CHAPTER FIVE
Laurence
Dating is hard when you’re the head chef at the Royale. There’s simply no time. I work long, demanding hours that leave little to no opportunity to properly develop relationships. I’d meet someone, go on a few dates, but it would always fall apart sooner or later. Usually sooner. Most of the time, they’d get bored and leave. Or they’d claim that I just don’t care enough to make it work. They’d cite that I always put my job first, that my job was more important. That’s why I’m used to quick hookups. When I felt particularly pent up or frustrated, I used to go to the local bars after work, to the ones that were still open. I’d order a few drinks, chat up a nice girl, see what happens. But not since her.
Not since Claire.
That woman drives me insane sometimes. She’s sweet, but stubborn. She can be loud, but her words are always gentle. That is, unless she’s yelling at me because I’m being too much of a dick. You always run the risk of coming across as the work asshole when you’re in my position. It’s part of the job. When you’re in any type of managerial role, it’s a guarantee that some of your co-workers aren’t going to like you. Some of them have issues with conflict, while others thrive off talking back. And that’s perfectly fine with me. I know how to stand my ground, to put my foot down and demand respect.
But with Claire, no many how many times I make a harsh comment, no matter how many times I yell, her confidence doesn’t waiver. She puts up just enough of a fight until I finally calm down. Or until I finally give up because I don’t want to argue with her anymore. She doesn’t cower, but she also doesn’t cause unnecessary trouble. And I like that about her. When I’m with her, I feel sane. I feel no pressure to put up a front when she’s around me.
And it’s starting to scare me how much I don’t want that to change.
She’s fumbling for her keys, trying to unlock the front door to her apartment. But she doesn’t take her eyes off me. She kisses me eagerly, almost franticly, and I reciprocate in kind. Claire’s lips are incredibly soft and taste like the pomegranate lip balm I occasionally see her applying. I can feel her chest rising and falling against my own, our temperatures intensifying as we continue to explore each other’s mouths.
I wonder for the briefest of moments if I’m doing this wrong. We went from being lukewarm colleagues to this. But I feel like I have no control. I hate it, actually. Because this woman is doing things to me that have me questioning my sanity. I can’t get her out of my head. I don’t want to get her out of my head. Seeing that asshole Vince talking to her, touching her, it drove me crazy. I couldn’t understand it, this territorial feeling that’s suddenly ignited within me. It’s an ugly thing, but it makes me feel so good when I realize that I get Claire all to myself tonight.
Claire’s slender fingers are busy unbuttoning my chef’s jacket. We had left in such a hurry that we didn’t even bother changing out of our uniforms while at work. I’ve got my fingers tangled in her hair as I breathe in through my nose. She smells delicious, bordering on intoxicating. I shrug off my jacket and let it fall to the floor. She seems slightly displeased that I still have my black undershirt on underneath. Her hands explore my chest, hungrily searching for new details to learn and savor. I have her pressed against the hallway wall by the time she starts to make quick work of my belt.
The noises she makes spur me on. Her soft moans and groans are like music to my ears, high-pitched, but sultry like smooth velvet. I decide then and there that I want to hear nothing else for the rest of the evening. I want to make her call my name, to make her gasp out in pleasure and desperation. When I pull away briefly to take a breath, she whines in my ear. The noise goes straight to my crotch, which is now uncomfortably tight. I think Claire can tell, judging by the way she breaks away suddenly and takes my hand. She leads me through her apartment towards the bedroom. The entire apartment smells faintly of vanilla, which is fantastically warm and calming.
I half-expect her bed to be adorned with an avalanche of fluffy pillows and colorful throws, but it’s anything but. It’s just a simple double mattress on an old rickety bedframe. There’s a single pillow, and her duvet is carefully encased in a boring grey sheet cover. My chest tightens when I look at the sorry state of the bedroom. The thought of Claire having to sleep alone at night in this dreary room makes me want to hold her closer, to not let go. Perhaps she likes it this way. She doesn’t strike me as someone who needs to be surrounded by lavish decorations. It’s simple, it’s neat.
And maybe a little lonely.
I lift her up off the ground, which is awarded with a soft oh. She wraps her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. Claire’s surprisingly light. I walk over to the bed and gently place her on the mattress, lying down on top of her. I’m careful not to crush her entirely, but the way she pulls me close leaves me no other option. I help her slip off her pants with a few careful tugs of the fabric while she throws off her chef’s jacket and grey tank. She lies there in nothing but her underwear and mismatched bra.
“I would have coordinated,” she says, breathless, “if I’d known we were going to–”
I bring a finger to her lips to silence her. I can’t help but smile as I drink in her image. “You don’t need to coordinate for me,” I say with a soft chuckle. “I think you look gorgeous.”
It’s nothing short of the truth. One of her bra straps has slipped off of her shoulder, allowing me a peak at the skin of her chest. I slip my arms around her and unclasp her bra, discarding the garment onto the floor. I pepper her neck with kisses and work my way down. I kiss her now exposed breasts, running my hands down her sides and feeling the gentle slope of her waist and hips. I grope her thighs, her skin irresistibly soft. So soft, in fact, that I’m afraid I’ll break her if I’m too rough. I pull her towards the edge of the bed, and get on my knees. I plant my lips on her hips and slowly make my way down to the front of her lace underwear.
I’m painfully hard, but my cock can wait. I want to give Claire my full attention right now. I want to tease her until she’s writhing against the bedspread, until she’s practically begging me for release. Using my teeth, I carefully drag her underwear down and off. She’s propped up on both of her elbows, watching me intently. Claire’s now fully exposed to me, and I savor the way she looks and commit it to memory. The loose curl of her beautiful locks, her half-hooded eyes, the patches of skin all over her body that are now flushed from heavy want.
“Laurence,” she practically whimpers, “you don’t have to… We could just–”
“I want to,” I assure her. I want to drag this out. I want her to call out my name. I want her to make sounds that only I get to hear. Her voice is hypnotic, and it’s the only thing I want to listen to. I want her words to seep into every corner of my mind. I want to get high on her moans and drunk on her whines of pleasure.
I gently graze her clit with the tip of my tongue. Claire takes a sharp inhale at the sensation. I hold her down by the hips, enjoying the fact that she’s already squirming at my tender touch. I take it as a compliment once I discover just how wet she already is. Her hands are clenched around a fistful of her sheets. She’s thrown her head back, eyes closed as she focusses on breathing. It’s truly a sight to behold. She’s fucking beautiful. She’s on display just for me. I decide to tease her a bit more, licking her entrance.
“Lawrence!” she gasps in delight. It’s all the encouragement I need.
I flick my tongue across her clit, licking wildly and then holding back. I change my pace to keep her on her toes, metaphorically speaking, that is. I want to build her up until she’s falling to pieces in my arms. I push her knees apart to allow me more room to work, and am happy when she hooks her legs over my shoulders. Her entire body jolts with each pass of my tongue, making it easy to tell what she likes and what she doesn’t. But I can tell she wants more, and I don’t blame her. I’ve got her so worked up, I’m surprised she’s lasted this long.
I reach up to her mouth and offer her my fingers. Claire immediately parts her supple lips and allows me to insert them. She sucks on them lazily, slicking them with her wet and hot tongue. When I pull away, her lips are wet with her own saliva. She’s panting heavily, cheeks red and warm. I bring my hand back down and gently trace her entrance with the tip of my index finger.
“I’m going to finger you,” I say to her. My voice his low and gruff. “Is that okay?” Claire manages to nod, swallowing hard, but it’s not the response I’m looking for. “I need an answer, baby.”
“Y-yes,” she pants. “Yes, it’s okay. Please, just hurry.”
I grin. The begging’s already starting.
I start with one finger, primarily to gauge her reaction. It’s definitely my goal to have her falling apart at the seams, but not right away. I want to start slow, even at the risk of driving her a little crazy. She’s warm and wet and ready for me, but I bide my time. I curl my finger in a beckoning motion, drawing out low, languid moans of pleasure. When I’m thoroughly satisfied with the progress we’ve made, I add an additional finger. Claire stretches and pulses around me, eager and hot. She hisses at the initial pain, so I get back to work with my tongue to distract her. She practically melts into my hand, her hips bucking as she fucks herself on my fingers.
“Laurence,” she whines. “Laurence, please. I–” She chokes on her own words as I thrust my fingers into her at a steady pace.
“Yes, baby? Tell me what you want.”
She struggles to get the words out. She’s doing her best to focus, eyes screwed shut and chest heaving. “I want you to fuck me,” she finally manages, pupils blown wide with lust.
It’s music to my ears.
***
Claire
I wonder if he knows what he looks like. I realize that it’s one extreme to the other with him. I’ve never seen him out of uniform, and now he’s pulling off his pants, allowing his erection to spring forth. He’s worked me up to the point that I’m starting to get uncomfortably hot and desperately craving more attention. Of course, I have no doubt that it’s by his design. All his teasing has worked. I need him on top of me, I need him inside of me. I just need him.
I examine him from head to toe. His normally well-kept hair is disheveled, bangs sweeping just over his dark eyes to the side. The way he watches me, looks me over with hunger has my heart beating in my chest. He has broad shoulders, strong and muscular arms, a sturdy chest and a chiseled set of abs. Who knew that under that white chef’s jacket existed a man who looked like he’d been expertly sculpted from marble?
I find myself fascinated by the numerous other tattoos that I’ve never had the chance to lay my eyes on before. I’m familiar with the snake coiling up on his forearm, but never knew that the tattoo stretches up further on his upper arm, forming a cohesive sleeve. He doesn’t really give me any time to examine it any further. The next thing I know, he’s on top of me again, kissing me with an almost wild level of passion. With his hands on my hips, he applies a little pressure, indicating to me that he wants me to roll over and get on my hands and knees. It’s a little embarrassing how quickly I follow his suggestion.
I hear the crinkling of a condom wrapper and toss my glance over my shoulder. I watch in stunned amazement at just how big he is. Something tells me that I’m in for a fun night.
“See something you like?” he asks me, cocky as always. He doesn’t really give me the chance to respond. Not that I had anything particularly clever to say. I’m an incoherent, mumbling mess.
He climbs up from off the floor and kneels behind me, the bed creaking loudly under our weight. He grabs my ass with both of his hands and squeezes. I note just how massive his hands feel against my skin, note the hard callouses that have developed over time. I savor the chill that runs up and down my spine. He leans over, brushing his lips against the nape of my neck. He wraps one of his arms around my waist, pressing his torso against my back. There’s no space left between us, and I’m perfectly okay with that.
“Is it okay like this?” he whispers softly in my ear. His words are so sweet and concerned. They make me shiver, the hair on the back of my neck and arms standing up on end.
“Yes,” I say a little too quickly. “Yes, please. Just–” I can’t even finish my sentence. He strokes my neck with his big, strong hands, lulling me into silence.
I feel him line himself up with my hips. He pushes into me gently and slowly at first, graciously allowing me enough time to adjust to the pressure. Laurence strokes my spine from the small of my back to between my shoulder blades. His palms are delightfully warm and soothing, a sweet distraction from the initial uneasiness. I take in a deep breath, observing the how heavy his breathing is.
“You okay?” he asks me.
“Yeah, I’m good.” The corners of my lips stretch upwards into a small smile. I think it’s sweet how attentive he’s being.
Laurence starts to move, gently testing the waters. He pulls out slowly and then thrusts back in at a steady pace. I can’t help but moan and whine, the sensation of being filled causing my heartrate to spike. We pick up the pace, rocking back and forth on the creaky mattress. Laurence presses heated kisses into my hair as he snaps his hips into me, each time driving me a little further and further to the edge. I have his name on my lips. I chant it over and over and over again like a mantra, like a song.
He begins to thrust more rapidly, growling my name in my ear as he slithers a hand around me and reaches down. He uses his middle finger to apply pressure against my clit, rubbing in small circles to stimulate me. It’s almost too much. He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly what he has to do to get me panting and gasping beneath him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he praises me. His voice is thick like honey. “God, you’re beautiful.”
“Laurence,” I whine, breath shaky, “I’m close.”
This triggers something in him, something wild and untamable. He does what he does best: he takes control. He shoves into me harder and faster, stimulates me with more pressure. We’re both breathing hard. I can feel his warm breath my skin as he grunts and whispers my name. A coiling heat has been building up within me, a tense sensation that’s about to bubble over. Laurence holds me close, grabbing my bare breast with his free hand, teasing my hard nipples with the tips of his fingers. Our moaning gets louder and louder, escaping our lips with each movement we make together.
When we finally come undone, we ride the high together. He brushes my hair out of the way to gain unobstructed access to the side of my neck, which he deliberately sucks hard into the skin to form a red mark. He’s doing this as if to say you’re mine.