Chapter 7
Seven
Kane and I had spent every night together since we met. Since the talk we’d had in my apartment, I decided to do the unthinkable… Lean into the chaos.
He did what he had done since the first night at my restaurant, waited for me to close up, eating the plate of food I regularly prepared for him before closing the kitchen.
I liked that he fed me when we got to my place, but I also loved the intimacy of feeding him. It wasn’t something off the menu; it was whatever I was feeling at the time.Stuffed zucchini flowers, seared venison and mushrooms, cottage pie, freshly made pasta and pesto. More simple and provincial things than what I served in my restaurant. Heartier fare that I’d enjoyed across the world.
Every time he ate, he made sure to communicate just how much he enjoyed my food. And even though I had had thousands of people say similar things, it made my night. Well, various things made my nights these days, all of them connected to Kane.
My staff were used to him by then, no one asking questions. Not even Ferris. I’d told Michelle the most, that we were together, nothing else. That pleased her. But she didn’t press. She never did. She’d brought out a glass of whisky for Kane at the end of service, one finger. He thanked her, joked with her and my staff who were friendly but kept their distance.
Kane asked me why they didn’t ask questions, why no one took photos. I momentarily paused at the question, wondering why on earth they would take a photo of us. Then I remembered Kane was famous.
It was easy for me to forget since I hadn’t known he was famous when I met him. I didn’t go on social media—didn’t have social media—and didn’t read the kind of magazines he graced the covers of.
And whenever we were together, it was late at night, going straight to my apartment—apparently, he liked my tiny place better than the behemoth brownstone. Then he’d cook for me, something simple but delicious. Steak and salad. Spicy shrimp. Grilled cheese. And we’d have sex. A lot of it. At some point, I’d fall into unconsciousness, and then he’d wake me, either in the middle of the night or in the morning or both to fuck me again. Then, while I was getting ready, he’d get us coffee and pastries from the café on the corner. Then we’d part.
When I asked him where he went while I was working, he shrugged his shoulders, saying the gym or doing whatever publicity shit his publicist had organized for his ‘break’ before he went on tour in preparation for the X Games. He rode in tracks and entered events all over the country.
That hung over my head, the looming date of Kane’s departure. Sure, he owned an apartment in New York, but from what I could tell, he was usually on the move. Always competing somewhere, if not jumping out of planes, off bridges, riding motorcycles through South America, driving Jeeps on two wheels in the Middle East.
Somehow, I’d caught him on a rare occasion when he wasn’t defying death but living the semblance of a normal life.
Well, whatever normal looked like for a famous daredevil.
He was obviously used to people taking photos in his presence, hence his question as to why none of the staff did it.
“Well, we have rules about doing such things in the restaurant. We do have many clients more famous than you,” I teased.
“Don’t hurt my precious ego,” he teased back, a hand splayed over his chest. “But I’m not a client. And I’m pretty sure that not everyone here is such a militant rule follower like you, Chef.”
I stiffened at his words. That’s what I was, wasn’t it? Type A, a rule follower who lived by schedules, by the clock. It had worked for me most of my life; it had been what kept me sane, that control. Now Kane seeing me that way had me suddenly uncomfortable.
I shook that feeling off.
“I’m sure they break rules sometimes, but not with you.” I looked down at the filet I was seasoning. “They’re far too afraid of me to snap a picture, considering I’d know it came from this kitchen when it came out.” I didn’t add that the position in my restaurant was too precious to risk a photo of him for. It sounded a little arrogant, even to me.
Kane’s eyes danced with amusement. “Scared? Of you?” He pulled me into his arms, kissing my head. “I like that,” he murmured against my hair.
“Are you scared of me?” I asked, teasing once more.
Kane pushed me back to meet my eyes, all amusement gone from his. “I’m fuckin’ terrified of you, Chef.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling like all the air had gone from my lungs. This … thing between us had been all about feeling alive. About animal instincts, wanting each other. Though I had fleeting thoughts of just how deep I was in in such a short time, I quickly pushed them away.
Yet here was Kane, bringing it to the forefront, making these issues impossible to ignore. This thing between us was moving past infatuation and turning into something else, something more permanent. Something that would mark my insides like scars when it was done.
“You overly tired, Chef, or you want to come out with me tonight?” Thankfully, his question broke the seriousness of the moment.
I should’ve been tired. My work schedule was as grueling as it always had been, I was used to that. But I was also used to falling into bed as soon as I got home. Not riding around the city on the back of a motorcycle then getting fucked into oblivion for hours every night.
“I’m not tired,” I replied honestly. When I was with Kane, it was the same feeling as when I was in the kitchen, like my body was electrified, like nothing else existed.
Except the kitchen was orderly, it had rules, structure. I was in control.
Kane was chaos. There were no rules with him, and I most certainly wasn’t in control.
“Want to go out with me?” he asked.
The control freak in me wanted to first ask where we were going, especially because I was only wearing the jeans I’d taken to change into for the ride and a leather jacket Kane had unceremoniously bought me a few days ago. The leather was buttery-soft, but it was also warm, chasing away the bite of the autumn air. It fit me perfectly and was exactly my style—classic, understated. A thoughtful, powerful gesture from Kane that only added to the proof this was more than a thing.
Though the leather jacket was undoubtedly nice, I worried about my attire if we were going to be around people in cocktail dresses.
Kane always wore a variation of his all-black clothing, usually motorcycle boots and a band tee, a jacket of his own. But even I could recognize everything he wore was expensive. I could tell you exactly how much black truffles were going for at any given moment, but not those kinds of things.
I bit my tongue, swallowing all the questions on it and looked up at Kane.
“Let’s go.”
“ This is where we’re going?” I looked at the exterior of the bar. I tried to hide my distaste, but it didn’t quite work. Not that I was a snob. Or I supposed I was, by occupational hazard more than upbringing. We didn’t grow up rich, but I was never aware of money worries. My father, ever the practical man, had a healthy life insurance policy, and both my sister and I had college funds.
I had never gone out to a bar—I’d gone to wine tastings to find the best wine to pair with dishes. Learned from top sommeliers. I’d gone to cocktail lounges to attain techniques I utilized in my kitchens. Every trip was for a purpose, not for leisure.
“No cloth napkins or silver spoons here, Chef,” Kane joked. “You scared?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Of course, I’m not scared.” I straightened my back and walked into the bar in order to prove my point.
The music was blaring at a level you could hear on the streets, the source being a band playing on a tiny stage at the back of the tiny bar. The space was cluttered but not crowded. Despite the small space, no one so much as glanced my way when I walked in, even when I felt Kane’s warmth behind me, hands on my hips and his lips brushing my neck.
I shivered.
It took me a second to process the dim lighting, the noise, the sticky floor, the weird mix of smells—peanuts, beer, sweat, smoke. And then Kane’s scent curled up in it all, his lips on my skin, the intimate touch.
Once I’d processed all of this, I recognized the band playing was good. Great, actually.
I wasn’t into most things pop culture. Music was the exception. It was something I’d shared with my father, something that wove in and out of every one of my memories. My kitchen always had music playing. Not at a high volume, because we needed to hear each other, the tickets. But once service was over, I turned it up so it could wash over me, help me come down from the high of each night.
I’d had it playing the nights Kane watched me cleaning, yet he hadn’t commented on it.
“This place has some of the best undiscovered bands in the country.” His lips brushed against my ear as he spoke, sending goose bumps down my arms. “Unquiet Mind played all their original stuff here before they got huge.”
Unquiet Mind was one of the few commercial bands I actually enjoyed. Even though they were one of the biggest bands in the world, I still found their music authentic, powerful. They hadn’t sold out. They were on the playlist I’d played that first night he’d come into my kitchen.
“Figured you’d like them.” He nodded to the band playing a mix between rock and folk music. Hard and lyrical. “Figured you’d like a place that didn’t have cloth napkins and dress codes. Or at least it’d take you out of your comfort zone so I could watch your eyes light up.”
My palms were sweating, realizing just how much he saw me.
“Let’s get a beer.” Hand on my hip, he directed us to the bar.
He nodded to the bartender, and once he arrived, leaned over, presumably to give him our order.
Kane didn’t make a move to make further conversation with me. He merely lifted me onto the barstool in front of him and slung his arm over my shoulder, half around my neck, toying with the neckline of my tee.
He was obviously relaxed, at ease.
I was still tense, unsure of how to act in a scene like this. Unsure of how to act as Kane’s ‘date’ in a place like this. I didn’t have experience in dive bars with sticky floors.
The beer he handed me was cold, crisp. His lips at my neck were warm, electrifying.
“Breathe, Chef,” he whispered. “Listen to the music. Drink your beer.”
The instructions were simple, and though my brain tried to fight against them, I did as he asked.
I didn’t know how long it had been since we arrived. I had two beers. The band was still playing. The music was good. Great. It took me away from reality, allowing me to enjoy the moment.
Kane didn’t move from behind me, continuously laying his lips on my skin, moist from the beer, mixing with my sweat from the warmth of the bar.
“Let’s go,” he said as I finished my beer.
The band was winding down, and it must’ve been late. Going was the sensible thing to do, I was sure. But I didn’t want to leave. A part of me wanted to sit there on that stool, with a beer and Kane and an indie band forever.
But I got up, because deep down, I was a sensible person.
Instead of leading us out the entrance, Kane took my hand and pulled me deeper into the bar.
Though I was confused, I didn’t ask questions. I was riding the buzz of the music, the beers, the new location. I trusted Kane to take me wherever he wanted us to go.
We got a few glances as we made it through the crowd, but no one did a double take. Either the patrons of this bar were too drunk, failed to recognize him or didn’t care that there was a celebrity in their midst.
The thump of the bass still sounded once we made it to the back where the restrooms were, but it was quieter.
Before I could even wonder what was happening, Kane pushed me against the wall and plastered my body with his, grasping my neck and putting his mouth on mine. He tasted like beer and him. His kiss was hungry. Ravenous. I didn’t hesitate to return it. I realized I was hungry, ravenous, too.
Time unraveled as we kissed, his hand in my hair, running down the side of my body, underneath my tee and to my breasts, kneading, tweaking my nipples.
“Need to fuck you, Chef,” he breathed against my ear. “Can take you home, to the bathroom, or we can do it right here, against the wall.” There was a challenge in his voice, a sexual dare.
I knew that Kane would never try to convince me to do something I wasn’t comfortable with and wouldn’t say anything if I requested he take me home, to privacy, to the familiarity of my bed.
The corner we were in was somewhat secluded from the main bar, the hall to the restrooms to the left, presumably a storeroom to our right. But to enter either, you had to walk past us.
Anyone could walk past. See us. At least the bathrooms offered an ounce of privacy. Not exactly sensible but more sensible than an open hallway.
“Here,” I whispered, barely recognizing my voice, my request.
Kane’s teeth grazed my ear. Without pausing, he turned me around, my palms instinctively bracing themselves against the wall.
His hands pulled back my hips, before he kicked at my ankles, telling me to spread my legs apart. Fingers rushed to my jeans, undoing them quickly, roughly, with urgency.
I was already soaking when his hands went to my panties, caressing me there.
My body responded so viscerally to the simple touch, my knees shuddered.
The thump of the music vibrated against my palms, my heart thundering in my chest.
Anyone could walk by at any moment. Yes, the light was dim, the hour was late and whoever did walk by was likely sporting some heavy beer goggles. But we were still playing with fire.
That only made me burn hotter.
“Never had better pussy than yours,” Kane murmured against my ear, fingers going inside me for a few seconds before they were gone and my jeans were around my ankles.
He shifted my hips, placing me in the perfect position for him. He didn’t ease in, didn’t bother with foreplay. There was no time for that. This wasn’t careful, tender. This was hunger, getting our needs met knowing we could be interrupted, caught, at any moment.
I let out a cry as he filled me.
Though it hopefully merged with the music, I was louder than I’d expected.
Kane’s hand went to my mouth, lightly covering it so he wasn’t completely silencing me.
He pounded hard, relentlessly, hot breath against my neck.
My body met each of his thrusts, building up to an impossible crescendo.
I tasted the beer on my tongue, I breathed in the heady smells of the bar, of Kane’s scent mixed in with them. I let myself go, awash in sensation.
Kane was a wild animal, slamming into me.
Then I was gone, flying through the air, riding a wave of complete pleasure. In the hallway of a dive bar, with Kane fucking me against a wall, I felt myself fall.
For Kane.