He'd pushed me onto my stomach after he brought me to orgasm with his tongue, lips and teeth. I had whined loudly, protesting because I wanted to take him the same way, but he resisted. Instead, he pulled me up to my knees so he could bite my ass, kiss it and then lick me from behind.
I'm quivering now, my pussy aching for something, anything to push me over the edge again. I'd touched myself under his watchful eye, wanting him to wrap his dick so he can slam it into me.
The bed shifts under his weight as he moves behind me. I hear him open the drawer of my nightstand. It's that drawer, the one with the condoms, lube and my battery operated almost-boyfriend.
He doesn't say anything. The only sound in the room is his heavy breathing and the faint tear as he opens the condom package.
His hand runs between my legs. He grunts before the tip of his cock even touches my folds.
"Ah, you're so fucking wet." His voice betrays him. It cracks as he thrusts forward and into me.
The force pushes me from my knees but he's quick, he scoops a hand underneath me, pulling me back and onto his cock. I gasp at the depth, the width, at how completely he fills me. The ache it awakens only fuels my desire to push back against him with every drive of his hips.
"How do you want it?" he hisses the words into my ear. "Do you want me to fuck you hard, Cadence? Is that what you want?"
"Yes," I murmur softly. "Hard, please."
He grunts loudly as he pushes me back onto my hands and knees. His foot flies to the bed for leverage. His cock pulses inside me with deep, measured strokes as his hands grip tightly to my hips.
I feel his fingers tangle in my hair before he pulls my head back with a quick tug. My pussy tightens around him in response. He curses, loudly, words that I usually hear from his mouth in the restaurant's kitchen, fly into the air around me. Then there's more. They're the words that push me over the edge.
"You're cunt is so tight. You're made to be fucked like this. You want my cock, don't you?"
I cry out when I come, my hands fisting in the sheets as he slaps my ass hard before he pumps out his own release.
CHAPTER 12
"I'd like to speak to you in private."
I had hoped that it would be Tyler beside me, but it's not. It's one of the co-owners of Nova, Hunter Reynolds. He's been in the restaurant since I got here today, arranging and sorting. He and his father own several restaurants along the east coast. I worked for him at Axel too but he never noticed me there. I was one of the dozens who came and went. The kitchen there, like here at Nova, is an ever changing landscape of faces.
It's like that in this business. People invest themselves and then they leave; they seek out opportunity wherever they can find it.
"Sure, Mr. Reynolds." I wipe my hands on my side towel. "I can finish this as soon as we're done."
I'm on salad prep today. It's not my regular job but the sous chef who typically handles it is out sick. We all have to pick up the slack if there's a void in the kitchen. We run like well oiled machinery, every part dependent on the others for things to work at their optimum.
"Follow me."
I stare at his back as I walk a step behind him through the kitchen. No one turns to look. Each has a job to do and since dinner service begins in ninety minutes, their only focus is getting everything in order before the crowds appear.
The front of the house manager announced we were booked solid tonight. She does that every day. A table at Nova is fast becoming a rarity. Only those with recognizable names can book now, and they always end up at the chef's table with Tyler at their service.
He finally stops walking when we reach the small office at the back of the restaurant. He turns then, his hands dropping to his sides. "I saw you on television with Chef Monroe."
I scratch my eyebrow. I can't tell if he's excited by what he saw or if it pissed him on in some way. "I thought the segment went well."
"Darrell made a wise choice when he picked you to appear with Tyler. You're a great spokesperson for the Nova brand." He leans against the doorframe. "Two of the chefs from Axel did a segment three days ago on the same show."
I don't ask if it was Brendon because I don't give a fuck. I don't track what he does. I no longer look at his Instagram or Twitter feeds to see what his life entails. I stopped doing that a week after we broke up.
"It was fun when Tyler and I were on," I say honestly. "I was nervous but once I started cooking, I really enjoyed it."
"I'm glad to hear that, Chef."
I smile a little. I shouldn't take as much perverse pleasure as I do hearing him call me that, since he does it to almost everyone working in the kitchen. He values his chefs.
One day at Axel I overheard him tell another chef that he respects us all so much because he can't cook a fried egg. I don't believe that for a minute. He's a good man to work for. I'm glad I'm building my career while doing the best job I can for him.