Flambé: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy (Flambé Series Book 1)

by Elle Berlin

  “Shit,” I say, realizing that has to be what’s happening. Nobody stands in front of your doorway looking so forlorn without a good reason. I lift up the bottle and take several swigs—hot, splashing whiskey obliterating my ability to deal with this.

  I stumble back from the door and turn into my living room, leaving Connor by the open doorway behind me.

  “You really didn’t have to come if you were going to—” I can’t even say it, instead I drink. Letting the liquor turn my brain into something hot and muffled, filling my mind with a fog.

  I think he comes in.

  I think he closes the door.

  I know he’s going to start talking despite this buzz in my mind. He’ll start explaining what went wrong and why, detailing how he has to choose his family, followed by all the other reasons—which will be good reasons—except, I don’t want to hear them! In the dark I hear him walk, behind me, beside me, maybe reaching for the whiskey bottle, when two broad hands cover my back.

  His fingers cloak the skin where the dress has left me exposed, his hands warm and encompassing. I almost moan at how he occupies my body, thumbs and fingers claiming. He massages and teases the stress out of my vertebrae, working my muscles, the knots of tension, his skillful hands disarming me. It’s a treacherous farewell, knowing exactly where to touch me and how. He kneads his fingers into my shoulders and neck and a lewd moan escapes my throat —it’s raw and inevitable—and I swear I hear him smile at how expertly he can tear such noises from me.

  “Connor, I, I—” I want to bend like a willow under you and give in. I don’t say that, even though my body is already thrumming from his powerful presence. “Connor,” I push on. “I—I know you think I’m the kind of girl who can handle a goodbye fuck, but really I’m not as strong as you think I—”

  “Give me the whiskey,” he commands, reaching around to take the bottle from my fist. Behind my shoulder, he takes a chug, gulping and swallowing loudly, making it impossible for me not to fantasize about the way our mouths would taste with whiskey splashed between us. How our bodies would taste if I took the bottle and poured the liquor down my skin. I’m weak, that’s all I can say. Weak enough to indulge in the possibility of letting myself have one last night with Connor, one delicious goodbye.

  Reading my mind, Connor’s free hand sears down my shoulder blades. The pressure drags across my spine, dominant and grooming, the master caressing his pet dragon. This all started with jokes about taming dragons, so perhaps it should end with me accepting the fact that I’ll happily do anything he asks.

  I practically purr as his fingers follow the curl of my ribs and slip beneath the open side of my dress and around to the front, where his fingers dance over my naked stomach. It’s delicate and erotic, his tease of fingers swirling, until that authoritative hand covers my navel and pulls me back against his impressive frame. Whiskey breath heats the back of my neck, his face pressed into my hair as our bodies curl together. He must have put the whiskey bottle down, because suddenly his second hand wraps around my throat, tilting my head back against his shoulder.

  “Tell me, how many men have you brought back to this apartment?” he asks roughly, mouth at my ear. I quiet, my body prone between his hands on my throat and stomach, my ass pressed into his hips. I pant at the provocativeness of it, my chest heaving and my breasts growing heavy.

  “You want to know how many goodbye fucks have I had in this apartment?” I ask, well aware of his dominant position, but also knowing that if I poke the beast, he’ll take me harder. “Do you want me to make you jealous or—” I reach back and grab both sides of his hips with my hands, grinding him into my ass. “Or do you want me to make you feel special?”

  Now it’s his turn to growl. “I want the truth,” he snarls into my hair, his fingers swirling wickedly over my navel.

  “Well, I want your hands on my clit,” I say hotly, feeling him start to thicken. “Give me what I want and I’ll give you want you want.”

  His hands tighten as teeth rake down my neck. “Arie, Arie, Arie,” he taunts into my shoulder. “I know how hot you get, and how fast…” His fingers fan out over my belly. “But don’t think for a second that I’m going to satisfy you that quickly.” His fingers move down to tease the top of my panties, making me instantly wet. “Oh no, I’m going to drag this out. You’re going to beg, and I’m still not going to give you want.”

  “Oh, you think you’re in control, do you? While we’re in my apart—”

  Both of Connor’s hands move at once, his wicked domination raking over me as one hand slides off my throat to peel the shoulder of my dress down, exposing my breast. It’s dark so he can’t see how tight and excited my nipple really is. Only, his second hand slides upward from below and suddenly both of his palms are cupping me from behind. I gasp as his fingers glide over my throbbing weight, his wicked fingers strumming and tightening my aching buds.

  “I’m sorry, what was that?” he asks as I release a tasteless moan, my tits swelling under his buttery fingers. Bolts of electricity pulse as he flicks my erect nipples, hot jolts zipping from my tits to where I’m slick below. I’m ready. Really ready. I want his pants off so I can take that vibrant cock, take it on my knees from behind, or reverse cowgirl and riding. I don’t care, I just need to be sliding down his incredible girth. My body bucks in irreverence to his fiendish grip, my backside deliberately pumping against where he’s erect.

  “God, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of how hungry you get,” Connor snarls, pulling his hand out from the back of my dress so he can use it to remove the second strap from my shoulder. Suddenly, both of my breasts are exposed, perky and swollen, as he pushes the sequin dress down my stomach and over my hips. Gravity grabs the garment and it drops in a glittering pool at my ankles. “Or,” he growls, “the sight of you naked.”

  “Technically, I’m not naked,” I correct, and he grabs my panties and yanks them off my body, effectively leaving me in only my four-inch stilettos. I whimper at how hot it is, my pussy ready for him to pull himself out and fuck me standing up as I bend over and touch my toes—ass in the air, balanced on my heels. “Tearing off my panties?” I tease. “You’re nothing if not predictable, Connor. If I’m not mistaken, the next thing you’ll be doing is—”

  Only, he flips me around, his mouth covering the throbbing buds of my tits and making me cry out. He sucks so hard that I’m clawing at his shoulders with my head thrown back in prayer. Amid his assault, he lifts me up and starts walking, my legs splitting to cup his hips, eager for him to pin me against the wall, or to splay me out on the table—anywhere that’s sufficiently sturdy will do.

  But then, I’m suddenly on my back and surrounded by cushions—soft, plush, down—pillows and fabric all lumped against my naked back. I look beyond Connor’s shoulder to see the dark chandelier of my bedroom catching only the tiniest hints of moonlight, black crystals shimmering. We’re in my bedroom, on my bed, and my heart starts to ratchet from the intimacy of this. This isn’t dirty and hot against my office wall, or us on the floor of his apartment. No, this is my bed, my sanctuary, the one place I don’t sleep with anyone!

  His mouth moves off my breasts, a full and wicked ravishing, before his talented lips move south, down to my stomach. I’m drunk, yes, but aware enough to know exactly where he’s headed. My hands cover my face as his mouth blazes over my navel, my cheeks hot and flushed, his lips inching closer to where I’m wet. His arms are wrapped around my back as my body arches, remembering the tease of his tongue when we were in the Flambé bathroom and he only had the pleasure of tasting me through my panties, he never got the pleasure of drinking fully—

  “Connor!”

  He teases his lips over my sensitive flesh, his mouth nibbling my folds like I’m the delicate pear dessert I served Hamblin, covered in sugary nectar. He kisses me where I’m naked and pink, his tongue growing bold as he forcefully parts my quivering.

  “Oh God—!” I cry into the darkness, as he drinks and l
avishes, his shoulders pressing my legs open wider as my stilettos dig into his back. His lips suck on my clit and I’m lost, a slave to sensation, to his mouth, to his hands. My fingers dig into his hair as my body arches into his assault, his tongue an acrobat that makes me gasp.

  “Oh God! Oh God, please—! Connor! Don’t stop! Please don’t—” I’m delirious and feverish and lost in the wicked intimacy of Connor’s feasting, my body arching and slicking with sweat, the pillows and sheets sticking to my glowing skin. His fingers slip inside me and start pumping. His other hand cups my ass with naughty teasing, making me chant his name as my pussy quivers and tightens, his tongue threatening to mount my orgasm. “Connor, I’m going to come! Oh God, I’m going to—”

  Suddenly, he pulls away, slipping his fingers and tongue out of my throbbing body. “What the—!” I growl as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his teeth gleaming. “Asshole!”

  “I’ve never really tried that,” Connor says with a wicked smile. “Back door? Is that really want you want?”

  I yank off one of my shoes and chuck it at him, to which he laughs. Only, in the darkness my eyes have adjusted enough to see him pull his shirt off, then his pants. He stands almost naked, except for his boxers, and I have to restrain myself from tearing off his boxers like he did my panties, but he holds up a hand to keep me from launching at him.

  “Connor! What the hell are we—?”

  “Shhhh, Arie,” he shushes me, and I’m about to turn incandescent when he pulls out his cock. He lifts it from his boxers and starts stroking it hotly. “Sweet girl, just wait a little longer.”

  My pussy aches at the sight of him—in his hands, not mine—stroked by his fingers and not my slick channel.

  “Does anything about what you see in front of you say sweet?!” I hiss, but he bites his lip in response and slides his velvet thickness through his palm, pushing his boxers to the floor.

  “You taste sweet,” he says, licking his lips for emphasis and producing a gold condom packet from somewhere and tearing it open. “And as much as you want me to fuck you hard,” he continues, rolling the condom on, “that’s not going to happen.”

  I sit up, annoyed. “Then what the hell are we doing?!”

  Only, he steps forward and pushes me back—that full naked body of his drowning me in the sheets as his weight swallows me, his mouth swallows me, and for the first time since he walked into my apartment, we’re kissing. Kissing ruthlessly, filled with all my anger and desperation, gnashing at him as he takes each of my assaults in stride. He tames every lash I throw at him, dominating me with his tongue that tastes of my burning, bruising my lips till I’m out of air and gasping.

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to have you,” he says against my panting mouth, relishing in my unfettered breath. Only, my breaths sharpen when he reaches between us and moves his cock into position. I suck in, stilling as he moves his thick head through my wetness.

  “Connor…”

  It’s a whisper.

  “I know, I know,” he says, running himself the length of my opening. “I’m just not going to do it the way you’re used to.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Not hard. Not fast…” He teases me again with his head, kissing me softly as I realize what’s happening. “But, slow.”

  He parts me with a kiss and suddenly I feel him everywhere—his tongue, his cock, both entering me at the same time—erotically slow and perfect. I moan. It’s the most intense thing I’ve ever felt, more intimate and personal than anyone who has ever entered me. I kiss him back. Softly. Sweetly. Oh God, he moves so tenderly that I’m gasping. Both of my hands slide down his torso to cup his ass. But I barely touch him, my fingers ghosting over his skin as his hips slowly, wickedly, turn me into trembling.

  It’s the most intense and beautiful feeling, his slow perfect thrusts, as the two of us meld into skin and breath.

  “Connor,” I whisper against his mouth as he moves inside me, deliberately, like we have all the time in the world. “Connor,” I repeat, every inch of him an elegant rhythm I’m memorizing. “No one—no one has ever come to my apartment before,” I admit. “No one’s ever been in this bed.”

  He cups my face and kisses me softly. “I know.”

  “You know?”

  He sucks on my lip before lifting his head, his hips still mesmerizing me with his perfect gyration. “I love you, too.”

  I don’t think I hear it. Not really, but he kisses me, and pushes deeper inside me and my whole body feels the weight of him—of what is truly happening. This isn’t a goodbye fuck. This isn’t a fuck at all.

  This is us making love.

  “Wait, you aren’t …?” The swell of his body rolls against me.

  “Leaving you?”

  “This isn’t—?”

  He intensifies his pace, but only enough to make me roll my head back and beg for him not to stop. “Does this feel like a goodbye fuck?”

  No. It feels like heaven. It feels like all the hooks inside my heart are fusing into him. It feels like everywhere our flesh touches has meaning. “It feels like I—I don’t ever want you to stop,” I admit, completely lost under his weight.

  “I’m keeping the job, too,” Connor says, continuing to piston. “I want both of you.”

  My heart cracks open, drowning in his words and sway.

  “You know I’ll be impossible to work with?” I tease and he nips at my lip.

  “You know that will just make me fuck you harder the next time we’re in this bed?”

  “You think there will be a next time in this bed?”

  He thrusts hard and I cry out at his delicious parting. “Yes, please keep telling me the rules, Arie,” he taunts, increasing his pace. “Tell me about how I’m not allowed to fuck you at work, or in your office, or in this bed.” He thrusts harder with the mention of each new location, unleashing the demon in my throat. “Tell me all your secrets for resisting me, Wisconsin.”

  We’re still making love, only faster, and harder, and more intensely. My hands clutch at his back as he unspools my resolve, igniting firecrackers between my legs.

  “Yes! Connor!” He kisses me as I gasp, devours my mouth. “Oh God, I love you!” I twitch and erupt and come, the two of us exploding into each other’s clinging. My entire body shakes—our body shakes—our breathing and heat in sync, our need in sync, our lives in sync. It all feels so new, and terrifying, and overwhelming, and perfect. Everything about Connor’s body is perfect—on top of me, inside me, loving me—perfect.

  I’ve never known what it meant to belong to someone, and now I wonder how I ever lived without.

  37

  Connor

  It’s been a week since the opening and I’m behind the bar prepping the fresh puree for tonight’s shift, when Simon comes into the sun-lit dining room and yells for Arie to come out of the kitchen. A few minutes later, she arrives wearing a sleek, black apron that’s covered in powdered sugar, and she has the remnants of a black cherry or some other glazed fruit dripping down the back of her wrist. I can’t help but love this woman when she’s in the middle of creating and everything is a mess of syrups and half-charred confections.

  “I’ve got tarts in the oven and three pots of syrup boiling,” Arie says, wiping off the blackberry darkness with her apron as she walks up to Simon. “But by all means, call and beckon, my liege.”

  “Some things are worth the interruption,” Simon tosses back, unloading a stack of magazines on a nearby table and smiling.

  “Not all things,” Arie says indignantly.

  “This is,” Simon presses, indicating for her to come over as he taps the cover.

  “No way!” Arie squeals when she gets close enough, snatching up a magazine like it holds an exclusive to her teenage crush, her whole body suddenly bouncing and giddy in a way that’s distinctly not Arie. She turns to me, flashing me the front cover which says Honolulu Magazine. Blazed in vibrant color is a glossy photo of one of Arie’s s
ignature drinks set against the dark romantic lights of the restaurant. I smile as her eyes bug-out with excitement, her finger pointing to where it says in bold print, “Oahu’s hottest new restaurant!”

  “Congratulations,” I say as Arie nearly knocks over the chair next to her, bouncing up and down as she flips open the magazine to the feature section. In the middle, her eyes feast on the carnival of fiery drinks and desserts that fill the spread—all her creations. “Oh my god! They did a whole feature, Simon! That’s the seared Ahi, and the chocolate terrarium, and a whiskey smash! These photos look incredible. Did you know they were coming to our event?”

  The hint of a smile glints from behind Simon’s glasses as he shrugs, acting as if this is no big deal, even though Arie looks like she just won the lottery. Simon’s proud eyes flick to me behind the bar, his look giving me the impression he may have bribed the entire food and dining department or sold a kidney to get that feature. I nod at Arie and her giggly-school-girl-gone-wild shrieks of excitement and raise my eyebrows at Simon, code for “you did that, and now we’re going to have to deal with glitter and unicorns for the rest of the day.”

  Simon laughs. “It’s better than the raging dragon version of her,” he mutters under his breath, to which I almost disagree. Raging Arie I can tame, giggles and flouncing, those have me on edge and not sure what to expect. But I have to admit, it’s pretty amazing to see her so damn happy.

  “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe,” she keeps chanting, flipping through the pages and shaking her head. “This is such a big deal. We’re going to be swamped this weekend. This is more than I could have dreamed of.”