LAUGHING AT THE surprise that must have shown on my face, Chef Bryant grabbed the arm I’d just covered my breasts with and pulled me toward him. His other hand dipped under my shoulders, lifting them. At last, our lips met.

The heat from his mouth melted away my shock, and I plunged my hand into his dark, glossy hair. Finally. Finally I was in his arms.

He kissed the corner of my mouth and worked his way toward my ear. “As if I’d let my fantasy China doll go that easily,” he growled. His lips traveled down my throat, tickling, teasing, tasting. I kept my arms wrapped around his head, stroking his thick hair.

His skillful mouth moved to the top of my breast and then captured my nipple, much like he had with the chopsticks before. I moaned, deep in my throat. My back arched and I pushed up against his sinfully delicious lips. He kissed his way over to my other nipple and swirled his tongue around it, sucking lightly. At last, he pulled away, tugging at my nipple gently until it popped out of his mouth.

“No offense, but you’re rather sticky.”

I laughed. “I wonder why?”

“We’re going to have to get you cleaned up. But first, let’s revisit the ground rules. Do you still remember what they are?”

“Yes, Chef Bryant,” I said, trying to clear my head—not easy to do with shivers of excitement rippling up and down my body.

“What’s the first rule?” he demanded.

“That I keep my legs spread at all times.”

“Exactly,” he said and raised an eyebrow.

Oh! Quickly, I parted my legs, feeling the cloth that had been covering my center fall between my legs.

“Oops … lost your modesty towel, love.” He was staring directly at my center now, his expression hungry.

I squirmed a little under his strong gaze. He turned his attention back to my face and said, “You know, I’m feeling a little overdressed.”

I held my breath. Please, please, please …

He grasped the edge of his dark t-shirt, and in one smooth move, lifted it over his head and tossed it aside.

… thank you, thank you, thank you!

God, he looked incredible. A six pack of abs that made him look like he’d never had a single Redback in his life. Strong, tight pecs with hard little nipples. And those arms—no wonder he could spend all day in the kitchen, creating masterpiece after masterpiece without tiring.

I reached out without thinking, running my hand along his smooth chest. Wait, why was it so smooth? “You shave?” I asked. I’d never met a guy who shaved his chest.

“Gotta keep up with all the Hollywood hardbodies,” he said.

I nearly snorted at that. He was one of the Hollywood hardbodies. I stroked my hand lower, feeling his hard abs. My fingers encountered the waistband of his jeans, and I wondered what else he shaved. “Umm … do you …?”

“Do I shave anything else? Is that what Little Cheyenne is too shy to ask? Guess you’ll just have to find out. Remember what the second rule was?”

Uh-oh. What was it? I racked my brain.

He clicked his tongue in a disapproving way. “Better pay attention when the executive chef gives you an order.” Quicker than I could follow, his hands darted out and captured my nipples, pinching them.

Ouch. I squirmed, trying to twist out of his grasp. After another moment or two, he let go, and I sank down onto the countertop, panting. It was like he had forged a direct connection between my nipples and my clit when he did that. “I’m sorry, Chef Bryant. I don’t remember.”

“It was to always be professional in the kitchen.”

I gaped at him, and then he laughed. “But I think we can relax that rule for now. Remember the biggie? The cardinal rule?”

“Your kitchen, your way.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Stay put.”

He walked over to the refrigerator. Moments later, he returned holding a small bowl. “Now, let’s see if we can get you cleaned up a bit,” he said, and my pulse quickened.

He set the bowl between my knees, which I’d obediently kept parted for him. He plunged his hand in the bowl and then dragged his cold fingers up my body. Water droplets hit my sizzling skin. When he reached my chest, I saw that he was holding a wedge-shaped ice cube. Oh. My. God.

Holding the flat side against my skin, he rubbed it along my collarbones and shoulders. It melted quickly, sending rivers of icy water in all directions. I squirmed as the cold ice kissed my throat.

“Hold still,” he said, delivering a sharp slap to my thigh with his other hand.

“Yes, Chef Bryant,” I moaned.

He grinned at the need in my voice. Looking me in the eye, he popped the wedge of ice into his mouth, moving it around until it stuck out between his lips. Then he bent down and circled my nipple with the tip of the ice.

His free hand groped down my waist, tickling lightly over my pelvic bone. He reached into the bowl between my legs and emerged with another piece of ice which he trailed up my body until he found my other nipple.

Wow … and I thought my nipples had been hard before. This felt so decadent. The rest of my body was so hot, but my nipples were frozen peaks of pleasure.

When the ice in his mouth was just a sliver, he raised up, titled his head back, and swallowed it down. I could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did so. He was so damn sexy. All those times I’d seen him on TV, I’d had no clue about his true animal magnetism.

He took my breast into his hand, squeezing it, jiggling it slightly. “Still sticky, love. So you’ll need to help out.” He plucked two more ice wedges out of the bowl and circled them around my nipples. “Come on. Your turn. I’ve got other parts I need to clean.”

Oh god. I felt blood rush to the the body parts I thought—I hoped—he was referring to. I brought my hands to my breasts, replacing his.

“Circle the ice around your nipples. Don’t stop until I say so.”

“Yes, Chef Bryant,” I said, barely recognizing my lust-filled voice. The ice rounding my nipples felt wicked and naughty, almost as if he was still wielding it instead of me. I supposed that was because I was doing it on his orders.

His hand plunged into the bowl again, splashing some icy drops on my legs, making me yelp. He looked up at me. “Keep that ice moving.”

I did so, but my eyes were glued to him and what he was doing. He maintained eye contact with me as he trailed an ice cube over my belly, making lazy circles. The combination of his large, hot hand plus the cool ice on my skin was making a tornado form in my mind. I couldn’t think straight. My entire focus was on what he would do next, where he would touch next.

With each circle, he made the ice dip lower, and lower, until it was right above my mound. “Spread your legs wider,” he commanded, and I did, no longer able to feel the bowl between my knees.

Chef Bryant trailed the ice over to the crease where my torso met my leg and then moved it downward. Oh my god. I groaned and unconsciously spread my legs farther, making him chuckle.

“So the little China doll does have a wicked side, is that it, love?”

I said nothing, every inch of me concentrating on his fingers and that ice. I may have been focusing on it too much, because in the next moment, he said sternly, “Keep circling your nipples.” He handed me two more ice cubes to replace the old ones which were mere slivers.

Winking at me, he moved his ice cube farther down the crease of my leg. It was a very ticklish spot, and when I squirmed, he chuckled.

He got a fresh cube and pressed it against my other leg now, moving teasingly past my slit and up to my pelvis. “Keep those nipples hard for me,” he ordered, and then he put the ice cube in his mouth.

Oh my god. In his mouth.

I gasped. Was he really going to—? But he did. He pushed the tip of the cube out between his full lips and then lowered his head. He grabbed my left leg and folded it up toward my chest, bending my knee and completely exposing me. He held it there and used his free hand to hold my other leg in place. And then he dove in.

The cold ice and his warm mouth hit my folds at the same time, and I cried out with pleasure. He pushed the tip of the ice into my slit and moved it up and down. I moaned and squirmed but didn’t stop running the ice around my nipples.

He managed to wedge the ice between my folds and left it there for a few moments while he licked up and down my slit, occasionally sucking one side of me and then the other into his mouth.

His skillful lips reclaimed the rapidly melting ice cube, and he dragged it through my slit again until he found my center. Then he pushed it inside me, following it with his tongue, and I nearly rose off the table, my back arching and every cell in my body rejoicing.

Warm breath tickled me as he chuckled against my skin, apparently pleased with the reaction he was getting from me. Without letting go of my legs, he straightened up and then stuck his whole face into the small bowl of ice as if he was bobbing for apples. He emerged with another cube and buried his face in me again.

A moment later, I felt another ice cube entering me. It was so cold going in, but as soon as it settled inside me, I couldn’t feel it anymore. But I did feel the cool trickle of ice water dribbling out of me. To my surprise, another ice cube pushed past my tight opening. Then another. I groaned. He must have really gotten a big mouthful of cubes out of the bowl.

He licked his way up my slit, his cold lips parting my moist heat. When he found my clit, I arched my back off the counter again. I couldn’t help it. It took only a few seconds for his chilly tongue to start feeling warm as it flicked back and forth across my clit, then circled it.

The way he moved his mouth on my clit showed me that he truly was a master at anything he did in the kitchen, this included. He swirled his tongue, he sucked my clit into his mouth, he pleasured me until he had me moaning and writhing on the table. Abandoning the ice, I plunged my fingers into his hair, trying to direct him to where I needed him, but it was a wasted effort because he clearly knew.

My breathing sped up, and my panting and groans filled the kitchen. “Don’t stop,” I whimpered breathlessly, and he didn’t. His tongue flicked back and forth, over and over again. And my brain could only hold onto one fact, that this was Bryant the Tyrant giving me this much pleasure. Doing this to me. Doing this for me. Making me come.

I cried out, bucking so hard that I almost dislodged him. He held my hips down firmly as I rode the orgasm out, screaming, moaning, panting. I didn’t think I’d ever come that hard and wasn’t sure if I ever would again. It was the most incredible orgasm I’d ever had. And I was pretty damn sure it wouldn’t be the last one I’d have tonight.