46. Hayden #2
I lean back against the gazebo railing, studying her face.
“I wanted to become powerful so I’d never need to depend on anyone else for family or security.
I wanted money and professional success to fill the emptiness in my life.
I was lucky enough to find some real family along the way too.
” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “But what drives you? I know you’ve mentioned your dreams before, and I know Ford is paying you well for this arrangement. ”
Maeve exhales slowly, her breath creating a small cloud in the crisp winter air. “You know how much I love cooking and baking?”
I nod, remembering all the times she’s brought homemade treats to the office.
“I want to open a farm-to-table restaurant.”
“Seriously?” I ask, not insultingly but with genuine surprise. I knew she was passionate about food, but I hadn’t realized she was considering it as a career path.
She nods, although she still looks nervous about sharing this dream, unconsciously biting her lower lip.
“Tell me about it,” I encourage her.
She hesitates for just a moment—but then she does. And keeps going. And going.
It turns out Maeve has this entire venture planned down to the smallest detail. What she’ll grow on-site versus what she’ll source from local farms. The seasonal menu items and how they’ll rotate based on what’s actually available. The supply chain logistics and staff requirements.
“I know that in our modern world, we’ve gotten used to having any food we want year-round,” she says, her face flushed with passion and her eyes glowing.
“But that system is fundamentally broken. The food quality suffers when it’s out of season, and the environmental and human cost is enormous.
We’re exploiting workers and communities in less economically stable countries, forcing crops to grow in climates they’re not suited for.
There’s a better way to do this—one that treats workers fairly and works with the environment instead of against it.
I don’t want to be someone who just puts on a show with fancy food that looks impressive to wealthy people.
I’m not doing this to be elitist. I want to lead by example and show people there’s a better way. ”
She continues, discussing the types of bread she’ll make from scratch, the comprehensive vegan and vegetarian options, and how she’ll accommodate various allergies and dietary restrictions. She explains her philosophy about not trying to create pale imitations of traditional dishes.
“You can’t successfully imitate something, because you’ll always fall short of the original,” she insists with fierce conviction.
“You have to celebrate the ingredients you’re actually using.
Don’t try to make fake butter—instead, celebrate how certain vegetables, when properly prepared, have their own naturally rich, buttery qualities.
Bring out what’s amazing about what you’re working with, because if you focus on comparison and imitation, you’ll always disappoint. ”
She describes her vision for the restaurant’s atmosphere and design, how many employees she’ll need, and even presents detailed financial projections including timelines for profitability and loan repayment strategies.
My mind is blown. If anyone came to us with an investment proposal this thoroughly researched and thoughtfully planned, I’d be ready to write a check immediately.
We rarely encounter entrepreneurs who’ve considered every possible angle with this level of detail, including contingency plans for various scenarios.
When I tell her this, she blushes beautifully.
“Well, I’ve had plenty of time to think it all through.
With the debt from my education and my mother’s financial sabotage, I haven’t had any real opportunity to pursue this dream.
So I just kept planning and refining every detail. It was the only thing I could do.”
“I think it’s incredible,” I tell her with complete honesty.
Her blush deepens, and she looks almost shy. “I know I’m probably rambling on and on…”
“But it’s wonderful,” I interrupt, shifting closer so I can put my arm around her shoulders and turn her face toward mine. “Maeve, I mean every word.”
Her eyes widen slightly and the color in her cheeks intensifies. I know I don’t use her first name very often, but this feels important. I need her to really hear what I’m saying.
“All you’re missing is financial freedom, right?
I know debt can feel impossible to overcome.
But Ford is paying you generously for this arrangement, so that addresses the immediate problem.
With the business plan you just described, you’ll qualify for any loans you need to make this happen, and I’m certain you’ll build something successful. ”
“It’s just a restaurant,” she protests weakly.
I reach up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against her soft cheek.
“I wanted to become successful for my own protection and validation. You want to nourish people. You want to show them how beautiful and accessible good food can be. You want to create connection—to love people through what you create for them. Because that’s what you do when you cook and bake, isn’t it?
It’s how you express love. You’re building your own chosen family by treating your future customers like they matter. ”
Maeve’s eyes fill with tears that she quickly tries to wipe away. “When you put it like that… you make it sound like my idea is actually something meaningful.”
“It is meaningful,” I say firmly. “It’s beautiful. Just like you.”
She stares at me with those gorgeous eyes, and I find myself staring right back at this amazing, brilliant, passionate, sexy woman who somehow makes me want to be better than I’ve ever been.
I lean in slightly, or maybe she does—we both move toward each other, but I don’t close that final gap just yet.
“How are you feeling?” I ask quietly, my voice rougher than intended.
“I’m still a little sore,” she admits, her voice becoming breathless. “But definitely not too sore for…”
She lets those words trail off suggestively, and heat floods my system like wildfire. The way she’s looking at me—eyes bright, cheeks flushed pink from both the cold air and obvious arousal—makes my cock throb insistently against my jeans.
“Turn around,” I command softly, my hands settling on her hips to guide her movement.
She obeys without hesitation, turning to face outward from the gazebo.
Her hands brace against the wooden railing, and she leans forward slightly in a pose that perfectly accentuates every one of her gorgeous curves.
The sight of her positioned like this—ready and willing for whatever I want to do to her—sends blood rushing straight to my cock.
I step up directly behind her, pressing my chest against her back as I lean down to speak directly into her ear.
“You know,” I murmur, my voice low and rough with want, “we’re pretty far from the main house out here.
Not in anyone’s direct line of sight either.
” My hands skim down her sides, feeling her shiver responsively at my touch.
“But someone could still see us if they decided to wander out here for a walk. Think you can stay quiet for me, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” she breathes, already arching back against me instinctively.
“Promise?” I ask, sliding one hand between her legs from behind. Even through her jeans, I can feel the heat radiating from her pussy. “Because if you make too much noise, someone might come out to investigate what’s happening.”
“I promise,” she whispers, her voice already strained with need as I cup her through the thick fabric.
I grind my hips against her ass with deliberate pressure, letting her feel exactly how hard I am while my hand massages her pussy through her jeans. She whimpers softly, pushing back against me with obvious desperation.
“That’s it,” I praise, my lips brushing against her ear. “Feel how much I want you? I’ve been walking around with this painful hard-on for hours, thinking about getting my hands on you again, imagining all the things I want to do to your perfect body.”
I work her up slowly and deliberately, building her arousal while we maintain the appearance of innocent conversation to anyone who might glance our way.
From a distance, we just look like two people chatting in the gazebo.
They can’t see my hand between her legs or the way she’s subtly grinding against my touch.
When I feel her getting close to the edge, I quickly undo her jeans and push them down just enough, along with her panties. The gazebo railing conceals everything below her waist, but we’re still visible and the risk makes my heart race.
“Fuck, you’re already soaked,” I breathe against her neck, circling her swollen clit. “Were you thinking about this while we were talking? About me touching you out here where anyone could catch us?”
She nods frantically, her hips rocking against my hand as I continue teasing her. I can feel her getting wetter with each stroke of my fingers, her body responding to my touch like she was made specifically for me.
“I need to be inside you,” I growl, using my free hand to work my belt open. “Need to feel that tight, perfect pussy wrapped around my cock.”
My cock springs free, already leaking precum. I’m bigger than most men—significantly bigger—and I know she’ll need time to adjust to my size, especially since she’s still sore from last night. I position myself at her entrance, working just the swollen head inside.
“Breathe for me,” I murmur, feeling her stretch around me. “Take your time, baby. We’re not in any rush.”
As I press deeper into her warm, wet pussy, I groan with relief and pleasure. Her body opens up for me perfectly, her inner walls gripping me like she never wants to let me go.
“Jesus,” I breathe, fighting to keep my voice low. “You feel incredible. So perfectly tight around my cock.”