Crave - Part One: Aria's Song (Crave Series Book 1)

by Rhea Wilde

  “What does it taste like?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “What does it taste like?” he repeated his question. “The ice cream. How would you describe it?”

  “Look, I’m not in the mood to—”

  “Just tell me what it tastes like. In your own words. You can do that, can’t you?”

  I looked into his green eyes. I knew he was trying to get at something but I didn’t know what it was. I relented and reluctantly gave him a response.

  “I don’t know,” I said as I shook my head. “It tastes like chocolate ice cream.”

  “What does chocolate ice cream taste like?”

  “I said I don’t know. It tastes like chocolate but ice cream.”

  “So… What does ice cream taste like?”

  “It’s soft.”

  “Soft like what?”

  “I don’t know. A pillow?”

  “Good. It’s soft like a pillow. Or a marshmallow. Or a piece of velvet that just melts on your tongue.”

  “Yeah. That’s one way of putting it. You’re better with words than I am.”

  “No, you’re just not giving it any thought.”

  Stephen moved over to the wine cabinet and began examining it.

  “What do you do for fun?” he asked me.

  “What?”

  “In your free time. What do you do? Do you have any hobbies? Are there any places you like to go?”

  “I get drunk on the weekend at nightclubs. I wouldn’t call that a hobby though.”

  “But you enjoy it?”

  “Yeah. Sure. I guess.”

  “Let me see…”

  Stephen grabbed two different bottles of wine and poured a glass of each of them.

  “Close your eyes.”

  “What?”

  “Aria…”

  “Fine.”

  I looked at him and just like always, I saw that he was serious. I closed my eyes then felt his hand fall upon one of mine. He moved it up toward one of the glasses.

  “When you get drunk on the weekends, what do you usually drink?” he asked.

  “Whatever gets me drunk.”

  “That’s what I figured. I want you to forget about that now. You’re not getting drunk. Take a sip of this.”

  He placed the glass into my hand and I slowly moved it up to my lips. I opened my eyes to make sure I didn’t spill any of it on myself but he made me close them again.

  “No peeking.”

  I sighed and took a small sip of the wine. I smacked my lips as the alcohol rolled over my tongue and down my throat.

  “What does it taste like?” he asked.

  “It tastes like wine,” I replied. “Red wine.”

  “How would you describe it?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have any words for it.”

  “All right. Now try the other one.”

  He put the other glass into my hand and I took a sip of it.

  “That tastes like wine, too,” I said. “Red wine.”

  “The taste the same?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are they the same though?”

  “No.”

  “So, there’s a difference then?”

  “Well, yeah but—”

  “Aria, can you tell the difference between each of them?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “What’s different?”

  “One is bitter. The other is a little sweeter.”

  “There you go. One is bitter and the other is sweeter. Now… taste this. Open your mouth.”

  “Um, I hope you’re not thinking of anything inappropriate.”

  “Not yet. Just trust me.”

  I sighed, my eyes still closed as I opened my mouth. I felt the spoon move into my mouth and I took another bite of the chocolate ice cream.

  “Now taste the wine,” he said. “While the ice cream is still in your mouth.”

  I did as I was told. I swirled the wine around in my mouth with the ice cream.

  “Is there a difference?” he asked. “What does the wine taste like?”

  “It’s different… It’s… sweeter. It’s like it has a different flavor. But it doesn’t taste like ice cream. It’s some sort of combination.”

  “Now try the other wine.”

  He placed the other glass into my hand and put another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. I tasted it and was even more surprised at the result.

  “It’s… not as bitter. It’s not bitter at all, actually.”

  “Exactly.”

  I slowly opened my eyes and saw Stephen staring straight at me.

  “The two complement each other because of their flavors,” he explained. “One brings out the flavor of the other. But it’s not as simple as making one thing sweeter. It creates a flavor that’s different from the combination you might expect.”

  “Yeah… I guess that makes sense.”

  “People say that your tastes mature as you get older. That’s just another way of saying that you lose your taste buds. It becomes tricky to try and find the difference between what you enjoy and what you don’t like. That’s why chefs who create have to go to these extremes. That’s why they have to pair flavors properly and use this bottle of wine over that bottle. It’s because you need the right combination. But when you find that perfect mixture, it’s better than anything you’ve ever experienced before.”

  Stephen’s face was close to mine as he said it. He stared into my eyes intently. I listened to every word he spoke but still had trouble focusing on the point he was trying to get across.

  “None of this answers my question,” I said.

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “Because I’m the right bottle of wine. I’m the flavor you’ve been looking for. Is that why you did it?”

  “What else would it be?”

  “To me it just sounds like some pretext for sex. I’m still convinced that’s what this is all about.”

  “I am attracted to you, Aria. I’ve already admitted that. Do you remember what I said to you the first night I met you?”

  “You said a lot of things.”

  “But what do you remember more than anything?”

  “…You said you wanted to fuck me.”

  I smirked at him. Despite his lengthy explanation involving ice cream and wine and what it takes to make something taste good, I couldn’t get past the physical attraction I felt between us.

  “Do you still want to do this?” he asked.

  “Keep working for you? I don’t know. But I know something else I want.”

  “And what’s that?”

  My face drifted closer to his. I closed my eyes and kissed him. He pushed his tongue into my mouth. While our tongues danced and swirled against one another, a moan escaped from my lips and into his mouth.

  While we kissed, he wrapped his arms around me and lifted me from the ground. My knees resting upon his elbows, he rested me down upon the kitchen counter. Stephen was tall enough so that even sitting high up on the counter, I could still look into his eyes.

  I shifted my hands back on the counter and accidentally knocked over a glass of the wine.

  “Shit!” I gasped.

  “It’s all right. Don’t worry about it.”

  He placed his hand underneath my chin and turned my face back to his. We resumed our passionate kiss.

  His hands found their way past my legs. He shoved the skirt of my dress up over my thighs. I spread my legs slightly to give him a good view of the black lace panties I was wearing underneath. Just the sight of Stephen looking at me was enough to make me that much wetter.

  He moved down and kissed the inside of my thighs then took hold of the sides of my panties. He pulled them down until they hung off of one of my ankles.

  My legs dangled over the kitchen counter as I spread them. Stephen took his place between them and together we began frantically undoing his belt. The two of us breathed deep in anticipation of what was about to happen. Our breaths were interrupted
momentarily by brief but deep kisses.

  It felt like an eternity before his cock finally sprang free. His underwear and pants fell down past his knees and toward his ankles. I spread my legs wider and looked down as he grabbed his length. He teased my folds with the tip. I sighed in ecstasy from the stimulation he gave me. He moved the head up and around my clit. The nub swelled from the sensitive touch. Stephen moaned and enjoyed the feeling just the same.

  My eyes were half-open as I watched him lower his length back down toward my entrance. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held a firm grip. He then slowly drove himself into me.

  “Oh, fuck…”

  I let out a soft groan as Stephen impaled me. He pushed the full length of his shaft into me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him in an attempt to pull him closer to me.

  Stephen’s strokes were hard and firm. With every thrust, a gasp escaped from my lips. Soft whimpers and breathy moans were the accompaniment to the sound of Stephen’s body shoving against me. In and out. Back and forth. Every stroke pushed me closer to ecstasy. My body became wetter. His length seemed to grow even thicker. It throbbed inside of me with a life that let me know that it was everything a woman could ask for.

  I held on tight to Stephen. I dug my nails into his back like I was trying to claw through his shirt. I could feel his hard body beginning to perspire as his thrusts became faster and harder. I couldn’t keep up. My mouth hung open but nothing escaped.

  Holy shit… Holy shit… Holy… Fuck…

  Stephen worked himself in and out like a piston. I couldn’t take it. No woman could. I tightened every muscle in my body as the orgasm slammed into me. I gripped a tight hold of him with my legs and arms as my climax racked my body. I spasmed up against him. The convulsions spread through my center and vibrated through the rest of my body. My legs quaked as they remained wrapped around him.

  The feeling of coming on Stephen’s cock was indescribable. I didn’t want the orgasm to end. And the way Stephen fucked me made it seem like he wanted me to remain in the blissful state he put me in.

  I released my hands from around his neck then pushed them down against the counter. I leaned back and stared at him as he rammed himself into me. My legs dangled over the side of the kitchen counter. He pushed my bare ass up against the edge with every stroke.

  “Come on,” I whispered. “Fuck me… Harder… That’s it…”

  My orgasm had subsided but not my desire to see him finish. I could feel him twitching inside of me. His green eyes were ablaze with desire. I looked down and watched as the full length of his wet shaft slid in and out of me.

  I glanced to the side and saw the other glass of wine that I hadn’t knocked over. I picked it up with one hand then slowly pushed myself up. I gently placed my other hand on Stephen’s chest and pushed him away. His cock exited me and as soon as it did, I took it into my hand.

  I looked into his eyes as I jerked him. I pointed his cock down into the glass. With every stroke, it began to twitch even more violently.

  “Give it to me…”

  As if on command, Stephen finally reached his released. His knees buckled and the first line of his cum fired against the side of the glass. Another spasm and more of his semen spilled into the wine. I milked Stephen’s cock while he stood there, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. I got every last drop I could out of him. When his body slowly stopped spasming, I squeezed his length completely. One final drop like a pearl hung from the tip before dripping down into the glass.

  We both sighed and breathed deeply in both satisfaction and exhaustion. I pulled my hand away from his cock and watched as it glistened with my fluids upon it. Stephen pulled his pants back up while I examined the glass in front of me.

  “Red wine and cum,” I said as I swirled it around. “Maybe this is the flavor I’ve been looking for.”

  I stared into his eyes as I gulped it down. Stephen stared at me intently as I swallowed every last drop. When I finished, I smacked my lips and licked them, grinning at him with satisfaction.

  “I don’t know if this is the right wine,” I said.

  “Good. That means we’ll just have to try out everything else in my cabinet.”

  “That’s a lot of wine to sample with your…”

  “I’m sure I’ll be able to accommodate you.”

  I smirked at his comment. Stephen looked at me with an intensity that was all too familiar. After everything that happened tonight, I still didn’t have the answers I was looking for. But I was content for the moment. It would have to do until I found a better reason to leave this opportunity on the table.

  Chapter 18

  “No, no, no. Leave it alone. Let it rest. Let it soak in its own flavors. Moving it only makes it worse. It won’t cook evenly because you’re moving it around too much.”

  “How am I supposed to know it’s cooked then?”

  “You can use a thermometer.”

  “Do you use a thermometer?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know when it’s ready.”

  “I just do. You can feel it when it’s right.”

  Camille pressed the tongs down upon the meat frying in the pan. I watched but could barely tell the difference from a raw piece of meat to something overcooked. Unfortunately for me, Stephen wanted a small piece of steak for breakfast and cooking it perfectly went without saying.

  “How long does it take to do that?” I asked.

  “To do what?”

  “To be able to tell when it’s done just by feeling.”

  “I don’t know. I never actually kept track… How old are you, Aria?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “…Longer than that.”

  Camille stared at me with complete seriousness. As she turned her attention back to the piece of meat in the pan, I sighed and rolled my eyes.

  This is never going to end…

  I made the decision not to leave after my encounter with Stephen the night before. The dinner had gone how everybody expected it to go. Even though Camille handled most of the cooking, I helped with every dish. I chose what everybody ate. From the wine they drank to the combination of foods in every course, it was all my decision. I might have been able to fool everybody else but the most affluent people in this city were used to dishes that were not only extravagant and decadent but precise as well. Despite spending so much time in the kitchen, everything I put on a plate still seemed like a haphazard mess that Camille would have to clean up.

  But afterward, Stephen didn’t seem upset about anything. In fact, he seemed more encouraged than anything. Our late night rendezvous was just as informative as it was sexy. There was an orgasm at the end but I didn’t forget the lesson that came before it. Stephen’s decision to keep me around and hire me in the first place was still a mystery but now I was more intrigued to learn about my enigmatic benefactor.

  “No eggs this morning,” Camille said. “He doesn’t need that much protein. Every breakfast you make for him has to be balanced.”

  “But he has eggs with his bacon.”

  “Right. But the calories he’s consuming from this steak are greater. You have the portion it out correctly with the right amount of carbohydrates.”

  “It never ends,” I sighed.

  I grabbed a potato and began chopping it down. A few seconds later, she walked over to me and stopped me.

  “That’s not how I showed you,” she said.

  “I know. I can’t do it the way you showed me though—”

  “That’s why you have to practice. Doing it that way takes much too long.”

  “This is dumb.”

  “It’s the most efficient way to cut a potato—”

  “That’s not what I meant. This is dumb. All of this. Why am I learning on the job? Why didn’t Stephen just front me the money to go to culinary school or something? He knows that it would take years for me to reach the level he’s asking for.”

  “Master Stephen has his own way of doing
things.”

  “And you don’t think it’s strange? You don’t question it?”

  “Why should I? He’s his own man. He’s a achieved this level of success. You’re hiring, while puzzling, is little different from what I expect out of him in the few years I’ve come to know him. I’ve learned to accept that.”

  I watched Camille deftly dice several potatoes into pieces in the time it would take me to do just half of one.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “He was looking for a chef. I went through the interview process and was lucky enough to be granted the opportunity—”

  “No. I mean, what do you think about me? Do you think he should have hired me?”

  “What I think doesn’t matter.”

  “I know it doesn’t. You just said you accept it though. Does that mean you wouldn’t have done it?”

  Camille looked up at me after she finished chopping the potatoes. It was just as she said. Her opinion didn’t matter. But I still swallowed and waited anxiously for her response.

  “When I first saw you, I thought you were just a pretty face,” she said. “I thought there was only one reason Stephen hired you.”

  “I thought the same thing…”

  “But I can see that there’s more to it than that now. You’re capable of a lot more. Sometimes you just don’t realize it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means…”

  She grabbed another potato then placed the knife down next to it.

  “…you have to understand that things aren’t always done your way. You just have to make your way a little different.”

  She moved her attention back to the pan and moved the steak from the heat. She rested it down on the cutting board and began preparing the rest of Stephen’s breakfast.

  “Stop stalling,” she said. “We have a lot to go over today. This is only the beginning.”

  “Right.”

  I took the knife up and chopped it down just like she instructed. Every single time I stepped into the kitchen, Camille taught me something I knew I would forget. This morning wasn’t any different. But with all of the new techniques and information and details she expected me to remember, I still managed to make my way through it.