by C. J. Berry
Peyton’s eyes seemed to grow wider. She loved ass kissing as long as she got something out of it and by the looks of the chef’s house his ass kissing was handsomely rewarded.
“It can’t be that bad.” Peyton said taking a sip of her wine.
“It is, I can assure you. Imagine walking into a room of plastic mannequins, add a double dose of bitchiness because you are trying to please their snobby pallets and you might just start to get the right idea.” He stood up and walked to his fridge. He grabbed a soda and sat down.
I was curious as to why he didn’t pour himself a glass of wine. The bottle was sitting right in front of him and he poured his dark cola directly into the wine glass that had been placed for him. Here was the man of the hour, the host of the party and he was spending it dry. I had to know why.
“You don’t drink?” I asked.
Angela elbowed me under the table. It probably wasn’t the most appropriate question to ask but he hadn’t made last night very easy for me either.
“Forward aren’t we?” He said, then took a deep drink of his soda.
“Just seems strange when the host isn’t as drunk as his guests. Especially if his guests are a bunch of single ladies.” I said smugly.
He picked up the wine bottle and looked at the label long and hard. He reached over the table and poured me some more. His solid hand held the bottle carefully. He spun the bottle at the last so that not a single drip of wine was lost to the table cloth. He had done this a thousand times before and it showed. I found myself imagining being poured by his experienced hand. I wondered what else he might have experience in that would impress me.
“I haven’t had a drop to drink in almost 10 years.” He said as he sat back in his chair. “I was an alcoholic for almost four years. My dad was partial to the drink but then again so are most cooks. It’s a tough life sometimes and not everyone can handle it sober.”
“I apologize for bringing it up.” I said embarrassed.
“Don’t be. I try and tell everyone I meet. It helps to keep me honest. You were going to find out soon enough. Anyways, who wants the grand tour?”
Lizzy, Angela and Peyton raised their hands at the same time and shouted “me”. I laughed and raised mine as well.
We followed the chef as he took us through his house.
“This was the house that my father bought for my mother before she died. He started as a dishwasher, hardly knowing a single word of English and worked his way up to head chef by the time he was 22. He never cooked in the fancy restaurants, but he made a decent living for my mother and I. It was because of him that I got into cooking. I started out washing dishes too you know.”
I considered the prospect of rising from dishwasher to owner of the biggest house on the hill and thought that I should reconsider my career moves when I got home that night.
We continued our tour through his home, he told us about the furniture he had purchased from his travels overseas. Each piece of furniture had some special connection between him and his mother. He showed us pictures of his mother spread throughout the house.
"She's beautiful." Angela had said almost each and every time she saw a picture of her.
By the time we came to the end of the tour it was late in the evening. My stomach was full, my heart was full and I felt very attracted to this man whose name I still didn't know. I knew I would regret it tomorrow, but anxiety started to well up in my chest again and I suggested to Peyton that we should probably start heading home. Maybe I wasn’t ready for rebound sex quite yet.
She agreed. Then said, “May I use your restroom?”
The chef pointed off into a hall and Peyton headed in that direction. Lizzy, Angela, the chef and I made our way into the house library. The walls were stacked with books. Books about cooking yes, but there were also books on foreign languages, history, literature and even an entire shelf of erotic “how to” books. Naturally, Lizzy migrated there first. She pulled one out. Secrets Of The Supersexpert. She opened it up and slowly a grin spread across her face.
“That’s a good book, but you should check out the one right next to it. Has better pictures.” He said.
I was surprised he wasn’t embarrassed. I felt myself blushing a little at his brazen openness.
Before Lizzy could open her mouth to respond Angela asked where the bathroom was. She had forgotten. The chef pointed again down the hall and she left. The chef mentioned that he needed to check on the clean up crew outside and that he would be back in a few minutes.
When he left Lizzy went back to the miniature sex education class that lay in between the great books of culture and literature in the chef’s library.
“This guy is pretty great huh?” She asked slash told me.
“Yea, he is something else.” I didn’t want to let on that I was beginning to soften to him. I still valued the friendship of my coworkers over some guy - no matter how smooth of an operator he may have been.
Lizzy looked at me, smiled and put the book back into its place.
“I am going to go find out where Peyton went. Why don’t you stay here for when the man of the house gets back?” She said it like a question but was out of the room and down the hall before I could respond.
My insides wanted to scream for her to come back, but I did think it extremely rude if the chef were to come back and find that his invited dinner guests had all disappeared. Besides, it wouldn’t be long before Lizzy would return with Peyton in tow. She was probably just snooping where she shouldn’t anyways. I stayed put.
Maybe 10 minutes passed before I started to worry that I had been forgotten. I imagined the girls all gathering somewhere in the hall, getting distracted and then going outside to find Mr. Chef Suave to flirt it up. For all I knew they could have all gone to a club somewhere downtown and left me here forgotten.
I ventured a little way down each hallway, timidly calling for the girls. If I was wrong and they hadn’t forgotten me, I didn’t want to look like a total idiot walking around a random guy’s house calling the names of a bunch of women at full volume. What was left of my dignity I wanted desperately to try and keep intact.
I started down the hall towards the kitchen when I heard the front door shut. I quickly ran back into the library just before he returned.
“All alone?” The chef said.
The way he said it made it sound naughty like we had just snuck out the back of a chaperoned dance and he wanted to check to make sure the grown ups were gone.
“I think they are all having an after party in your bathroom.” I said still trying to catch my breath from the short sprint back into the library.
The chef opened up a cabinet near the far corner of the wall.
“You want a drink while we wait?” He asked.
“Sure,” I said, “Got any soda?”
He laughed.
“I’ve got plenty. Light or dark?”
“Hmm, dark please and stirred not shaken.” Without warning I felt myself flashing a flirtatious smile his way. What was I doing?
He laughed even harder at the joke and turned to pour the drinks.
“So, Sarah Kinsely, why don’t you tell me about yourself?” He handed me my drink and we both sat down on a big soft couch looking out a large bay window onto his front yard. The tea lights were still hanging from the white tent.
“First,” I said, “why don’t you tell me why you keep dragging my friends and I into secret dining areas and feeding us like queens.”
He set the glass down.
“Well, that’s easy. My mother is Italian.”
I wasn’t aware of any Italian mother jokes so I said,
“I don’t get it.”
“My mother, she was Italian. She taught me how to cook.”
“I thought your father was the chef.”
“He was. He taught me how to run a restaurant and keep the food coming out fast like the people want it. My mother though, she taught me how to cook. She taught me how intimate it can be to create a
good meal for someone. She used to tell me it was better than sex.”
“That cooking was better than sex?” I feigned a gasp.
He laughed again.
“Not the cooking, the sharing of a good meal. When I saw you at my restaurant last night I wanted to share that experience with you.”
And like that I went from lazily splashing in the kiddie pool unsure if I wanted to swim to being thrown head first into the deep end. The glass of soda in my hand suddenly felt very cold. I set it down. He saw this and placed his down as well. He brought his eyes to mine. They locked and I felt something switch inside my head. What I had thought was a rude, overly aggressive gesture the night before now felt like a shared experience. I wanted to share it again.
“I bet you do this for a lot of girls. First you feed them at the restaurant and then bring them back to your palace. There sure are a lot of fluffy beds for a bachelor’s residence.” I said.
He inched closer and rested his arm on the couch around me. I wanted to pull his arm and tuck it around my body to feel him pull me into him. I resisted until I could be sure I wasn’t just another notch on his bedpost.
“Actually, no. The only other time I have invited someone back into the chef’s table was when my mother was alive. She wanted to impress her friends so we put on this whole production where she finally revealed at the end that I was her son. Other than that it costs $500 just to get a seat back there.” He watched my face, running his eyes over every inch, looking for any reaction. It was a cute answer but I wanted more.
“And what about my friends? Why not invite just me back there?”
“Ahh, your friends,” He paused, looked around checking to see if the coast was clear, and began again, “I learned long ago to never stand between a woman and her friends. When I saw that you were with your friends I told the waiter to bring you all back so your friends wouldn’t feel left out. To be honest, It was a lot of fun to have them all there I thought. It isn’t often I get to give group tours of my kitchen. And to be frank, you are here tonight because of Peyton. I owed her one. When you left last night she got my number and promised that you would call. This morning I answered my phone and it was her. She said I could see you if I fed you all again, so here you are.”
My defenses fell. This wasn’t my ex sitting before me. This was someone who wanted me - female anatomy and all. I felt my insides tear apart as I realized he had broken through and there was little left for me to do but to accept it. I told myself that I deserved a wild fling anyways. Even just for one night. Even just to get revenge. Even just to try and find some healing in the arms of a man who wanted me even though I knew a girl should never do that. I deserved to be showered with affection after what I had been through. I deserved it dammit.
If he wants to give it to me then I better damn well take it.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Nope. I am what you might call a workaholic. I barely have time for a casual relationship much less a steady girlfriend. Think about it, both times we have been together I have been working.”
I bit my lip. Things were looking good.
“Well then Mr. Chef, I guess there is only one thing left to find out.”
“What is that?”
“I still don’t know your name.”
Chapter 7
We both laughed.
“Aiden Colburn.” He said taking my hand and shaking it.
His was course and there was a single large callous underneath his pointer finger. Before he could pull his hand away I turned it over and rubbed it gently with my thumb. He shifted in his chair.
There was no use is prolonging the inevitable. My mind was made up. Aiden Colburn was going to be my rebound and I was going to enjoy every damn minute of it.
“What is this from - Aiden?” I asked looking into his eyes while I continued to play with the callous. When it was time for Sarah Kinsely to turn on the sexy, she turned it on.
“My knife.” He said. I assumed it was typical wear and tear that chefs experience working long hours in kitchens, but I found his sudden inability for story telling - telling.
“Does it hurt?” I continued to stroke it with my thumbs. God, men are easy.
“No,” he brought his other hand onto mine, “It feels good.”
Time seemed to slow down. Each movement felt fluid and timeless like I was half awake. I leaned my head against the back of the couch opening my neck up. I wanted him to take it. To lean in and have me.
He picked up on the signal. A good sign. His hand slid up my arm sending a tremble through my body. It rounded up my shoulder and touched my neck. My nerves exploded at his touch and each millimeter his hand caressed my neck sent a thousand tiny tingles to my spine. I closed my eyes unable to keep them open any longer. My mouth opened slightly. He ran his thumb across my bottom lip.
“You have incredibly beautiful lips.” Was all he said.
I kissed his thumb softly, gently before he brought that hand to my lower back. I could feel him leaning in. I could smell his mix of shampoo and spices. I yearned for our lips to meet, but I was to be disappointed.
The host who had shown the girls and me through the house just hours earlier entered the room.
“Aiden?” He said.
We both shot up, acting like we had been casually chatting the entire time.
“Yes Alejandro?” Aiden said.
“The other three girls have left.”
“What?” We both said at the same time.
The host directed his comments to me this time.
“Yes, it seems that they have taken off and left you here. Their car is missing and I can’t seem to find them.”
I panicked. I grabbed my purse that I had been lugging around for the entire evening and checked my phone. Sure enough there was a text from Peyton, one from Angela and one from Lizzy. They all said:
Have fun tonight! ;-)
I felt a smile cross my face as I half cursed them all for leaving me like this. I nodded to Aiden who understood.
“Ok, thanks man. I will take care of it, you go home you have already worked too hard today.” Alejandro said his goodbyes and left.
“I am so sorry.” I said, embarrassed that once again I had so little control of the situation.
“Don’t worry about it. I can take you home right now if you would like.” He stood to go find his keys.
“No thanks.” I said waiting for his reaction.
“Really?”
“Yea, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
Aiden smiled at this. He came back to the couch and sat closer to me. I could feel the heat of his body and it made my spine tingle again.
“I’m glad you want to stay.” As soon as the words left his lips I could feel his hand cradling the back of my neck. His lips pressing into mine. I could have melted into the couch in an instant were it not for his body leaning over mine and his arms holding me. I ran my hands over his shoulders feeling how thick and solid they were. I dug my fingers into them trying to break through.
I thought about this intimate moment and how familiar it felt. I realized that what we were doing was only the physical outpouring of what we had shared twice already before when he had prepared his special meals for me. I thought of that closeness which he shared with me and I wanted to return the feeling.
I broke free of his lips. His eyes opened wide.
“Are you ok?” He asked.
I didn’t say anything. Instead I unbuttoned one of his sleeves and pulled it back up to his elbow. I ran my finger lightly along his forearm tracing and outlining the geometric shapes carved in ink on his skin. I wondered what their significance was. There is so much more to you than meets the eye.
I turned his palm over in my hand. I traced the creases, the edges and the scars in his hand with my finger. I rubbed his palm with mine to feel each ridge, each experience, each meal he had prepared for others, each intimate moment shared. My soft hand glided smoothly over his. He shuddered a
nd clinched his jaw in reaction. I pulled his hand up to my lips and kissed his wrist gently. I let my lips play their way up the inside of his forearm kissing each tattoo separately.
“Damn, you are sexy.” He said.
I looked up into his eyes as I kissed his arm. I could hear his breath deepen. I stopped. He felt tense, like a coiled snake ready to pounce.
I stepped off the couch half knowing what to do next. He was mine now and it empowered me but I wasn’t used to having such power over men like Aiden. I was venturing into unknown territory and it was exciting. I knelt down in front of him. His eyes showed his surprise. Starting at his knees I gently, sensually, slowly inched my hands towards the bulge that was now forming just below his waist.
He moaned. It was deep and animalistic. I became more turned on with each inch that I crept up his legs. I grasped his thick thighs now and pulled myself closer to him. I imagined what might happen if I were to go all the way. What surprises and wonders would Pandora’s Box hold for me?
Aiden seemed to be in a hypnotic trance, simply watching this all take place. This hold I held on him was intoxicating. My own body seemed to be in its own trance. It no longer followed my commands. I watched as my hands crept closer and closer to his midsection.
Finally, I saw my hands reach his belt. My heart fluttered. I was ready to see what lay hidden behind the trap door. To my surprise, taking the belt off was easy. I nearly looked like I had done this before. The hard part was getting the jeans open. My thumbs and fingers had decided without me that they were going to choose this moment to stop working. I fiddled and fumbled with the top button. I strained with both hands, putting my entire upper body strength behind the effort, to free the button from its latch.
Aiden, still in his hypnotic-like trance, didn’t seem to notice until my right hand slipped.
Almost in slow-motion I saw my hand release its hold on the button of his jeans and go slamming into his now apparent erection. A barely audible thud proceeded the agonizing groan of Aiden as he clutched his crotch and fell off of the couch. The trance was now broken. He writhed in pain on the floor as I stood there, mouth agape, looking for the closest hole to hide in.