Chapter 8
CALEB
W e stepped into the kitchen, the double doors swinging shut behind us like a secret sealing itself.
The air was cooler here, heavy with the ghost of spices and the fading heat of the night’s service—garlic lingering faint, herbs crushed underfoot.
Steel counters gleamed under low lights.
The space was spotless, like it had been waiting for us. For this.
Meghan moved ahead, her hips swaying just enough to drag my eyes down.
That black shirt clung to her curves, hair loose now, falling dark over her shoulders.
I’d wanted her since that window. But up close?
She was fire incarnate. Bold. Unyielding.
The kind of woman who’d burn you alive and make you beg for more.
She turned, leaning back against the prep table, arms crossed like she was daring me to make the first move. Her eyes—dark, sharp—locked on mine. Her chest rose steady but fast. I caught the flutter of her pulse in her neck, betraying the control she wore like armor.
“So,” she said, voice low, edged with challenge. “What now?”
I didn’t answer. Just stepped forward and closed the distance. My hand found her waist, fingers digging in enough to feel her heat through the fabric. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she arched into it. A soft gasp slipped from her lips.
That sound hit me low, straight to my cock. I’d been half-hard since dinner, watching her command that kitchen like a battlefield. But now? Now it was real.
I leaned in, mouth brushing her ear. “Now, I taste you,” I murmured.
Her hands fisted in my shirt, yanking me closer. “Then do it.”
I kissed her—hard. Claiming. Tongue sweeping in, tangling with hers. She tasted like wine and salt. A hint of chocolate still clung to her lips from the tart she’d eaten. Sweet. Dark. Addictive.
My free hand slid up her back, under her shirt. Her skin was warm, smooth. She moaned into my mouth. The vibration shot through me, cock straining against my slacks.
I’d fucked before. Quick, rough, in hotel rooms or safe houses after ops. Women who’d wanted the same—no strings, no names. Just bodies colliding to drown out the blood. But Meghan wasn’t a distraction. She was the storm itself. And I wanted to stay in it.
I broke the kiss, trailing my mouth down her neck, grazing her pulse with my teeth. She tilted her head back, offering more. Fingers dug into my shoulders.
“More,” she whispered.
I bit down, sucking hard enough to mark her. Mine—for tonight. She gasped, hips bucking against me. I felt her heat even through the layers between us.
That boldness surprised me. No hesitation. Like she’d been waiting for this.
I growled, hand sliding to her ass, lifting her onto the counter. The steel was cool but she didn’t care. Her legs wrapped around my waist, locking me in.
“You’re soaked already,” I said, voice rough. My hand slid between us, cupping her through her pants. She was. Wet heat radiated against my palm. I pressed harder, thumb circling her clit through the fabric. She bucked again, moaning. The sound echoed in the empty kitchen.
“Take them off,” she ordered.
That edge in her voice—still the chef calling shots. I smirked. “Not yet,” I said, mouth moving to her collarbone. “I said I’d taste you first.”
I yanked her shirt up. Black lace bra. Simple. Deadly. My mouth found her nipple through the fabric, sucking hard. Tongue flicking. She arched, hands gripping my hair.
“Caleb,” she gasped.
Hearing my name like that—part curse, part prayer—made my cock throb. But I held back. I wanted to draw it out. To make her beg.
I switched sides, my hand still working between her legs. Her breaths came ragged. She trembled beneath my touch, already close.
A memory flashed—Jensen’s last laugh, the op going sideways. I shoved it down. This moment was real. Her. Here. Now.
I slid my hands to her waistband, yanking down her pants. She lifted her hips, helping. No shame. Just hunger in her eyes.
Panties next. Black. Matching. Soaked. I tossed them aside, spreading her legs. She was bare. Glistening. The sight nearly undid me.
“Beautiful,” I growled.
I dropped to my knees, face level with her core. The kitchen smelled like her now—musk and need. I licked slow, bottom to top. She tasted like sin. Her thighs clamped around my head. A moan ripped from her throat.
“Yes.” Her hands fisted in my hair.
I circled her clit with my tongue, alternating pressure. My fingers slid inside—two, curling up. She bucked, walls clenching.
“Deeper,” she ordered.
That tone—chef in her domain—sent a jolt through me. I obeyed, tongue relentless. She reached down, joining me, rubbing her clit while I fucked her with my hand.
I groaned. The vibration made her shudder.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped.
I didn’t.
She came hard, thighs trembling, cries echoing. I kept licking, slow now, letting her ride it out.
She slumped, chest heaving. “God,” she breathed. “That was …”
“Not done,” I said.
I stood, wiped my mouth. My cock throbbed, ready to burst. I undid my belt, slacks dropping, boxer briefs next. Her eyes widened.
She reached out, wrapping her hand around me. Stroking firm. Sure. “Fuck,” I muttered, thrusting into her fist.
“Now,” she said, guiding me to her entrance.
I thrust in. Slow. Inch by inch. She stretched around me, wet and tight.
“Jesus,” I groaned, buried deep.
She clenched. “You feel that?”
Yeah, I did. Every nerve lit up. I pulled back, slammed in. Possessive. Deep. She met every thrust. Hips rolling. Made for me.
I gripped her ass, angling deeper. “Mine,” I growled.
Losses flashed—Baker’s empty stare—but I shoved them away. Meghan was here. Hot. Alive. Moaning my name like salvation.
She pushed me back, hopped off, turned around. Braced herself.
“From behind,” she said.
Fuck, that fire.
I slid back in, hands on her hips, thrusting harder. Skin slapped. Her ass bounced with every thrust.
I reached around, fingers circling her clit. She arched. Cried out.
“Harder,” she demanded.
I gave it. Brutal. Controlled. Her skin slick. Air thick with musk and sweat.
“You like that?” I growled at her ear. “Being fucked in your kitchen?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”
I didn’t.
Fingers stroked her pussy up and down. Other hand rolled her nipple. She came hard, milking me. That pulled me over. Balls tightened. Pressure built. I came with a groan, spilling into her, emptying everything.
We slumped against the counter. Breathing hard. I pulled out, turned her, kissed soft. Tasted salt.
She nipped my bottom lip. “Again. On the floor.”
I chuckled. Cock already twitching. “Greedy.”
“You complaining?”
“Hell, no.”
We sank to the tile. Cool against my back. She straddled me, grinding slow.
“Ride me,” I said, hands guiding her.
She did. Sinking down, taking me deep. Rolling her hips. I groaned, watching her. Breasts bouncing. Eyes locked on mine.
She leaned in, kissing fierce. Claimed my mouth. Hands pinned mine over my head.
Power shift. Her on top. Dominating.
She rode faster. Clit grinding. I thrust up, tile hard beneath me but I didn’t care.
“Come for me,” I rasped. I freed one hand. Slapped her ass.
She moaned. Louder.
“Again,” she said.
I did. Sharper. The sound cracked the air. She rose and fell again and again. Again and again, like my own personal carousel of sex.
She came hard. Pulled me with her.
We collapsed, tangled. Her head on my chest. I stroked her hair. Mind quiet.
No ghosts. Just her.
And as she dozed, soft against me, I knew—I was fucked.
Charleston? Maybe it wasn’t such a bad choice after all.
That blank check from Ryker, this thing with Meghan—it felt like fate.
Twisted and hot.
But fate nonetheless.