touch is featherlight yet searing.
And all I can do is close my eyes and moan.
“I need to know how you like to be touched.” His hand shifts, sliding to my wrist, his thumb pressing just enough to send a pulse of heat through my body.
“I need to know if you prefer my hand on your back or around your waist.” His fingers trail higher, brushing the inside of my elbow.
“If I can caress your skin…and where.” His hand lingers at the curve of my shoulder, his knuckles grazing the side of my neck, and my breath stutters.
“And…” He leans in, voice dipping lower, his lips so close I can feel his breath fan across my skin.
“I need to know if a forehead kiss is the only type of kiss you want.”
The room suddenly feels smaller.
And I feel…
hotter, tighter, wetter .
“Vic,” I whisper through my panting breath, but instead of continuing, I close my eyes and hum, inviting him in—silently begging him to keep exploring, to keep surveying my body like he’s memorizing it.
He takes the invitation.
But instead of his fingers, he outlines my shoulder with his mouth.
Barely touching me.
Just the ghost of his lips, grazing, teasing, making my skin prickle and my breath stutter.
His breath is warm against my skin, and I can feel the tension in his body, his restraint hanging by a thread.
“Fuck, you smell so good, Kerry. But I really need you to answer my question. How do you like to be touched?”
His voice is like liquid heat, seeping into me, making me weak in the best possible way.
I don’t think.
I just speak.
“Everywhere,” I blurt out, my voice thick and needy.
“Touch me everywhere. My aching back and muscles need some lovin’. My legs like to be massaged. My thighs enjoy being squeezed.”
His hands tighten on me like he’s already committing to my needs.
Like he’s already preparing to deliver exactly what I asked for.
Then, I meet his gaze, my lashes fluttering as my heart pounds.
“And my lips...” I pause, exhaling slowly, letting the weight of the confession settle between us.
“Haven’t been kissed in years.”
Vic goes utterly still.
Then, like a decision has been made, his fingers slide up my throat, tilting my chin until our lips are mere inches apart.
His eyes flick to mine—dark, unreadable, and searching for permission, for surrender, for something I’m not sure either of us can name.
But instead of claiming my lips, he kisses me everywhere else.
His mouth finds my neck, leaving slow, lingering pecks that warm my skin, each press of his lips setting off sparks, igniting something deep and dangerous.
He trails lower, his breath fanning against my collarbone before moving to my ear, where he nibbles, teasing, his breath hot and deliberate.
The vibration of it pulses through my body, sending shivers down my spine, pooling heat low in my stomach, and filling up a dam of wetness between my thighs.
What is happening ?
I’ve never felt this sensation before.
This slow, burning ache spreads everywhere and tightens with every pass of his hands and every brush of his lips.
I’m so embarrassed, embarrassed to tell him I’m on the verge of coming without a single touch of where I need it the most, but I think he knows.
How could he not?
My breathless moans give me away.
The tremors that rack my body make it obvious.
Still, he continues his path with persistence.
His mouth lowers, and his hands kneads my flesh into a fevered frenzy, but when his lips hover over my hardened nipple, my body tenses in anticipation.
Until I break.
“Touch me there,” I pant, voice wrecked with need.
“Flick my nipple with your tongue.”
A wicked, satisfied hum rumbles from him, vibrating against my skin.
Without even undoing my shirt, he obeys—circling his tongue around my nipple through my thin top, slowly licking, teasing, then sucking just enough to make my back arch.
I gasp while my hands slowly drag through his low, salt-and-pepper hair, and my nails dig into his shoulders as he nibbles and flicks, drawing me deeper into the haze of pleasure.
My mind is a blur, floating somewhere between the relief of my back pain and the intoxicating, humiliating edge of an impending climax.
I barely register him shifting until suddenly, I’m lifted onto his lap, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
His hands are strong, relentless, and gripping my hips, molding me to him, and when he presses me down, I feel it .
Thick, enormous, and long, at least four inches more than what I’ve ever felt before.
“Oh, fuck, Kerry,” he groans, voice thick and rough.
“We’re fully clothed, just working through the syllabus, and yet you’re…” His fingers tighten on my thighs, his mouth brushing against my jaw.
“Soaking wet right now.”
A shudder rolls through me, and I whimper, barely able to find my voice.
“Mmm… the wettest I’ve ever been.” I bury my face in his neck, biting back another moan.
“I guess you mastered how I like to be touched.”
A low, satisfied growl vibrates against my skin, his grip tightening like he wants to devour me whole.
“Well, I have a good teacher,” He murmurs, slowly sliding his hand downward, teasing the edges of my resolve .
“But I need you to help me excel,” he challenges, breath hot against my lips.
He lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“ Show me how you like to be touched.”
Knowing what he wants, knowing what I want so damn badly, he slowly peels my hand from around his shoulder.
His lips brush over the top of my hand, soft and reverent, before he guides it downward, slipping past the waistband of my pajama pants, then lower, into my panties.
The moment my fingers meet my slick heat, I gasp, my entire body shuddering.
My eyes fly to his, where his smirk is as deep as the bulge pressing against the cradle of my thighs, thick and unrelenting.
His expression is pure hunger, pure satisfaction at the sight of me unraveling for him.
My fingers slide through my wet, tight entrance, and his hands travel upward, tracing the curves of my body, teasing my nipples, flicking and rolling them between his fingers.
Every single touch pushes me further, keeping me suspended in this unbearable, beautiful torment.
He leans back into his couch, shifting his hips just enough for me to see, to feel the promise of what he could give me.
Of how good he could make me feel.
Of how full he’d make me feel.
Vic’s voice is rough, commanding, and dripping with sin.
“That’s right, Kerry. Close your eyes and imagine me instead. Go as deep as you can. Show me. Show me what you want. Show me what you need.”
And I do.
I surrender.
I let myself get lost in it—the weight of his gaze, the skill of his hands touching my body, the steady rhythm of my own fingers moving intensely in and out, matching the trembling of my body.
Every breath is heavy, and every sound I make grows softer and needier until I’m teetering right on the edge.
“I can watch your beautiful face come undone every day. Go deeper, baby. Go deeper for me. Give me something to dream about tonight.”
His voice inches me closer and closer to the edge until, finally, the pressure builds, tightens, and twists so violently that I can’t hold it back.
“Vic… I’m about to come.” I whimper, voice weak, sensual, and wrecked .
His grip on my hip tightens.
His fingers dig into my skin as he sits up slightly, pulling me closer, pressing me against the hard length of him, making me feel how much he wants me.
How much he needs me, too .
“Release on me, Kerry,” he groans, voice thick with lust.
His lips brush my ear, sending another shudder through me.
“Explode.”
And I do.
My body seizes, my back arches, and my thighs shake as the release crashes through me, drowning me in wave after wave of unbearable pleasure.
In his ear, I cry out his name while my fingers get lost in my overwhelming pulse as my body collapses against his, spent and shuddering harder than ever before.
But Vic holds me through it, his hands tight, soothing, and worshipping me.
And when I finally come down, I still tremble, still panting against him until he cups my face and traces his thumb over my swollen lips.
“Beautiful.” He says in deep reverence.
And then, smirking, he leans in, his lips a short breath away from mine.
“Lesson five, complete.”