“Yeah, Aria, fuck yeah, come for me,” he moaned, speeding up to catch the waves of her orgasm until his moans ended on a gargled cry as he stilled above her, his cock swelling within her pussy. She panted loudly, stroking her hands over his arms as he came. He slid out of her a moment later and, sweaty and breathless, he propped himself up over her and moved his mouth to hers, eagerly kissing her as aftershocks flitted through her body.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him close until their breathing eased. He lay down on the couch with her, his face on her breasts and his arm laid over her side. She stroked her fingers through his damp hair and smiled down at him.
“Fun for you?” she asked him.
He nodded. “Absolutely. This what you three do all day?”
Laughing, she shook her head. “Sort of. We do all have jobs. But when we’re at home this is pretty much it. Clothes are sort of optional here. It makes doing the laundry easier.”
“Amazing,” he breathed, sounding tired. “So how does this all work? Are there multiple bedrooms and you switch around? Or…?” He shrugged.
Aria tugged on his hair, getting the damp strands to stand up into haphazard spikes. “No, not really. Well, maybe in the beginning there were. I was with Josh first, though we were pretty open already. But not many people knew. Then we met Logan and things clicked. It was easy between us, but not really for the rest of the world. They don’t matter though. But at first we did have separate rooms. One night while I was with Logan, Josh came in and joined us. It was as if it made perfect sense for him to be there. There’s a spare bedroom if you aren’t ready to join us. But our bed is pretty big so it’s not like you couldn’t spend the night with us when you wanted to. We really do all share. Only thing you need of your own is a toothbrush, because sharing that would just be gross.”
He laughed and the warm sound vibrated through her chest. “How do you work the bills? What about going on dates?” He turned over and rested his chin on her chest. She liked being able to see his face while they talked about this. “I’ve never had anything like this before. I don’t really know what to expect. But the sex was great.” He grinned at her and she giggled.
“Well I’m glad you enjoyed that part of it,” she teased him. “If you decided to stay more long term we’d have to talk to Josh and Logan, but I can tell you how things work right now with us, at least. Bills are pretty standard between us. We put a percentage of our incomes into a checking account and the bills get paid from that. Emergency things also come from that account like car repairs and such. Everything else is your money. We go on dates, sometimes, but usually we stay at home. It’s hard to go out when one of the guys you’re with is an amazing chef. Pleasing him can be a challenge if you don’t know where to go.”
“Hey! I heard that!” Logan called from the kitchen. She blew him a raspberry and his loud laughter drifted towards them through the wide arch separating the kitchen from the living room.
“Is food ready?” she called, suddenly realising how hungry she was. “And the cake I got us better not be all gone!”
“It’s not. I saved you at least half,” Josh said, coming into the room. “Have fun?”
Aria nodded and turned her head back to smile at Ty. “You?”
He smiled at her and slowly got to his feet. “Yeah, I did. And after I have that talk with your guys I’d like to see about staying here longer. This was great but I’m not nearly done with you yet.” He fixed his pants before offering a hand up.
Laughing, she rose as well, straightened her dress then took his hand. Josh took her free hand and she led them into the kitchen where Logan was busy plating their pasta.
She’d thought having two guys was great, but three could be the perfect number for her. After dinner she’d have to call her brother and tell him there’d be four of them coming over next time.
Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Whip It Up: The Interview
Caitlin Ricci
Excerpt
Chapter One
Mr Sims was much as she had expected—a chef from head to toe, coming into her building’s lobby wearing a neatly pressed black jacket and chef trousers. He looked younger than she’d expected though, his twenty-five years looking more like twenty-one. Even in the grainy black and white security system feed, she knew he was going to be trouble. Jacob, as she fondly remembered calling him back when she’d first met him as a highly strung teenager fighting back against the pressures of living under his parents, had apparently grown up well.
Anne turned and checked her appearance in her bedroom mirror. Shaking her head, she knew the pretty, pale pink sweater and dark blue jeans wouldn’t do for today. Maybe for meeting anyone else, but not now that she’d seen the all-grown-up version of Jacob Sims. He’d been cute as a teenager but that forbidden image had turned into something greater than simply attractive. She glanced at the security feed again and licked her lips. No, he was much more than what she had anticipated, and the thrill of having the handsome man so close made a shiver run along her spine.
She stripped quickly then put her jeans and sweater over the back of her cream reading chaise. It wouldn’t take Jacob long to get upstairs, especially if he took the elevator. But she didn’t need a lot of time to step into a short, flowing tan skirt and a button down lace shirt either. She’d been barefoot before, which was comfortable but not exactly sexy. Some strappy heels completed her outfit and she was sitting at her dining room table by the time a loud knock sounded on her front door.
“Come in,” she called, adding a bit of a sultry edge to her voice. There was no guarantee the wide-shouldered, black-haired man would even be interested, she reminded herself, but it never hurt to try.
“Chef Mato?” he asked, entering her large apartment with quiet footsteps.
“Hello, Jacob,” she greeted him, smiling. “Did you bring your knives?” Anne didn’t get up to meet him, instead she crossed one leg over the other, letting her loose skirt slide up her thigh. She watched for any reaction, any telltale sign that he was interested in her. His father had said he’d been available, but parents rarely knew, and if he were seeing someone she’d stop this play. But if he wasn’t, this afternoon was going to get very interesting indeed.
“Yes, Chef,” he answered automatically. Anne nodded, pleased. He was disciplined and well trained. All of his professors at the culinary institute had said so. He’d probably called his parents ‘Chef’ more often than ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’.
He stood in her entryway, her beautiful kitchen between them. Though he said nothing, the way his eyes drifted to her double ovens, her gas, six-burner stove and the pristine white granite counter tops told her he was envious of her set up. Good, she’d worked very hard for many years and had given up a great deal personally to be able to have everything she did now.
“With your knives, you’re all ready for the interview,” she informed him. “Ale is my baby, the first restaurant I opened less than six months after graduating from the culinary institute. I was told that I was crazy for buying a restaurant when I was so young, that I needed more training.” She curled her fingers around the spindled oak back of her chair. “But Ale has grown and blossomed for ten years now. It has been the restaurant to beat for the past four years in a row and I intend to keep that tradition going with the next executive chef to take it over.”
“Yes, Chef.” His response was strong and Anne believed he might be the one to take her restaurant over. His training certainly suggested it. And he had pride to spare.
“When your father suggested that I interview you for the position, I was hesitant,” she continued. His face fell, but his smile didn’t slip. She had to know that he could take criticism along with compliments. Maybe by the end of this interview, he’d figure out that everything was a test of his resolve to prove he could be her next executive chef. She would never allow someone weak to be under her, in bed or on the line. “But he assured me that you not only po
ssess the necessary skills but also the heart for this profession. Do you think you do?”
His gaze didn’t waver from hers. “Yes, Chef.”
Smiling, Anne nodded. “Then don’t prove him wrong. Make me your signature dish. My pantry and fridge are both well stocked. You’ve got an hour. Begin.”
Unlike the last three idiots she’d interviewed, Jacob didn’t hesitate at this stage. He simply acted. The first man she’d interviewed hadn’t finished in the allotted hour, but at least he’d tried. The second had looked at her dumbly, not understanding what she was asking for. The third had made her a simple salad that had taken all of five minutes for him to toss together then over-dress. She’d thrown him out promptly.
Jacob glanced up at her from time to time as he gathered things from her orderly kitchen. She’d set up her home like she did her restaurant intentionally. The transition was effortless for her, as it should be for him. Though a chef didn’t need to live his career outside of the restaurant, it should be in his everyday thoughts and actions. Quality, precision, timing. These foundations were everything, and mattered just as much as taste, presentation and creativity to her.
Anne watched him carefully, judging not only his knife work but his discipline as well. It took a rare person to thrive as an executive chef. The wrong choice in a new hire could kill an established restaurant. The right one would grow with it. Too often, owners settled for less than perfect because of a need to fill that spot in their line. Fortunately for Anne, she had no real need to move on. It was time and she had desires of opening a second restaurant. But there was no immediacy that came with that decision. She’d wait as long as she had to in order to find the perfect fit for her beloved Ale. Nothing less than that would do.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” she instructed.
He faltered for a moment, appearing unsure of himself, but he had to do this as well in her line. There were always times when an executive chef had to instruct a sous chef about a particular skill or style of doing something. In her restaurant she was the leader as well as a teacher. Her top candidate would have to be as well.
“I’m seasoning the potatoes with rosemary and a pinch of salt,” Jacob answered her.
Anne nodded. “Why?”
His full lips quirked up into a smile. “Salt brings out the flavour of most foods, just like acidity does, and rosemary gives potatoes a sweet, earthy taste that will go perfectly with the steak I’m making.”
He worked as he spoke, just as Anne had expected him to. Being a TV chef’s son meant he’d probably spent many hours helping his mom prepare for an episode. Anne didn’t know his mother well, not as well as she knew his father anyway, but she’d seen her shows a few times. She’d even watched her perform once a few years back, when Anne had been a guest chef on Taste, the network that aired his mom’s programme. Sadly the name of it escaped her at that moment.
Jacob brought the steak out of the fridge, letting it warm to room temperature. Though she was proud of him for remembering to let the meat come to temperature before finishing it off, she showed no reaction. He had to know that he was doing the correct thing because it was what he’d been told to do, not because she encouraged him at each step.
She parted her lips and quickly licked them. He was beautiful to watch, his concentration on his task complete as he moved around her large kitchen. A warmth grew in her core and spread through her breasts and thighs at the sight of him. Her nipples strained against the silk of her bra and she took a sip of the cucumber water beside her, eager to sate her desire for him but needing to cool it for the moment. If he was as good in bed as he was in her kitchen, she’d be quite satisfied this afternoon. He would be too, she’d make sure of it of course…but she wasn’t thinking about him for the moment.
Selfishness, ambition and drive were hardly unique to their field, but without them a good chef could never be great. And she needed great. Nothing less than that would do.
He pulled out her stove-top grill and waited for it to get hot. A bit uncertain of him and his methods, she watched him intently. He had to get this part right. Everything else had to be perfect as well, but potatoes could be saved, as could whatever else he served with her steak. But a steak, once ruined, was impossible to make right again. And so she watched, her breath catching, as he moved the potatoes around the pan with some butter and rosemary and waited for the pan to heat until that perfect moment when it was just right. He seasoned the meat with a bit of salt and pepper and put it down on the grill. The inviting sound of a loud sizzle went through her kitchen and she smiled, knowing he’d got that part right. He wasn’t out of the clear yet but he was much closer, and he’d managed to impress her with his knowledge of simple food as well.
After washing his hands, he chopped fresh herbs, his wide shoulders moving under the stiff material of his chef jacket as he worked. His refusal to cross-contaminate her food was another bonus factor for him, as a firm grasp of the basics was the only foundation for growth. He tasted at each step, seasoning when needed. His skills were impressive but she wouldn’t know just how much until she’d tasted his meal.
A few minutes later, he clicked off her stove and began plating her lunch. His hands were steady, his movements sure. The plate he presented her was less stylish than the ones his Las Vegas chef dad created every day, but they were simple enough for her Ale. The steak was the centrepiece, the red potatoes and asparagus creating a wreath around it.
“Describe it,” she instructed him, her mouth watering as the sweet smells drifted up to her. And, she noticed with a further sniff, a hint of her signature Candied Pale Ale, a favourite at her restaurant. She hadn’t seen him grab the bottle while he’d been cooking, but, as she watched, he quickly provided her with it and a glass.
“Chef, what I’ve prepared for you today is a simply seasoned rib-eye steak with rosemary red potatoes and garlic asparagus. I’ve finished it off with a glaze of your Candied Pale Ale, which has just the right notes of candied nuts and cinnamon to bring your meal together. Enjoy.” He stepped back, looking proud of himself and satisfied with the dish he’d prepared.
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About the Author
Caitlin was fortunate growing up to be surrounded by family and teachers that encouraged her love of reading. She has always been a voracious reader and that love of the written word easily morphed into a passion for writing. If she isn’t writing, she can usually be found studying as she works towards her counselling degree. She comes from a military family and the men and women of the armed forces are close to her heart.
She also enjoys gardening and horseback riding in the Colorado Rockies where she calls home with her wonderful fiancé and their dog. Her belief that there is no one true path to happily ever after runs deeply through all of her stories.
Email: [email protected]
Caitlin loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
Also by Caitlin Ricci
Whip It Up: The Interview
Total-E-Bound Publishing
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Chapter One
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
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