Still, between the stiffy that wouldn’t go away and the body that was sore from simply moving his shoulder around for an hour, he lay on the concrete floor of his apartment that afternoon with his mind racing about what had happened the night before.
Since opening his restaurant, he hadn’t spent much time or energy on his love life. Even before that, he hadn’t been really good at the love part—the sex part was usually all he could spare the time for. He wasn’t used to wanting a sex partner to stick around after they both got off, but Felix was different in a lot of respects.
It didn’t bother him that Felix was running his kitchen. It didn’t even bother him that he’d slept in his bed all night. What had wriggled under his skin was the fact that Felix would not get out of his head. Instead of food, which had been his obsession since he was a preteen, he was thinking about what he wanted to do with Felix—and it wasn’t just sex. He wanted to shave with the man and get ready in the morning. He wanted to share long kisses and day-off Netflix binges.
But they couldn’t do that as long as this was something that their families couldn’t find out about. And they certainly wouldn’t waste time doing couple stuff if their time was limited. It would have to stay just sex between them.
He’d never regretted that before.
After a few more hours of moping, Joaquin pulled his car out of the garage for the first time in almost three weeks. Although he was exhausted, he was cleared to drive since he still wouldn’t take any narcotic pain medication.
When he arrived at his restaurant, instead of the foreboding he’d felt the first night he’d found Felix in charge, he felt anticipation. And it wasn’t about seeing how the place ran. As he pulled into his reserved parking space by the back door, his hands itched with the need to touch Felix. His body still held the imprint of the other man’s hands all over his body.
He wouldn’t be able to sleep that night if he didn’t see him, even though Felix would probably think that showing up was a sign that Joaquin didn’t trust him to get the job done. He would just have to tell him that it wasn’t the case, though he’d have to come up with a better excuse than his unquenchable thirst for Felix’s company.
Music rang through the hallway like the last time, and the laughter was there too. Only this time, there was no dancing. And no one looked up when he entered the main kitchen area. Heads down, knives down. Pots steamed, and pans hissed. The smells of the spices he’d grown up with scented the air, but—other than the music—that was the only sign that this was not a classic French kitchen.
A few weeks ago, he would have been upset that his kitchen was running well without him. Today, he was simply grateful. For maybe the first time in his life, he felt like he had the support he needed. He’d always known that his brother would be there for him, but Max was his little brother. By definition, he was the one who needed protecting. That dynamic hadn’t really changed now that they’d grown up. Max was the one who came to him for good counsel, and Joaquin had never asked for his brother to reciprocate.
For years, before Lola returned and their lives started changing, he’d steered clear of his little sister. The guilt from leaving her to deal with the nightmare of their parents alone was simply too much every time he’d looked at her. And she’d been so successful in the world of ballet, put on such a good face, that he hadn’t really seen how much pain that their mother’s addiction and father’s indifference had caused her.
He’d spent too much damned time in his own head. Like now.
“Chef,” Tim called out, which spurred Joaquin to stride through the kitchen, looking over shoulders and checking work.
He stopped to taste a sauce, and the young cook trembled when the spoon went into his mouth. It was absolutely perfect, and he had no notes. Unlike BF—Before Felix—he offered more than a nod—he smiled in an attempt to reassure the young man. Tim beamed back at him, which told him that he’d done precisely the right thing.
“What are you doing here?” The smile on Felix’s voice was evident even before he turned around. And froze because he couldn’t figure out why he’d never really seen Felix until a few weeks ago. Now, he was completely wrapped up in the man even though he wore a boxy chef’s coat and slip-resistant shoes. And he still hadn’t shaved.
Only the fact that they were surrounded by his staff prevented him from burying his nose in Felix’s throat and smelling the mix of food and exertion that shouldn’t turn him on but did when it came connected with this man.
“It’s my kitchen.”
“But you’re supposed to be resting.”
* * * *
Joaquin’s brow rose, and Felix knew he’d made an error. So sue him. He wanted to take care of the chef. But the stubborn lunk refused to stay in bed and do what he was told. Even though he’d overstepped in front of the staff, he didn’t feel bad. The look on his face wasn’t the one that said he was about to go ballistic. Joaquin had this sexy, lazy grin across his mouth that told Felix that the problems he had keeping his thoughts G-rated with Joaquin around were mutual.
And that made Felix want to preen.
“It’s my restaurant.” Joaquin’s words were slow and low, and they roasted Felix’s insides with their banked heat. Luckily, the entire kitchen had gone back to work about the time that they’d started talking. Anyone paying close attention would know that they were thinking a million different dirty things in each other’s direction.
“Yes, Chef,” said Felix, knowing how that turned Joaquin on. And it didn’t fail this time. The other man growled and followed him as he walked into the cooler.
Once he shut the door, Joaquin said, “We can’t do this here.”
“Then why did you follow me in?”
“Checking on inventory.”
“Riiiiight.” Felix turned and picked up a bunch of basil, feeling his lover’s gaze on his ass. He knew it was as tight and high as it had been when he was twenty-one, because he was religious about squats. And he luxuriated in the looking. No one would know it by looking at Joaquin or knowing him casually, but the man was just as heady as his food was. Being around him took Felix to another place—one where he just wanted to feel things. “How was physical therapy?”
After Joaquin had left with his grandmother, he’d showered in his lover’s bathroom, palming his cock until he’d come all over the stone shower floor. Watching the man sharing his space and occupying his mind shower and not offering up his help had been pure torture. Even more torture than he was enduring now, standing in this small space with him and not pushing him up against the racks and kissing the hell out of him.
“It was fine.” When he said this, Felix clocked the tired lines around his eyes and just looked at him. “Fine, I’m really tired, and I’m worried that coming back to work full-time is a long time off.”
Felix’s heart softened toward Joaquin. Even though they were outwardly different, they were kindred at their core. Both of them had come from a situation that had made them feel like they could only count on themselves and had to be strong and independent. But where Felix had learned to rely on his sister just as much as she relied on him, Joaquin had locked it all up and gone it alone. Felix wished that he could offer the other man a bridge to a place where he could trust another person to have his back. He wished he could be that man for him. But he had to continually remind himself that they were just going to fuck for a while. And then they’d just be business associates.
But perhaps Joaquin could learn to rely on him there?
“As you can see, we’re fine right now. Take a minute and rest and come up with some ideas. When you get back at it, you’ll be fresh.” He squeezed the forearm on his good arm. “And we’ll take on the world with the new restaurant.”
Joaquin pulled his phone out of his pocket. “An hour until the end of service.”
“And I’ve got this.” Felix gave him one more squeeze before le
tting go. “Go home.”
“I’m going to stay.”
“And do what?”
Joaquin sighed. “I want to try some things after close. I’ve got some new ideas.” It sounded as though it pained him to admit that.
“With what knife hand?”
He scrubbed over his face in that sexy way he had, showing he was exasperated but trying to rub it off. “Can you stay?”
It didn’t matter how tired Felix was and that he hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep in the past few weeks. If he got to spend time with Joaquin, he was all in. “Just go in the office so you don’t scare the staff.”
It was just best that he didn’t show it.
Chapter 12
The kitchen was spotless when Joaquin emerged from his office two hours later. He’d actually caught a few minutes of sleep on the couch while service was winding down, as though he’d only needed to see that everything was in working order before he could rest. It might have been Felix’s reassurance that did the trick, though—his gentle certainty gave him peace of mind even as his rocking body made other parts of him want to do anything but rest.
And now they were alone in his kitchen after close. Every cook, server, bartender, and dishwasher had gone home or to a late-night bar for the night. Probably hoping to do the same things that he was looking forward to doing with Felix.
As a young chef, he’d gone out with his coworkers, fucked more than his share. It had been one of the draws of this career. And it wasn’t like he could sustain a relationship with a civilian given his hours. Dating other chefs and restaurant workers had just made sense. He could be close to the thing that made the most sense to him in the world—cooking—and he was in constant proximity of lots of dick. But now was different. He felt the same kind of energy that he usually felt at the end of service, but it wasn’t about the adrenaline of a job well done. It was about one man who made him feel things that he’d never been sure he’d wanted to feel.
Felix was sitting on a stool, jacket off. His gray T-shirt clung to his body like it was in love with him. And he couldn’t blame the shirt. Where Joaquin was bulky, Felix was all lean muscle. In that moment, his attention snagged on Felix’s hands as he diced an onion. His head was down, and he wasn’t looking at Joaquin—so he could get his fill.
There was something about Felix that made his lizard brain stand up and utter the word thirsty, over and over again. And Joaquin wasn’t sure he even wanted to fight it anymore.
“What are you making?”
Without looking up, Felix said, “Not sure yet.”
It was exactly how Joaquin liked to come up with recipes. Just basics with no end goal in mind. They were much more alike than he’d ever allowed himself to think they were before. He realized that a part of him had been trying to keep Felix out of his head because he knew how dangerous the other man would be to his carefully ordered existence. He’d been guarding himself against falling in love for so long that it had become like second nature to him. Something that he hadn’t been willing to give up—maybe ever.
Getting more involved physically with Felix was a colossally bad idea he was no longer willing to resist. The ease with which the other man had infiltrated his daily thoughts alone should have told him that he was different. But it was watching him dice onions in his kitchen, the only thing he had in his life that meant anything to him, that did it.
He was going to fuck Felix, but he was afraid that the fucking would be swiftly followed by falling in love with the man. And, as someone who had never let himself fall, who’d always pumped the brakes at the last instant before driving that particular car over the ledge, he was terrified.
But the fear and the lust were a heady combination in his belly, a new flavor of something he’d never explored before. And he couldn’t resist.
So he rounded the counter and pressed his body up against Felix’s back. The fact that his arm was between them made it less sexy, but there wasn’t much he could do about that for a few more weeks. And he pushed the thought that they would only be doing this for a few more weeks out of his head.
Uncharacteristically hopeful thoughts crowded his head about how they could keep this going even if they were going to be business partners. In fact, it might work better than any other relationship he’d ever had because they would be on a similar schedule, and they’d always have something to talk about.
But when Felix arched his spine just enough that he could rub Joaquin’s hard-on with the curve of his ass, all thoughts of how they would make a relationship fled his brain. The only thing that remained was how he could get inside Felix and make him moan louder than he had the night before when he’d spilled inside his mouth.
“What are you into?” He wanted to ask that question again and not just assume that Felix wanted to be fucked. And Joaquin wasn’t opposed to being fucked himself. Just the thought of Felix’s cock rubbing across his spot had him ready to go. Just because he’d been voted “South Beach’s Most Wanted Bear” by the local weekly three years in a row didn’t mean that he had to top.
He liked all flavors of sex the same way he liked all flavors of food. From the minute he’d first kissed a dude, he’d wanted to try everything in every configuration. His insatiable curiosity stretched from the kitchen to the bedroom. And not even his father’s abusive homophobia had changed that. He wasn’t sure why he’d never been ashamed of sex. Maybe it was because he’d gotten his value from taking care of his little brother and sister and making sure his mother ate something decent once in a while? Or perhaps it was because he’d given up on pleasing his father when he was so young that the words hadn’t landed where the fuckwad had intended them to.
Didn’t matter now when he was kissing the soft skin at the back of Felix’s neck. “I’m into anything that involves you doing a lot more of that.”
“So, you’re saying you want me to fuck you?” Felix didn’t nod—he didn’t have room—but he sort of rolled his neck affirmatively. “You have to say the words.”
Felix wiped his hands on the soapstone he had placed conveniently nearby as he said, “I would like nothing more than for you to fuck me right now.”
After that, fire flashed in front of Joaquin’s eyes. Felix turned in front of them so that they were face-to-face and kissed him. All he could do was grab the back of his neck so that he wouldn’t stop. Dear God, he never wanted him to stop kissing him like that.
Felix burrowed his hands under Joaquin’s T-shirt, mapping the topography of his skin with his callused fingertips. He pulled up the hem of the shirt until it hit his sling. “This is going to get complicated with your sling.”
Fucking sling. “Cut it off.” Joaquin’s voice felt more like a snarl coming out.
A smile crossed his lover’s face. “Really?”
“I have extra shirts in my office.” He’d had to keep them there when he was working twenty-four/seven. And he was damned glad of it now when Felix glanced over his shoulder to locate the knife he’d put down.
As soon as Felix brandished the chef’s knife, Joaquin felt a moment of pause. It must have been written all over his face because the other man laughed. “Still want me to do it?”
“Yes.” Fuck the shirt. He just wanted to feel his skin against Felix’s. He wanted to touch and be touched, and it kind of fit that it would be in this place that felt more like more like home than his condo. And it fit that it would be with this man who he’d come to want so much in three weeks that he was ready to break his own rules.
Felix pressed the tip of the blade to the bottom of his shirt and made a small tear. Then he put the knife down and ripped the shirt down the middle and pushed it down his good shoulder.
Joaquin wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the last thing he expected was for Felix to put his lips against his chest, right above his heart. He was momentarily stunned, but Felix was undeterred as he undid his belt and
popped the buttons on his pants.
“Why are you still wearing so many clothes?”
“I’ve been thinking about you showering all goddamned day, and I can’t wait to touch you.” Good answer. “I fucked my hand in the shower thinking about how you looked.”
“You liked what you saw?” Joaquin wasn’t a skinny dude. He was muscled, but there was a layer of flesh over everything. He liked to work out, but he also ate for a living. So he wasn’t used to his lovers openly admiring his body.
He’d never had someone like Felix, so sexy that it hurt him, openly worshiping his body. “I fucking love it.” Felix choked on those words as though he hadn’t intended to say it. Those words were so close to what Joaquin felt that it didn’t even faze him. He wasn’t in love with Felix, but he loved what they were doing. He loved being with him, and only wanted more.
Joaquin grasped the bottom of Felix’s shirt with one hand and pulled up until Felix helped him by pulling the back over his head, mussing up his gorgeous dark hair. When they were both shirtless, and Joaquin’s jeans hung around his hips, Felix pulled him in again for a kiss. Their tongues danced and teeth clashed, but it didn’t feel awkward. And he didn’t know how long they kissed each other, only that it lasted until they were dry-humping each other against the counter.
Felix pulled back long enough to say, “Fuck, I’m going to come in my pants.” He pulled his chef’s pants and boxer briefs down. Joaquin pushed his pants and briefs the rest of the way down until they were both naked. In his kitchen. With a moment of prayer that the health department never found about this, he grasped his lover’s cock, loving the way it filled his hand. A few drops of pre-come leaked out, and Joaquin jacked him with the extra lubrication. He grasped him hard and moved fast, not wanting to make him come yet, but not able to stop. Especially when Felix threw his head back and put his hands on the counter as though he was so turned on he couldn’t stand up straight.
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