Chapter 21
Payton
I ’ve convinced myself that at some point today, I fell and this is all a dream, just like in The Wizard of Oz .
Any minute now, the dancing munchkins and flying monkeys will appear because there’s no way that this is my life right now.
A discreet pinch to the inside of my arm tells me nope, definitely not a dream.
I don’t know what I did to deserve this man, but oh my, is he setting the bar high for first dates—or, well, dates and men in general.
Turns out after his trip to the farmer’s market this morning, Rhyland spent the rest of the day here, preparing for tonight.
I’m currently sitting on the counter, balancing a glass of white wine on my knee, as I watch Rhyland move around the kitchen.
He does it with such grace and finesse. It reminds me of an ice skater gliding on ice.
They make it look so easy, yet I know it’s not.
My cheeks heat when I catch Rhyland for the sixth—or is it maybe the seventh time?
—sneaking a glance my way. I follow his gaze to find a good portion of my thigh exposed from how I’m sitting with my legs crossed.
If I was worried about my dress choice before, I’m definitely not now.
I think it’s safe to say Rhyland is a big fan.
I take a large sip of wine, attempting to cool myself down.
The temperature in the kitchen is definitely heating up.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” I dip my chin, sticking my bottom lip out in a pout. “Not that I mind the view, but I feel like I’m a little helpless here.” The man cooks in here every day, and here he is also doing it on his day off. The least I could do is help.
Rhy laughs. “You’re not going to stop asking that until I let you help, are you?”
“I am quite stubborn like that,” I say, putting my cheesiest smile on display and batting my eyelashes.
“Isn’t that the truth?” he mutters under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear him. “How about slicing the tomato for the caprese salad?”
“Are these from Terri?” I take in the vibrant red tomatoes that look so delicious, I’m tempted to take a bite out of one like an apple.
“You know it. Only the best for my girl.” And every patron of the restaurant , but I keep that thought to myself.
I can feel his gaze following me as I walk over to the sink and wash my hands.
When I finish drying them, our eyes lock.
The typical bright green hue is now a darker shade, and fire burns behind them.
He almost looks as though he’s about ready to say fuck the meal he’s planned and devour me. Yes, please.
Rhyland has set out a cutting board and knife in the spot I was sitting, along with the bowl of fresh mozzarella he pulled from the fridge.
I love the idea of us cooking together. I can see that in the future—cooking side by side, nudging each other with our hips, laughing together and teasing along the way.
Cooking is a sense of foreplay. But there’s not only something sensual about cooking together, but food overall brings people together.
“So what are you making us?”
“We’ve got the caprese salad that you’re working on, fresh garlic bread, and pasta carbonara with homemade pappardelle.” Rhy explains our meal as he cuts the fresh pasta sheets that he apparently made earlier into ribbons. My mouth is literally watering, and my stomach growls in agreement.
I focus on my task of slicing and dicing when hands grip my waist. I can feel the heat from his body pressed against mine. Focus, Payton, focus.
“Do you know how sexy you are in this kitchen and what watching you work is doing to me?”
I throw my head back against his shoulder, laughing. “Look who’s talking,” I say, but when his fingers dig into my hips with a grip similar to the one he had on me when I was in his lap the other night, all words leave my mind. The only words left in my brain are yes and more .
“Keep going,” he instructs me when I freeze doing what I’m doing. How the hell does he expect me to keep going when he’s touching me? Biting my bottom lip, I feel his soft kisses along my exposed skin as he drapes my hair over my right shoulder. “I can’t stop touching you. I know I shouldn’t.”
He breathes against my skin as one hand leaves my waist. I don’t have time to whimper at the loss of his touch, though, because that hand finds the slit of my dress, and his fingers slowly drag up my thigh to where I need him most.
My breath labors, and I don’t know if I can resist anymore. The knife drops on the counter with a clink, and I lean back against him, offering my body to him. “Says who—I need you. Touch me, Rhyland.”
The hand that slipped under my dress continues to tease me over my lace panties. There’s no way he can’t feel how wet I am for him through the material.
“God, I love your tits.” His other hand slips from my waist and slides into the top of my dress. A deep groan vibrates against my body when he finds I’m not wearing a bra with this dress. “I just want to slide my dick between them.”
Nodding is my only form of communication because I’m lost to his touch. His thumb brushes over my nipple, and I press my chest into his grasp. “Hold that thought.”
I whine. Seriously? He has me so keyed up. What the fuck is he stopping for?
I laugh when I realize he is moving the knife to the other side of the counter.
“Safety first. I’m not trying to star in an episode of Sex Sent Me to the ER .
” He smirks before crashing his lips to mine.
I gasp, and he takes full advantage, slipping his tongue along the seam of my lips and tangling with my own.
Everything happens so fast, yet not fast enough.
Rhyland spins me around, lifting me into his arms, and I wrap my legs around his waist. The movement slides my dress up further.
Thank fuck I went with this outfit and not my other choice, which was pants.
He leans forward and moves something to the side—I can only assume the cutting board of food I was prepping, because he sets me down right where I was working.
Gripping the material of my maxi dress, he slowly lifts it up over my hips, revealing my lace panties. A guttural moan leaves his lips, and I feel it deep in my bones. Rhy drags a finger over the lace. “Mmm, so wet. Is that for me?”
“Yes,” I whisper, thrusting my hips against his hand for more friction. We’ve been dancing around this since the first moment we kissed. Three nights of foreplay have me so keyed up and ready to explode. I need more. I need him.
Grabbing the back of his neck, I seal his mouth to mine. I continue to grind against his hand while he teases me over the lace. When he finally shifts the lace to the side, his mouth captures my moans as his fingers trace over my core. He swirls circles with his thumb against my clit.
Leaving my mouth, he trails kisses along my neck, finding that sweet spot he discovered just under my ear, before traveling south to my collarbone. The low hum vibrates against my skin as he travels further to my chest.
Rhyland pulls down the top of my dress, revealing my breasts. “Oh fuck.” I grip the back of his head, weaving my fingers into his hair as his tongue captures one nipple before moving on to the other.
If I could pull him any closer, he’d already be inside me.
My body tenses under his touch as his fingers move inside me, but just before I reach the cusp of my orgasm, he pulls back, removing his fingers.
“Lean back. Let me see you.”
I obey, leaning back on my palms slightly as he drags my panties down my legs. The slow pace of the lace against my skin teases me before they disappear into his pocket. Guess I’m not getting those back.
Rhyland’s tongue drags over his lower lip as he takes in the view. I can feel the wetness pooling between my thighs.
“You’re my personal version of a decadent three-course meal—your mouth, your breasts, your pussy. I want to claim every part of you.”
“Rhy, please.”
He bends down to where I need him. The first drag of his tongue over my pussy has me ready to shoot off the edge, but his grip on my hip keeps me in place.
“Fuck.” He licks again, even slower this time, torturing the hell out of me, before his tongue finds my clit and drags circles around it just like his fingers had.
“Don’t stop,” I beg.
His hands slide up and down my thighs, pinning them open so he can get deeper with his tongue.
He devours me in a way no one ever has. Eventually, two fingers slip back inside my core.
The sound of his fingers against my wetness fills the kitchen, along with my heavy breathing.
With each roll of my hips against his mouth and fingers, his grip on my thigh tightens, claiming me and telling me he’s in charge.
When he curls them in a come-hither motion, I set off like a rocket, screaming his name and tightening my thighs around his head.
He continues to lick my pussy through my orgasm and I have to push him away. Bastard. I try to catch my breath. I feel like I just ran a marathon, not had a mind-blowing orgasm in the kitchen of my brother’s bar.
Rhyland mumbles something with a chuckle along my thigh, and I finally snap out of my orgasmic haze.
What the fuck?