“I want… I need…you. Right now,” I finally manage to hiss between gritted teeth, the pressure of his fingers on me forcing me to close my eyes as my muscles tense up and turn as hard as concrete.
“I know,” he whispers, resting his thumb over my clit as he keeps on rubbing my G-spot. “And if you need me as much as I need you...” He trails off then, his breathing growing heavier by the second.
“I do… I do…” I whimper, my fluids already dripping down my inner thighs. I never needed him inside me as badly as I do now. If I had to choose between air to breathe and having Palmer inside of me, my choice would be an easy one.
“Then we’re on the same page,” he tells me firmly, running his thumb in slow circles around my clit as he moves one more finger inside of my pussy. I know that he’s torturing me, teasing me… but, God, it feels so good.
It’s almost hard to believe that only with his fingers, Palmer is pleasuring me better than most men could ever do with their cocks. He’s a wonder of nature, that’s for sure.
“You’re mine, Nicole… Mine to do as I please. Say it.”
“I’m yours… Yours for… you to do as you please,” I repeat after him, the words just coming unfiltered out of my mouth.
“Good girl,” he whispers, and starts to up the rhythm of his fingers. I throw my head back and start to sway my hips, moving them at a matching pace, and it doesn’t take long for Palmer to drive me to the edge of pleasure.
Feeling me close to the breaking point, he drives two fingers as deep as possible inside of me, pressing hard, and rubs my clit with quick vicious movements. Just like that, I come undone, my weak moan turning into a high-pitched scream of pure ecstasy.
“Oh… my… God…” I breathe out, the muscles in my throat straining to get the words out, electric sparks running up and down my body and making my muscles spasm.
I can almost feel my skin boiling, my mind turning into ash as the flames of pleasure simply devour and consume everything in their way…
Oh, I’m more than desperate for him. I can’t even describe what I’m feeling right now.
This isn’t desperation; this is a pure unbridled need. I must have him, and I must have him right now.
I won’t be denied.
The moment he takes his fingers out of my pussy, I thrust against him, pressing my pussy against his shaft. He doesn’t resist; instead, he grabs me by the ass and pulls me into him.
With my eyes still closed, fireworks going off behind my shut eyelids, I start to rock my hips, grinding against him as if tomorrow will never come. Although my thong is still covering my pussy, I don’t even bother to stop for a few seconds just to take it off; no, each second is precious, and I won’t let them go to waste. Not a chance in the world.
“I want you…inside of me,” I plead, my voice quivering as I keep on swaying my hips.
“Beg,” is his only response, a tone of devilishness to his voice.
“Please… Please… I need it so much,” I start, taking one hand to my pussy and flicking my thong to the side. I raise my hips and, with my other hand, grab his cock and angle it toward me. His hands go straight to my waist and he stops me right before I drive his length inside of me.
“Please…” I whimper, struggling against the hold he has on me as if I’m fighting for my life.
Without saying a word, he stops holding me, but still grabbing me by the waist, pulls me down with one vicious movement. I let myself go, a scream bubbling up to my lips as I feel his cock pushing its way past my soaked folds and straining against my inner walls as it sheathes itself inside of my pussy.
“It’s all yours,” he teases me, taking one hand up to my hair and yanking on it. I grin at him, placing both hands on his chest, my trembling fingers clawing at his chest. I do it hurriedly, swaying my hips at a crescendo.
I run my hands up his stomach, feeling his abdominal wall under my fingertips, enjoying every line of it, before going up to his firm pectoral.
“Like what you see?” He asks me, a mocking grin on his face.
“What’s not to like…?” I manage to respond, trying to isolate my brain from how good it feels to have his thickness stretching me wide. “Every single inch of your body…it’s perfect.”
“I can say the same,” he shoots back, hooking his fingers on the side of my thong and pulling it against my outer thigh. His grin widens, and, in a flash, he tugs on it viciously and tears the fabric, ruining my thong but pulling it off of me.
He throws my ruined underwear to the side and, now fully focused on me, he grabs me by the hips and pushes me down, forcing me to stop moving. He’s taking control, and there’s nothing I can do about that. Not that I want to…
I just want to submit to him, nothing more, nothing less.
“This feels so good,” I tell him as he starts rocking his hips against mine. Then, he slides his cock until it’s almost out of me and looks me in the eyes.
With one thrust, he is deep inside of me.
I don't moan, no, I scream—I scream in pure ecstasy as his cock fills me in a way I have never experienced. I grit my teeth as his thickness stretches me wide, all my body trembling with pleasure, my arms shaky and almost unable to hold me still.
His cock goes deep inside me, stroking the same spot his fingers had before. I’m not sure if I’m moaning or screaming all I know is that I am making so much noise that the muscles in my throat are already growing sore.
His pendulum motion is completely obliterating me, my pussy spasming around his thickness as he goes in and out. Can you die of too much pleasure? I'm about find out.
I feel nothing, absolutely nothing but the constant ramming of his cock. It goes in and out at a manic steady pace, throbbing and pushing back my inner walls. When he’s in deep, I’m sure there isn’t a fraction of an inch inside my pussy that isn’t filled by his massive member. He only has to make it twitch inside of me to draw a violent moan out of my lips.
He keeps going for I don't know how long, each stroke of his cock slowly lowering me down into a world where time is irrelevant.
“I never thought,” he says between thrusts, “that a woman could make me feel like this.”
“I…I know,” I breathe out, placing one hand on the side of his face and locking my eyes on his. Leaning in, I press my forehead against his and simply surrender to the motion of his body, his length ravaging me fast.
“Oh, God, oh, God,” I start to moan, my eyes rolling in their sockets as I feel my insides clench in anticipation. My bones feel as if they’re rattling, and every single cell in my body has reached its boiling point.
“OH GOD!” I shout, my voice echoing throughout the empty restaurant as a violent orgasm takes over the wetness between my thighs and shoots up my spine.
I feel my pussy becoming tighter around his cock, and he slows down. Then, when he finally stops, I push myself off the table and simply collapse on the floor. I sit on the floor, my back against the wall as I try to catch my breath.
“You okay?” I hear him ask, his words kind and soft.
“I’ve never been more okay in my whole life,” I tell him, my reply nothing but a whisper. “But I want more,” I continue, and when I open my eyes he’s already kneeling in front of me, that damned smile on his lips.
“More?”
“More,” I repeat, and then I don’t think — just act.
Moving like a wild cat, I place my hands on his chest, and I force him to lay down on the floor. I jump on top of him and crush my lips against his.
Grabbing his cock by the root, I point it up, straight to where my body demands it to be. I ease myself down, my whole body shuddering as his tip slowly parts my folds and struggles against my inner walls. I lower myself slowly, and with every inch that I go down on draws a purred moan out of me.
I sway my hips over him, slowly at first, but then I pick up the pace. Both my hands are on his chest, my breasts bouncing over his face as I move. He lifts his head, taking one nipple inside
his mouth and sucking on it as I arch my back in rapture.
My hips sway back and forth as he grabs my ass, his hands accompanying the motion of my body, squeezing at my cheeks and rubbing against my flushed skin.
I ride him hard, almost too violently, hell-bent on pleasing him as much as he has pleased me. My ass slaps his thighs as I go up and down, his cock sliding easily inside my pussy, the flowing motion of our bodies almost hypnotizing.
In a minute, every single muscle in me starts to tense up, electricity buzzing under my skin. I let myself go, surrendering to that sweet avalanche of pleasure as I keep bucking my hips against him.
I push through, rocking my body against him until I feel him ready.
He closes his eyes, and, just like me, his whole body tenses up, his muscles becoming taut and hard. His whole body is about to burst…and because of me.
Knowing he won´t hold on much longer, I take my hand down between my legs and start rubbing on my clit as I rock my body against his, beads of sweat already making their way down my forehead.
As he comes, so do I. I lean into him, my forehead against his chest as I grit my teeth and feel that sweet orgasm crawl under my skin once more, reaching for every single corner of my mind.
I’ve never felt anything like this; it's like a dream, surreal sensations crawling under my skin. I feel as if I'm floating, my pussy twitching around his cock in a way I didn’t know was possible.
Still inside me, he places one hand behind my neck and pulls me in, holding me in a tight embrace. We stay like that for a long time; when he pulls out, I simply roll to the side and stare at the ceiling, still breathing hard and dizzy from all of it. Palmer is by my side, and I reach for his hand with mine, curling my fingers over his.
The Old Tale has always been my safe place. It’s just a small hole in the wall, but it’s a place where I can escape the frenzied rhythm of a city that’s always bustling with energy.
But…it’s different now. How do I even say it?
With only shadows covering our bodies, our fingers laced…
The Old Tale feels like home now.
Palmer
I pour an amber ribbon of bourbon into a small tumbler. As soon as the liquid coats the ice, I listen to it crack, hiss, and clink against the glass.
It's only my second glass… okay, maybe my third, but it feels so good.
I lean back into the leather of my couch and let out a sigh.
The floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse give me an unparalleled view of the city. The darker the sky becomes, the more the city glitters, like tiny shards of glass.
There's something beautifully impressive about a city skyline—the way skyscrapers reach toward the clouds and know no ceiling. Skyscrapers reaching up like fists of progress.
It makes me want to conquer the world.
I have a moment of peace and quiet—a brief clearing of the mental fog that left me restless the whole week and a moment where I once again feel motivated about the future.
It was a long day at work, but the team did well. Dishes were made. Diners were happy, and nothing was burnt.
And yet.
I'm enjoying the quiet, but it seems that whenever I feel I've reached any sort of mental clarity, it's short-lived.
Percy's new review of my recent dishes came out today—a high-gloss, highly anticipated article in one of the biggest culinary journals of the city—and as expected, he doesn't fail to trash me with the gusto of a man starved. It's as if he won't stop until he sees me destroyed.
But there are other critics. He isn't the only one, and if I get enough good reviews to outweigh his trash talking, I think The Pearl on Park will make it.
I look at the review again (seeing it for the fifth time) and read Percy's opening sentences out loud:
"An inexperienced child could come up with a more sophisticated and better executed culinary concept than Chef Palmer. In fact, I've tasted free sauce packets that taste better than the condiments prepared by Palmer and his team.
“The Pearl on Park—instead of being a culinary spark for the city—is an unpleasant and placid reminder of high-end cuisine gone wrong."
I slap the article back down on the coffee table and kick up my feet.
Another scathing review, but this time it doesn't bother me. Sure, it's unjust, unfounded and unwarranted, but I see straight through Percy's bullshit.
Besides, I have bigger, more important things on my mind: Nicole.
I pick up a small business card sitting on the coffee table, and I flip it over in my fingers.
There's an embossed orange flame on one side, edged with gold foil, and on the other is my name, and phone number, along with a quote: "Play with Fire."
Three words that I repeat like a mantra.
To me, they symbolize action, motivation, perseverance, and triumph.
Regardless of what's thrown at me right now, my mind is relentlessly fixated on my restaurant… and Nicole.
I wish circumstances with her would be different. We come from two different worlds, and sometimes it’s as if we speak a different language. I can't read her all the time.
How could she and I ever work out? We have two competing restaurants, and there's also the fact that I need to stay focused. I don't have time for anything else in my life.
I feel time slipping through my fingers like water. The harder I grab at it, the quicker it disappears. That's an unsettling thought.
But maybe I shouldn't view this as a race or a competition, and maybe I'm just still unable to accept it for anything else.
Something inside of me feels missing—could that missing something be Nicole? Could she be the remedy?
No, she couldn’t possibly be… could she? Not with what's been thrown at me recently. But still, I wonder…
What's she doing right now? Is she looking at the same skyline? What is she thinking? Is she feeling what I'm feeling?
I just can't seem to shake her from my mind, and it pisses me off. I'm irritated by the fact that with all these big fish I have to fry, she's what's causing me the most internal conflict.
It isn't her fault—it's mine. I need to get my fucking life together before I worry about other people like this, but that'll have to wait for now.
It's useless… nothing can get her out of my mind.
I take another sip of my drink, tilting my head back as the bourbon burns a fiery path into the pit of my stomach.
Fire.
Action.
That's it, I decide. I need to do something.
I can't sit here and let thoughts of Nicole consume me.
I walk over to the kitchen and grab my cell from the granite counter top. I scroll through my contacts until I find her name.
I hesitate for just a moment, a split second of time, asking myself if I'm making the right decision. I pace the kitchen, shuffling my feet across the marble floor, fingering the screen of my phone. My fingers hover over my contacts, frozen, waiting for me to act.
Fuck it. You only live once, I think to myself.
And with that I dial Nicole.
It only takes two rings for her to answer. And the voice that answers is the softest, sweetest music to my ears.
Fuck. There's no more guessing.
There’s no doubt about it. I've made the right decision.
Nicole
My phone vibrates under my pillow.
I'm dozing off, but it instantly shakes me awake. It's a light, familiar buzz that always leaves me shuffling my hands through my pillows and sheets, scrambling to answer it before the caller is sent to voice mail.
What if it's someone from the restaurant? Or family? Or...?
I know you shouldn't sleep with your cell phone next to your head, let alone in your bed, but I can't help it. I panic if I don't have it nearby.
"Hello?" I answer.
"I need you."
It takes me a few seconds to realize who it is.
"What time is it?" I ask, looking over at the clock
on my nightstand.
"The night's still young—come over," Palmer says.
His voice is smooth and deep, like coffee and cream, and despite the fact that I'm tired, I find myself saying yes.
"Good," he says. "I'll text you my address. See you soon."
And just like that, the phone line goes dead.
I toss my phone onto my nightstand and wonder what in the hell I'm doing.
I don't understand why I'm leaving. It's the middle of the night, and I'm perfectly comfortable between my sheets. I started my night with a hot bath, and freshly shaved legs.
And let me tell you… I don't think there's any feeling better than freshly shaved legs against clean, cool sheets. It's heaven.
But here I am, agreeing to get out of bed and drive over to Palmer's place.
I swing my feet out of bed and grab my clothes. I don't have the energy to put on anything more than jeans and a t-shirt, so I quickly dress, throw a thin coat of red lipstick, light mascara, and then drag a brush through my hair before pulling it up into a messy bun on top of my head.
Tomorrow I have a long drive ahead of me—hours. I promised to meet my family for lunch, which is going to be exhausting, dodging my mother’s questions about why I'm not married yet and when I'm going to give her grandkids, and my dad asking me when I'm going to put this restaurant stuff behind me.
He doesn't take it seriously because he doesn't understand food. And he certainly doesn't see this restaurant as something I should pursue for the rest of my life.
I love my family, but sometimes they're a bit… much. Or, rather, they’re not enough. Not when it comes to supporting my dreams.
Which is why I should be sleeping.
But I can't… not after hearing his voice.
Why can't I just forget about him? When the Pearl on Park first opened its doors next to The Old Tale, I never would've imagined that I'd be feeling this way about Chef Palmer.
He's the competition. I mean, what am I thinking?
I take one last look at my face in the mirror. I've never considered myself an especially beautiful woman—I'm more likely to be considered "cute" than "pretty"—but here I am, being pursued by one of the most eligible—and, yes, I'll admit hottest—bachelors of the culinary world.
4 Men Of The House with correct Also By page Page 143