A Taste of Passion

by Ashley Lister

  ‘This isn’t the place,’ she said primly. ‘And I’m not –’

  ‘Bend over.’ This time he delivered the words with renewed authority.

  She did as he asked. They had both finished their sirloins. The table was cleared save for the spoons they would need for the blackberry possets.

  Trudy bent stiffly over the table, arching her back and making sure her buttocks stuck high into the air. She didn’t want to resolve an argument in this way. It seemed as though the chances of her points being treated reasonably and impartially would be reduced if she was entering the discussion as his submissive, ready to be spanked when their opinions differed.

  But she couldn’t argue that the interaction was exciting.

  Her sex was already fluid with need for him. Her inner muscles trembled with anticipation. She could feel her greedy clitoris as it pulsed like a beacon.

  ‘Lower your pants,’ he sighed.

  She glanced down and saw she was still wearing the chequered pants of her chef’s uniform. She reached for them and then stopped herself abruptly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ His smile was bemused.

  ‘No,’ she said again. ‘If you want them taking down, you can do it yourself.’

  He arched an eyebrow.

  When she returned his expression of steely resolve with her own defiance, he put the spatula down and reached for her waistband. The pants were elasticated and he slowly, deliberately, eased his thumb inside the waistband and then began to slip the trousers down, over her hips.

  She held her breath.

  It was always exciting to be under his control but she suspected there would be few things that compared to the thrill of having him draw the pants from her hips and push them down her legs.

  ‘Thank you, Bill,’ she whispered.

  ‘Mr Hart,’ he reminded her. His mouth was close to her ear. He whispered the words so softly they caressed the lobe like a lover. ‘Don’t start adding to your punishments before we’ve begun.’

  She shivered and then basked in the thrill of having her rear exposed for him.

  She could imagine the split of her sex, squeezed between her buttocks and pushed out at him. When he traced the shape of her exposed parts she caught a breath, shocked by how easy it was for him to excite her body to the extremes of such a sudden and urgent need.

  Swallowing, she asked, ‘Why are you punishing me?’

  He shook his head. ‘This isn’t a punishment. This is my way of helping to address your unhappiness.’

  Before she had a chance to understand the words, he had slapped the flat of the spatula against her right buttock.

  The sting was sharp and bitter.

  She had already thought her flesh was reacting to his nearness but, with the bite of the wood against her cheek, she realised her responsiveness had barely begun. A wave of need rushed through her. The wetness inside her sex was suddenly copious. She held her breath as the surge of desire crested through her body. Her nipples stood so hard and erect they were an exquisite agony. Her need for him rolled through her like waves of delicious drunkenness.

  He landed the spatula three times to each cheek.

  With every impact she thought the force behind the blow seemed more profound than its predecessor. The sting bit more ferociously. The punished flesh it touched was so sensitive her responses were heightened. She thought, it would only take one more blow and the punishment alone would be enough to push her through the barrier of the night’s first orgasm.

  It was an idea that left her trembling with the need to experience more.

  When he deigned to draw a finger against the slippery silken lips of her sex, Trudy almost fainted from the rush of pleasure. Her nipples tightened. The muscles of her sex clutched and clenched as though they yearned to be graced by his touch.

  Then he was pushing into her.

  She had no idea when he had managed to undress. The man could shed clothes with the stealth of a ninja. She didn’t know if this was an innate skill with which he had been born. Or if, like his genius in the kitchen, it was a talent he had perfected through years of practice and training. In truth, she only knew that his hardness was between her legs, pushing into her and filling her and allowing ripples of satisfaction to bristle through her core.

  ‘I’ll be here tomorrow,’ he told her.

  She nodded as though she was responding to his comment. She still understood his words. But they were of negligible importance in the immediate scheme of her desires. The most important thing in this moment was her need to have him continue filling her wet hole with his length. The second most important thing was for him to ride in and out until the climax was squeezed from her sex. After those details had been addressed, she figured she could worry about things like words and their meanings.

  ‘We’ll be together then.’

  She nodded again.

  She didn’t know whether she was making the gestures to convey agreement or if she was simply rocking her body back and forth with the rhythm of his lovemaking. Whatever the cause she supposed there was an enormous pleasure to be had from it.

  He was long and hard and his erection felt perfect in the deep and intimate confines of her most private region. As he continued to slide into her, she realised the rush of satisfaction was building to a huge and unprecedented release.

  He was a magician, she realised. He had the ability to make brilliant everything he touched. Whenever he was in the kitchen, he could transform basic ingredients into incredible delicacies. Whenever he was with her, he could transform a mere caress into orgasmic ecstasy. Now, it seemed, he was transforming a single fight in his kitchens into a springboard for international celebrity.

  ‘Tell me my spankmaid won’t be unhappy whilst I’m gone,’ he murmured.

  ‘Say again?’

  He pushed back into her. This time the thrust was so deep it struck that perfect middle ground between pain and pleasure. She could have held her breath, clutched her muscles around him, and basked in the languid release of his climax. Instead, she repeated her question.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Unhappy,’ he repeated. ‘You’re my spankmaid. One of your duties as my spankmaid is to obey my careless whims. This is my careless whim. I want you to tell me you won’t be unhappy while I’m away.’

  His hands were stiff against her hips. His erection was buried deep inside her. He held her motionless, as though his next movement depended on her response.

  It was unconventional, she supposed.

  But she could sense that there was method in this approach.

  Whether she was going to be unhappy or not she needed to give Bill some reassurance that he would have nothing to worry about whilst they were apart. As a spankmaid, she supposed there was nothing more important than assuring her master that his absence would not affect her mood.

  ‘I won’t be unhappy,’ she promised. The words echoed through her diaphragm and added a resonance to the thrill of her pleasure.

  Hart pushed deeper.

  Trudy whimpered.

  His hands were clawing at the bony curve of her pelvis. His length was pressed so deep she could feel the scratch of those curls from the base of his shaft tickling the wetness of her labia.

  Her excitement was slippery, fluid and intense.

  And Hart chose that moment to ejaculate.

  She felt the hot rush of his orgasm filling her. The sensation was so strong it inspired her own response. Her climax came quick and hard. She clawed at the cloth on table thirteen and kept her knees locked for fear that her legs would buckle if she didn’t concentrate on supporting her own weight. She knew, if she didn’t focus on enduring the pleasure and keeping her knees locked, Hart would just end up fucking a spent and wasted vessel bent over the table.

  That idea, the thought of being so weakened from their passion that Hart could use her as a convenient receptacle for his arousal, inspired another rush of climactic reactions to hurtle through her body.<
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  When he had finished, and when the last tremors of her climax had rippled through her frame, he drew his spent length from her. He helped to pull her chequered pants back up and left her to resume her seat whilst he disappeared into the kitchen.

  He returned wielding the blackberry possets she had prepared.

  ‘These look delicious,’ he said.

  ‘I wanted to try something a little more modern than a syllabub.’

  Less than a minute ago she had been savouring her role as his spankmaid and the easily pleasured repository for his ejaculate. Now she found herself discussing the fineries of creations from the patisserie as though they had an equal understanding of culinary techniques. She felt dizzied by the contrast.

  She breathed in and caught the lemony zest of the posset and the exaggerated creaminess of its vanilla essence. ‘The posset seemed like a perfect combination of something more modern, yet with a similar blend of fruits and creams. I think we should have it on the menu here.’

  He sampled a spoonful and nodded approval.

  As much as she wanted to sample a spoonful, Trudy left hers untouched.

  She poured herself a shot of his Chivas Regal and sipped gingerly at the neat whisky. Speaking to the glass, she asked, ‘Who’ll run Boui-Boui whilst you’re gone?’

  ‘You’re my sous. The kitchen is your domain. Aliceon runs front of house.’

  ‘But what about …’

  She trailed off wondering how best to approach this subject. Her body was still tingling from all the excesses of pleasure Bill had bestowed on her. She didn’t want to do or say anything that was likely to upset the memory of that pleasure. She certainly didn’t want to do anything that was likely to jeopardise future instances of that satisfaction. But there were other things that needed to be said. And, if he was going to be leaving soon, they needed to be said this evening.

  ‘Charlotte’s been in touch with me.’

  He said nothing. His concentration remained fixed on the posset.

  ‘She wants us to make a go of Sweet Temptation. She wants my input in the company.’

  ‘Is Donald still involved in the company?’

  ‘At the moment, yes. But –’

  ‘The answer’s no, Trudy.’ He spoke with an authority that said the subject was no longer open for discussion. ‘You can either work for me or you can work for Sweet Temptation but you can’t work for both of us.’

  ‘But –’

  She wanted to tell him that she had given Charlotte a condition and said she couldn’t work with Donny if they were going to revisit the prospect of properly resurrecting Sweet Temptation. She wanted to explain that Charlotte was going to consult with solicitors to find a way to get rid of Donny from the company. She tried to think of a way to say those things without making it sound as though she had already made her decision without consideration for his feelings.

  ‘I’m serious,’ he said quietly. ‘And this applies to your position as sous and to your role as my spankmaid. It’s either me or Sweet Temptation. You can’t have both.’

  He stood up and said, ‘Let me know your decision soon.’

  Chapter 33

  When she’d finished her morning run, Trudy walked back into Bill’s cottage to find two suitcases sitting by the door in the hallway. She was surprised to discover Bill was already awake. He strutted around the kitchen, wearing a bathrobe that barely covered his legs, managing chores with one hand while he chatted on the phone held against his ear.

  He flashed a smile of greeting in Trudy’s direction. Then he tore his gaze away and responded to the person on the other end of the line.

  ‘I’ll be landing in London at 9.30 tomorrow morning,’ he explained. ‘That gives me plenty of time to get to the BBC to talk about the book launch.’

  It sounded as though he was talking with a city-based colleague. Trudy first thought it was his agent, then realised his agent would already know the details of his itinerary. She tried not to succumb to a renewed pang of jealousy because Bill was going away. She tried not to feel worried that he was making plans with someone she didn’t know. And she wouldn’t let herself brood on his pigheaded refusal to discuss what was happening at Sweet Temptation.

  He flicked the switch on the espresso machine, filling the room with a shockingly loud burst of steam. Trudy stepped alongside him and began to work on her breakfast of fruit juice and cereal. Together they navigated their way around the confines of the cottage’s kitchen with the practised ease of expert dancers engaged in an intimate domestic choreography.

  She half-listened as Bill confirmed plans to talk with various newspapers and celebrity chat show hosts, all of whom had names Trudy found instantly recognisable. Wilfully, she tried to turn her thoughts to something else so envy couldn’t make her resentful of all the exciting things that were suddenly happening in his life.

  She had only just met him, Trudy reminded herself. He had no obligation to share these developments in his life with her. More importantly, these were his achievements. He deserved to bask in the spoils of his life’s hard-won victories.

  When the espresso machine stopped hissing, Trudy realised she had been standing still, lost in a reverie as she admired and envied him.

  Bill started to discuss various aspects of the TV shows he would be hosting.

  She listened without trying to disguise the fact that she was eavesdropping. His first project was going to be part cookery show and part chat show. Bill was expected to work with a group of celebrities, instruct them on how to make a meal and they would all chat informally as they went about the business of cooking.

  Trudy thought the idea sounded maddeningly interesting. She would have tuned into watch even if Bill hadn’t been the host. Even if she didn’t know the celebrities, she would have enjoyed watching someone competent working in a kitchen. Bill was repeating the names of the various guests who were lined up for the pilot episodes and had already mentioned two film stars that she adored.

  ‘It does sound wonderful,’ Bill agreed with his caller. ‘But it’s not the best thing.’

  Trudy tilted her head, curious to know what could be better than all the things he had already mentioned. Maddeningly, her own phone chose that moment to ring. She saw Charlotte’s name on the caller ID.

  In an attempt at discretion, she took the phone out of the room.

  ‘Hi, hon,’ Charlotte said cheerfully. ‘Are you back working with us?’

  ‘Us?’

  Charlotte laughed sharply. ‘Figure of speech.’

  Trudy wasn’t sure that she was hearing the truth. ‘I can’t work with Donny,’ she said flatly. ‘I thought I made that clear yesterday?’

  ‘Please, hon,’ Charlotte said. She sounded desperate and close to tears. ‘That was just a figure of speech, a slip of the tongue. Donny’s out of the picture now. Or he will be once I’ve had a chance to speak with Daddy’s solicitors. Please tell me you’re coming back to Sweet Temptation and the company will be just as it was –’

  ‘I need to discuss this with Bill,’ Trudy said firmly.

  ‘Why do you need to discuss this with him? Can’t you make your own decisions?’

  ‘I can make my own decisions,’ Trudy agreed. ‘But Bill’s my boss, so I owe him the courtesy of discussing this matter. Also, we’re in a relationship, so he deserves to be consulted on the direction I’m planning to take my life.’

  ‘But –’

  Trudy wouldn’t let herself be interrupted. ‘Bill has experience of kitchens, business and life,’ she went on. ‘I value his input on these matters.’

  ‘How long before he’s made your decision?’ Charlotte asked.

  There was a veneer of petulance to her tone that Trudy couldn’t recall hearing before. She bristled for a moment, stung by the idea that Charlotte should be impatient for her answer. She didn’t particularly care for the way her friend had phrased the question.

  ‘I’ll let you know.’

  She severed the connection before e
ither one of them said something potentially injurious to their relationship. Trudy had suffered enough loss and upheaval over the past few days. She didn’t want to lose Charlotte through a snippy breakfast conversation.

  ‘Problem?’ Bill asked, seeming to see something in her expression.

  He had finished his telephone conversation. She didn’t know if he had heard any of what she’d said. It didn’t worry her that he might have been listening in. She’d made no pretence of eavesdropping on his conversation and she figured that was another part of the openness they were sharing together.

  She shook her head.

  ‘We’ll talk about it later. Let me hear how you got on first.’

  He drew a breath. ‘We might not be able to talk about it later. I’ll be travelling up to the city this morning.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘That was Naomi.’ He gestured towards the mobile phone sitting on the kitchen counter. ‘She’s my publicist.’

  Trudy nodded, as though she had known that Bill had a publicist called Naomi. She didn’t know whether a publicist was something someone had constantly, or if a publicist was a person employed specifically for certain projects. She supposed, one day, she would learn so much more about Bill and his glamorous lifestyle.

  ‘There’s bullshit to sort in the city,’ Bill grunted. ‘And it needs sorting sooner rather than later. Naomi thinks I should get there by this afternoon so she can help me to perfect my battle plan.’ He sighed and added, ‘So, if you want to have a face-to-face talk with me, now would be the best time. I’ll be setting off in half an hour.’

  She rushed into his arms.

  He smelled good. She could detect the remnants of sleep on him as well as the fruity tang of the conserve from his breakfast toast and the bitter edge of his black coffee. Drinking in his scent it seemed inconceivable that she would soon be parted from him for a fortnight or longer. She fought back the threat of tears with a shake of her head.

  ‘If you’re leaving now, I want to do something other than talk.’