Taste

By Natalie Knight

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

Natalie Knight

Palmer

I finger the steak, tracing the marbled flecks of fat.

I observe it with steady concentration and follow each streak as if it were a roadmap, pointing me home.

A well-marbled steak is a beautiful thing.

It's perfection.

It's redemption.

Is it also salvation?

My mouth moistens as I think about the silky texture of melted fat.

The depth of flavor. The tenderness. The way it transcends a moment in time.

I grind salt and pepper over one side of the steak, and then flip it over to season the other side. Then I heat a cast iron skillet, and when it's at the desired temperature, I drop a pad of butter into its center. I watch as the butter circles, spins, and sizzles around the pan until it's a melted puddle.

Then I place the steak on top, listening to the hot skillet kiss the raw slab of red meat, slowly caramelizing it.

I've made my fortune in the restaurant business.

Flipping food. Perfecting my craft.

Making a name for myself.

But I want more.

I want to elevate the culinary landscape of New York City…and the clock's ticking faster than Julia Childs chopping an onion.

This restaurant here—The Pearl on Park—is a longtime dream come true. I've made my fortune through high-end cuisine—you know, the kind of food that requires three spoons and three forks just to eat? The kind of food accompanied by waiters in suits and white linens. I've become one of the most famous chefs in the world, running a chain of high-quality, extremely fancy restaurants.

You've probably seen me profiled in publications like Bon Appetite, Saveur, Food and Wine, Cooks Illustrated, and The Art of Eating.

I've made food that'll give you an orgasm as soon as it hits your tongue: beautifully crusted baguettes, fresh meat that'll make you moan, and warm cakes gooier than a woman begging for more.

But this restaurant is different.

I'm still creating dishes that are good, orgasmic good, but now I'm pushing boundaries. Salty, fatty, sweet—the kind of food that makes you want to sink your face in and say Fuck it, I'm eating this.

Maybe I'm stubborn, or stupid, or both, but truth is, you have to be all of those things and more to make it in the restaurant business.

You see all of these tools in this kitchen—the vacuum machines, the pH meters, the liquid nitrogen? I'm debunking cooking myths. I don't care what any other chef in this city is doing. If it's working for me, just get out of my way.

Watch me run my restaurant the way I want to run them.

I have no interest in what the chef is doing next door, or across the street, or even across the fucking globe. Why? Because the only thing that matters is my kitchen.

And this place here—these stainless steel appliances, the swanky Park Ave vibe, the top of the line table linens and décor—it's a longtime dream come true.

I look down at the steak, and spoon brown butter over it, basting it. It's now crusted and cooked to perfection, and I remove it from the skillet. The steak is caramelized around the edges with a beautiful brown crunch that I can't wait to place between my teeth.

If you visit The Pearl on Park, this'll be one of the best steaks you've ever had, I promise. It's one of the new dishes that I’m going to present.

I plate the steak and carefully slice a chunk of meat off with a serrated knife. There's a crisp char on the outside and rareness in the middle that feels like butter on my tongue.

"Fuck, that's good!" I can't help but yell out and slam my fist down on the countertop.

"You made me jump!" I look over to see my sous chef, Brit, walk into the kitchen. She's working overtime with me to get a few dishes perfected before our soft opening.

Any other day, and this late at night, it wouldn’t be Brit here with me. Maybe some actress with one of those fake smiles, too eager to have a taste of the Chef—but not today.

I can’t waste my time. Not now.

"Taste this!" I say, looking at Brit over my shoulder.

She walks over, and leans against the counter. I place a forkful of steak into her mouth. I watch as she chews slowly, and then closes her eyes, throwing her head back.

"My God," she says, shaking her head in disbelief. "You weren't joking. This is the best steak I've ever eaten."

I'm glad she agrees, but I can't help but want to make sure.

"Don't pull my leg—tell me the truth," I say.

"I'm serious! It's that good," she says. "This'll put The Pearl on Park on the map."

The way she drags her hand over her throat tells me that she means it.

But suddenly, I can no longer think about that perfectly caramelized steak.

Instead, I close my eyes and remember the doctor’s appointment I had last week. The one where my dreams of cooking the best food in New York were born.

It's an appointment that haunts me and drives me in equal measures.

The sanitized talk. The fluorescent lights. The sterile smell of it all.

Something showed up on the MRI, the doctor said, as I sat back in the hard plastic chair. He pointed to a white, walnut-shaped mass, and the rest of the appointment was a blur. I left, vaguely agreeing to a follow-up appointment, and ultimately making myself a promise to cook the best fucking food New York City's ever tasted.

"This is the best steak the Big Apple's got," Brit says, bringing me back to what’s in front of me.

That's exactly what I want to hear.

It's true; I'm a multi-tasker. I can juggle a dozen restaurants, and even more women, and still find time to scuba dive my way through St. Thomas.

It's what I do. And I'm good at it.

I'm not interested in half-assing my way through life.

I'm living large, and I know it. But I'm just getting started.

If you can handle the heat, go ahead…turn the page, and jump into the fire.

My name is Chef Palmer, and I'm going to give the world something they'll never forget.

Nicole

"Where are the vegetables?"

WHACK! THWAP!

Two line cooks look up at me. One shouts back, "We can't hear you, what?"

"I said, where are the—" but my voice is again cut off by the overhead noise.

WHACK!

THWAP!

The noise of construction workers a floor above us has put me on edge.

I can't think. I can't cook. I can't sear a piece of chicken without hearing what sounds like a dozen drag cars moving full throttle above my head.

The line cooks shrug their shoulders.

"THE PRODUCE—WHERE IS IT?" I say, struggling over the noise.

Danny, one of the two, finally understands what I'm asking. "Oh that. The driver mumbled something about a missed payment and took off."

I look around the kitchen and see that he's right. We haven't received our fresh produce this morning. Beyond a few stray onions, we have nothing.

How am I supposed to cook today?

I take a deep breath and run my fingers through my hair.

Stay calm , I repeat to myself.

"Okay, thanks. I'll give him a call."

"Sorry, I figured you knew."

"It's fine," I say, even though it doesn't feel fine at all. In fact, it's taking everything in me to not lose it today, but I have to keep my cool. "I'll get it sorted."

I walk out of the kitchen and into the main dining room. I look around at the tables, at the blue gingham table linens, at everything I've worked so hard to build.

Blue.

The color reminds me of my grandmother. I can almost hear her whispering into my ear, “A woman with no wrinkles is a woman without a story to tell."

I remember sitting on top of her knees, looking into her pale blue eyes as she hummed some old song from the forgotten 50s; in my memories, it’s always Doris Day and Dream a Little Dream of Me on her lips, and then she’d just wrap her arms tight around me and cradle me against her chest.

I’d close my eyes, surrendering to the warmness of her embrace, and the world would feel like a dream—blurry at the edges, but bright and comforting all the same.

She's the reason I started this restaurant. She instilled in me the love of food and the notion that anything is possible with enough hard work.

And believe me; none of this was easy.

In fact, it was the hardest thing I've ever done.

I washed dishes, I waited tables. I worked double shifts, and I saved every single penny I could get my hands on. I once worked through a fever of 104º, and I honestly thought I wouldn’t make it through the day.

But there was that dream .

A dream that burned hotter than any fever ever could. That unrelenting need to do something, as small as it may be.

Then one day, I simply made it happen.

All those pennies, the long hours, the exhaustion...I just threw them all into the pan and stirred. I added a lease to the mix, a healthy dose of anxiety, and then I just closed my eyes and bet it all.

It’s been a year now.

That anxiety remains, along with all the penny counting. The dish washing, table-waiting, and frantic cooking are all part of the process as well. But now I do it all in a place I can call my own.

The Old Tale is my restaurant, and it's huddled among New York's high rises. You can almost feel the way time bends once you step inside.

Thousands of people rush by the door every day, barely noticing this small bistro that seems to exist in a universe of its own; but for the few people that step inside, they have no choice but to leave the rush and frenzy of New York City outside.

There’s nothing fancy about The Old Tale. No glamorous logos, no overpriced menus or waiters wearing a suit and tie.

The wooden tables in the small dining area proudly display their age, and even the dim glow of the lights is a throwback to a time when restaurants and cafés weren’t supposed to be a natural extension of a shopping mall.

You could dig out this restaurant by its roots, slam it down in a crowded street from the 50s, and no one would bat an eye.

It doesn’t feel like a restaurant—it feels like home, a shelter from the cold embrace of a city that doesn’t remember your name.

But sometimes, you can’t fight the city; a small restaurant is just a small restaurant, after all. And now there’s the sound of drills and hammers, a backdrop to the hoarse shouts of construction workers pacing back and forth.

Sometimes it feels like I'm fighting against a rising tide that's whispering its warning—get out or we’ll drag you back with us .

That tide has a name: The Pearl on Park.

And it's going to completely change this neighborhood—bringing Park Ave into a working class corner. Its doors are still closed, but I can already feel the inevitable trot of progress. Soon enough, these streets will belong to expensive European cars, and boots and jeans will give way to polished shoes and creased dress pants.

Then the rents will go up, and The Old Tale will become a gnarled wreckage lying at the bottom of the ocean.

"Someone looks deep in thought." A voice breaks my concentration and pulls me into the present.

"I didn't see you come in. It's good to see you, Percy," I say, looking over to find a familiar face. "What are you doing here today?"

"Just enjoying some of this city's best cooking, is what I'm doing," he says.

I lean over and give him a hug. "You're too kind."

"And you're too humble," he says, returning the smile.

"Well, humble or not, I hope I can just survive The Pearl over there," I say, pointing across the street. "I mean, how can I compete with that?"

Percy shakes his head. "Don't worry about that place. Fancy flagstone tiles, porcelain dishes, and silver cutlery don't make a good restaurant."

"Maybe not...but it seems to help," I say with a laugh.

Percy Whitman is one of the biggest food critics in the city. He's known me ever since I opened The Old Tale, and if it weren't for his early, glowing reviews, I wouldn't be here today.

“I wouldn't worry about it," Percy says. He places both hands into his pockets and rocks on his heels as he says this, as if it's the most casual thing in the world. "Chef Palmer is a Grade-A asshole and even though I've never been to one of his restaurants, he's never impressed me much."

"I've heard he has talent," I say, not willing to believe that his presence in this neighborhood isn't going to be disruptive. "He's become a huge celebrity."

But Percy continues to shrug away my fears. "I doubt Palmer's all that."

"I guess we'll find out," I say.

"I plan to review every one of that asshole's restaurant’s, including The Pearl on Park," Percy says, and his face flushes pink as soon as the words leave his mouth. "You'll see."

Palmer

I dip my finger into the sauce and press it against my tongue. It's bland and devoid of depth.

"Are you fucking serious? This tastes like cardboard," I say. "Fix it."

Everyone is on edge as I drag my finger against my chef's coat, wiping away the sauce. The rest of my staff scrambles.

We're all working harder than we've ever worked in our lives. I smile, seeing my junior chefs work overtime to make tonight a success, but my joy fades away as quickly as it comes when I peep through the window of the swinging kitchen door, and spy none other than Percy Whitman.

The man.

The myth.

The dream-maker and the career-wrecker of this city.

But that's all bullshit because he's just a grade-A asshole.

He walks through the elegant glass doors of my restaurant, and I watch as the hostess seats him. She's friendly and gracious.

Shit. I can't remember a time when Percy showed up a restaurant on opening night.

He takes a few steps in and smiles, showing off a row of teeth more crooked than a broken fence. That matches his review ethic , I think to myself.

He removes his hat and tips it in an arrogant gesture. He combs his hand through his blonde hair, and his eyes scan the crowded dining room.

The only thing paler than his face is the table cloth in front of him, I think.

Brit bumps into me. Her hair rivals the flames of any kitchen, and she has the personality to match. She trips and spills a bowl of tomato soup on the ground…and me.

"I'm so sorry," she says, bringing her hands to her mouth. She's frazzled.

I reach over and place a hand on her shoulder.

"Take a deep breath, Brit," I say. "It could've been worse."

She gives me a reluctant smile and scrambles off. I grab a towel, soaking up the red remnants of soup and then set it on the counter.

I look around the kitchen … at the steaks drizzled with the finest brown butter sauces, and realize that even though it hasn't been the smoothest of nights, it hasn't been bad either.

This is the dream. This is still the dream. We're pulling off a lot of great plates.

I turn and head out of the kitchen. It's time I mingle with the patrons.

Immediately, a crowd of three women catch my eye. They're seated near the bar—three blondes in red. One of them turns to me and smiles.

I walk over and make an introduction.

"Evening, ladies," I say. "How are you enjoying the food?"

"Oh, you must be the chef!" one of the women smiles. "I adore your food!" She brings one hand to her chest, resting it on her cleavage.

I smile.

The two other women blush as I look into their striking blue eyes. If I had more time, I'd probably sit a minute and share a drink with them, but it's opening night, and time is precious.

"Well," I grin, "Just wait until you ladies try the desert."

With that, I leave them with a smile, and watch as their faces turn a shade of red that matches their dresses.

I walk past another guest, an older woman in her 60s. She reaches up and grabs my coat. "You must be Chef Palmer! I just love your food."

I nod my head in appreciation. "Thank you, ma'am," I say, giving her a quick smile before taking her hand and giving it a quick kiss.

Then I move on and head back into my bustling kitchen.

As soon as I enter, one of my line cooks, Alex, says, "Chef! I've plated the appetizer for table five!"

I approach it, eyeing it with the suspicion. "What is this?" I ask.

"Sir?" Alex says with a blank expression.

"Is this cat food? Do you think we're feeding feral cats?"

"Chef, I don't understand, I—"

I stop him mid-sentence. "Plate it like you mean it!" I say. "This isn't an all-you-can-eat buffet. This is fine dining. Make every plate reflect that."

“Yes, Chef," Alex says, and hurries off.

I let out a sigh and lean against the stove. A million thoughts zap through my mind, but they're all cut short when I feel a searing pain against my elbow. I look down to find flames licking the edges of my sleeves.

Fuck.

I hear Brit. "Hey Chef, I was wondering if—"

Her voice stops as soon as she eyes the situation. Then I hear Alex's voice over the growing heat of the flames.

"Chef, I re-plated the appetizer, and—"

He takes one look at the flames licking my sleeve and grabs a bucket of dirty dishwater and throws it onto me.

The flames instantly disappear, but now I look like a used mop.

"Fucking dishwater, Alex?" I ask, crossing my arms.

Both Alex and Brit give me a blank stare.

"What are you two waiting for?" I say. Move!"

They both scramble off to plate a never-ending row of orders. I grab a towel and dry my face, and then peer back out into the dining room.

Despite what I currently look like, I decide to walk back through the dining room, and gauge the crowd's experiences.

As I walk past one table, a piece of conversation catches my attention.

"Look, do you see this rice? It's overcooked. It's like paste. I mean, what chef can mess up rice?”

“And this fish? It's drier than the Sahara,” the voice continues, and I swivel around to see who’s talking.

"It's not flaking apart. It's a hard, dry slab…a fish brick. And don't even get me started about the soup."

I can't help but stop and stare when see who this is coming from.

I can hardly believe my eyes.

Nicole

"He's like candy on a stick," Sarah smiles, sliding back into her chair.

I roll my eyes. "Are you serious? If you mean the kind of candy that melts and sticks, and gives you the world's worst toothache and puts you into a dentist's chair, then … okay, I can see it," I say, letting out a sigh.

I love Kate, but she can be one of the most dramatic people you've ever met, and she doesn't have the most rational mind.

"What's with you?" Kate asks, eyeing me suspiciously. "A bit harsh, don't you think? He looks good enough to eat—those eyes, and that smile. Don't pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about."

"It's just that I'm not buying into the hype," I say. "Sure, he has the name and the money, and that Michelin star, but so what?"

"So what? I mean, look at the man! A Michelin star isn't easy to get you know," Sarah says. "It's not like you can snap your fingers and will it into materializing. And c'mon … you can't tell me that he isn't easy on the eyes."

I let out another sigh and allow the potato leek soup to slip off my spoon and drip back into the bowl. "I know," I say, "but this food is soulless. I mean, look at it. It doesn't have heart. It's as bland as these white linens … and it's cold."

"It's only cold because you've refused to touch it for the last twenty minutes," Kate laughs.

I watch as the soup plops into thick, white lumps back into the bowl.

I didn't want to be here, but Sarah insisted we show up since it's the grand opening for The Pearl on Park. I could think of a million things I'd rather be doing—like scooping cat litter, or plucking my eyebrows, or washing dishes, or folding laundry, or—

Sarah breaks my train of thought. She grabs my arm and squeals. "There he is again! He has to be the sexiest piece of man meat I've ever seen."

Her eyes look glassed over, like she's entered a new state of nirvana.

"Give me a break," I say, rolling my eyes. "Whose side are you on anyways?"

"I can't believe you're even asking me that," she says. "I'm on your side babe, but now you're just being unreasonable."

As much as I want to argue that point, I let it go.

I watch as Chef Palmer walks between his kitchen and back through the dining room, mingling with the crowd.

Women seem to swoon and melt in his presence like clockwork, one after the other.

They bat their eyes.

They pucker their lips.

They lower their blouses to show extra cleavage.

They fan their faces as if the heat emanating from his body is too much to handle.

It all makes me sick.

This chef … this restaurant … is threatening to put me out of business, and it makes my stomach do somersaults.

That's a cold, hard fact.

With that knowledge, I think he's about as handsome as a cockroach.

I watch him walk back and forth, from the kitchen to the dining room and back again, and can't help but scowl at his swagger.

Who does he think he is? He's got an ego bigger than Mt. Kilimanjaro … not that I've ever hiked it, but I've seen the pictures.

"Look," I say, "Do you see this rice? I scoop it into the prongs of my fork. It's overcooked. It's like paste. I mean, what chef can mess up rice? And this fish? It's drier than the Sahara. It's not flaking apart. It's a hard, dry slab … a fish brick."

"Um, Nicole," Sarah says, but I don't let her finish.

"And don't even get me started about the soup again," I say. "These potatoes? You don't even—"

But Sarah clears her throat and nods her head over my shoulder.

"I wouldn't, um—I, uh—" she says, her voice catching in her throat.

But I cut in again. "Oh come on Sarah. We all know he's easy on the eyes, but that doesn't mean his food is—"

Then I stop. I notice Sarah's eyes fixed on a figure just beyond my left shoulder and I can't help but turn around and see what she's so focused on.

And when I do, my heart nearly stops in my chest.

I look over and lock my gaze on two eyes the color of the Atlantic.

They pierce me like a set of hooks.

It doesn't take me long to realize who it is.

It's Chef Palmer.

And he's … smiling?

My mind races. How long has he been standing there? What exactly did he hear? Did he hear the part about me talking shit about his food, or the part where I dismiss his Michelin star?

And how did I not know how handsome he was?

It's times like this where I wish I had an invisibility cloak, or a button to teleport right out of this restaurant. Anything to disappear.

Palmer senses my discomfort.

"You were saying?" he smiles, flashing me a disarmingly white smile.

His teeth are unnaturally white … like something out of a toothpaste commercial.

I'm in the hot seat now. I can't hide from this, or backpedal.

I need to own up to it.

"I was just expecting something … different," I say.

"I take it this isn't meeting your expectations?"

He knows it isn't. It's a rhetorical question.

"I've had better," I say, standing my ground.

His eyebrows jump in an arc. "Is that so?"

"This fish … this starch … I was expecting more from The Pearl. There's a lot of hype about this place."

I watch as he crosses his arms and I notice a black blemish on the sleeve of his chef's coat … as if it caught on fire. It looks like he hasn't had the smoothest of openings, and I find my heart going soft at the thought … as a chef, I know how hard it is to run a kitchen, but I quickly shake that from my mind.

He's the competition.

He's part of the problem in this city … overpriced, soulless food.

"Fine," he smiles, his eyes still on mine. "Come here tomorrow after closing hours and I'll show you what real food is all about."

Nicole

Whenever I'm feeling this way, I like to sit down at the small table for two in the corner of the restaurant that gets the most sunlight. I close my eyes and let the warm rays caress my skin. Today is one of those days; and lucky for me I get to share a few minutes with Kate before the lunch rush hour. She’s the best friend, and employee, I could ask for. But even she's testing my nerves today.

I take a deep breath and gaze out the window into the busy street; his words ringing in my ears. I’ve replayed them so many times, overlapping them with my own thoughts that they morphed into something else. An uncontrollable ravenous monster that is eating all my time and concentration.

I chuckle and then frown. I can’t remember what he said word for word anymore, just the gist of it. Real food . He said he’ll show me what real fucking food is. That bastard.

“You okay, boss lady?” Kate asks full of concern.

I must have a sour look on my face, because she only calls me that when she is trying to brighten my mood.

“It’s just…” I mumble, struggling to find words. “How do I put this plainly, Kate—”

“Careful now, Mrs. West is here for tea and scones with her daughter in law.”

I’m glad she interrupted me; it saved me the embarrassment of having to apologize for the long string of foul words that was parading through my head. “He’s an asshole,” I whisper. “A total asshole.”

“A rich one,” she says with a nod over her, ‘Coffee, because crack is not allowed at work ,’ coffee mug.

“Sure, whatever, but I don’t have to—”

“Wait!” Kate blurts out while slamming her mug down to the table, clearly harder than she had expected as her eyes widened. “Nicole, you’re not…”

“Not what?” I say over the rattling of silverware.

Gasping, she says, “Tell me I’m wrong?”

I want to play it off, but it's like she can read my mind. Just another reason why we work so well together.

“You’re going to pull one of your, ‘I’m too busy working’ tricks,” Kate says while rudely pointing at me. “You’re gonna close yourself down and hide in that tiny office of yours all day and night.”

I was beginning to question who I was most annoyed with in the moment: Kate or Palmer. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah you will. You’ll treat last night like it never happened. You’ll pretend the most famous chef in the world didn’t just move in on your territory and issue you a challenge. Damn, girl, people got shot for things like that in the wild west. You gonna let him claim jump you? Cause I’m not going to allow that to happen.”

I laugh. “You’re not, huh?”

“Nope.”

I sit there and watch a plan formulate behind her eyes. My head is swimming. His words. My words. Kate’s words. It's all a jumbled mess. Should I just tell her to stop and go back to work, or should I pull rank and tell her it's over—to drop it? Maybe she's right. I'm not sure, and something holds my words inside my throat, so I let her keep talking.

“You like checklists, Nicole, well, let’s make one.”

Tilting my head, and narrowing my eyes, I give her a cross look. “Okay…”

“Palmer is gorgeous. I mean-yeah-hot .” Kate turns apple-red in the face as she says so. Is it the steam from her coffee? No, she's been sipping that for the past thirty minutes. “Before he came to town, I would have said you were the best-looking restaurant owner around.”

“Great. Fine. Sure, he’s good looking.” I shrug. “Yeah, hot, I guess. Why does that matter?”

Kate is mirroring my look, a habit of hers when she thinks I'm saying something off. Normally I see this during business related decisions, but her meaning in this moment is not lost on me.

“He’s a super-famous celebrity and that alone equals a ton of attention. Just think about the burst of social media awareness you’d be getting. I bet a hundred or more tweets.”

“And how would I glean from his celebrity, Kate? How?”

“Any fucking way possible.”

I nod at the nearest customers, causing Kate to grimace as she continues.

“All it would take is a couple of dates—”

“Dates?”

“Yeah, public ones. Get people interested in you two, then redirect all the attention back here to the restaurant, Nicole. You know, we could use the business.”

“I want people to come to my restaurant because the food is good, not because…”

Leaning forward, Kate begins to whisper. “Because you’re sleeping with the hottest guy in town?”

“No!” I raise my voice, nearly spitting in her face.

She shakes her head while crossing her arms and leaning back; I can tell she is frustrated with me. She wants to see me find a good man. All she wants is for me to be as happy as she is. But Palmer—yeah—he’s an asshole.

“Fine… Because you and another restaurant owner are battling it out for best of the best.” Yawning, she sarcastically says, “So scandalous…”

I think a moment. I already knew Percy was on my side. “You think the critics would compare us?”

“Haven’t they already?”

Kate is making a good point. But how can I compete with Palmer’s money and celebrity? I begin to wonder. The food. I realize. My food is way better. He might have more Instagram followers, but I’m the better chef.

“You’re right, Kate.” A calmness washes over me. “I’ll go to his restaurant tonight. He can spend all his time and money trying to impress me, because in the end I know what really matters.”

Kate smiles. “And what’s that?”

“The backbone of any good restaurant.” I say retuning her smile. “Heart.”

Now I can’t wait to see Palmer fail.

Palmer

I pace the kitchen, and look at my watch.

She should be here any minute. It's not like me to feel this anxious…especially not over a woman I hardly know. But this woman seems different.

Just as I think this, I look up and see her figure through the glass doors. I walk over and unlock it for her.

"You made it," I say, gesturing her inside.

"I thought I'd give you a chance to redeem yourself," she grins. "How could I say no?"

My eyes travel the length of her body. She certainly didn't dress up for the occasion, but she looks stunning all the same.

She's beautiful, with waves in her hair curvier than macaroni, and she smells like a garden—fruity and floral, like apple blossoms and amber and sliced peaches and sandalwood.

It's intoxicating.

Honestly, I'd fuck her if she wasn't such a smart ass.

"So what's on the menu tonight?" she says, pulling her hair over one shoulder.

"Oysters," I grin.

She rolls her eyes. "You're joking, right? Does this sort of thing usually work on the women you invite over for dinner?"

"Why do women do that?"

"Do what?"

"That."

"I don't understand," she says, shaking her head. "What do you mean?"

"Always assume a guy's intentions," I say.

"Because men are easier to read than a book," she smiles.

"Not this one," I grin. "And besides, I guarantee you've never had oysters like this before. So, suspend judgment."

She sits down. "Fine. Try me."

Before I bring out the oysters, I pour her a glass of white wine and watch as she brings it to her lips.

She's not admitting it yet, but based on the look in her eyes, she's already impressed.

I bring out a tray of freshly shucked oysters on ice. I watch her eyes light up with curiosity.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she asks.

"I like secrets."

"I've never had oysters like these before."

"Well then, what kind of chef are you?" I say, laughing and giving her a hard time.

"It's true. Glidden Point Oysters, right? They're rare, and I'm a little … nervous," she laughs. There's an innocence hidden in her eyes and it makes my heart kick in my chest.

I want to pull her close to me and allow myself to get drunk on her smell alone. I want to feed her the most expensive foods that money can buy.

I shake my head. What the hell is wrong with me? I need to keep this professional.

I squeeze a wedge of lemon on the oysters and watch their flesh ripple from the acidity.

"You see that?" I say, and Nicole nods. Never eat a raw oyster that isn't still alive.

I reach for her hand. It's delicate for the hands of a fellow chef, and the realization of it makes my cock twitch. "Here," I say, placing a small fork between her fingers.

She grabs it and follows my lead.

"Move it around in its own liquor," I say, her hand still in mine, and together we give the oyster a gentle swirl.

She pulls back for a second. "There are other ways to eat an oyster, you know." It's as if she's trying to prove that she knows her way around food, and doesn't need my lead.

"Trust me," I reply, locking my eyes on hers. "Taste it…and you won't want it any other way."

I take the fork from her hand and replace it with the shell of the oyster.

"Here, hold it." I watch as she grabs it with the tips of her perfectly manicured fingers, the scarlet polish on her nails flashing against the cold grey of the shell. I lean in close, speaking just above a whisper.

"Go ahead," I say.

She begins to part her moist lips, bringing it to her mouth.

"Do you suck or swallow?" I grin.

"Very funny, Palmer."

"Bad joke, I know. But seriously, you really should just take it down your throat," I say, a grin forming across my lips. "It's really the only acceptable way."

She returns the smile, and raises it back to her lips. I watch as her lips part again, and she places the edge of the shell to her mouth.

She tilts her head back, exposing her slender throat to me, and for a second, I imagine dragging my tongue across it and resting it against her pulse. I wonder how fast her heart is beating, and what her pulse would feel like fluttering beneath my tongue.

Would it feel like a trapped butterfly? Or the purr of a sports car?

Fuck, this woman is something else.

She throws her head back and I watch as her throat swells.

"So?" I ask, as soon as she finishes.

She smiles. "That was…pretty good."

"Pretty good? Is that all?"

"Fine. It was amazing."

"I'm glad. Because there's more where that came from," I say, looking down at the chilled platter. "Wouldn't want these to go to waste."

She reaches for another, repeating the process. As she does it, my eyes travel down the length of her body, savoring the deep crevice between her breasts.

"So…tell me," I say. "What's your real motive for meeting me tonight?"

"What makes you think I have a motive?"

"Everyone has a motive."

She considers this for a moment. "Well, your dishes didn't impress me opening night, and like I said, I wanted to give you another chance."

"Have I left you with a different impression?" I ask.

"Very," she smiles.

"Good. Still hungry?"

"You have no idea."

As if my cock wasn't hard enough already, now it's as stiff as steel. And as much as I want to bend her over my kitchen, I know I need to keep it professional.

She takes another slow sip of wine and carefully places the glass down.

There's a slight imprint of her lips left on the rim of her glass from her lipstick. She's relaxing…even her legs are loose and she parts them slightly. She grabs my hand and brings it to the top of her warm, soft, thigh.

"You know what I think?" she says.

"I don't pretend to know," I say, shaking my head.

Her question hangs in the air, thick and full of promise.

"I think that if you want to see real food," she says, "You should come over to my apartment tomorrow."

Nicole

What was I thinking? Inviting someone like Palmer over to my small, cramped apartment? I must be going crazy.

He's going to take one look at this place and come up with an excuse to leave.

I'm sure he owns shoe closets bigger than my apartment…and furniture worth more than anything I own.

This is embarrassing.

I sit back on the sofa and take another sip of my wine. It immediately transports me back to last night—his restaurant, the way he looked at me with those piercing blue eyes, and those oysters…don't even get me started on those oysters.

They were that good. One taste and I was practically throwing myself at him.

How did that even happen? I've never acted that way before. What's wrong with me?

I grab my cell phone and immediately type a question into Google: Are oysters really aphrodisiacs?

Google gives me 128,000 results…and I immediately start reading about Casanova, an 18th century lover who supposedly ate 50 oysters for breakfast every morning to keep up his sexual stamina enough to bed over a hundred women. Can you imagine eating that many in a single day?

Was that Palmer's plan all along…to get me all hot and bothered?

Well, if they worked for Casanova…

Then my eyes continue to scan the screen, and I see articles about oysters linked to increased fertility. The thought of that makes my face flush.

Is my face flushing from the wine…or the thought of my fertile body against Palmer's?

Oh God, I'm a mess.

I shake my head.

Snap out of it, Nicole! Now's not the time to be thinking about fertility… especially not next to the image of Palmer.

If Palmer thinks he's getting into my bed tonight, he's wrong.

Just then, I hear a knock at the door.

Shit. He's here!

I place my glass of wine down and quickly straighten my dress. I take one last look at myself in the mirror, fixing my hair and making sure my mascara isn't smudged.

Then I hurry toward the door, take a deep breath, and open it.

The sight of him almost makes my breath catch in my throat, and I stand there dumbly looking at him for what seems like an embarrassing amount of time.

He bends down to pick up something that he drops, and as he does this, I can see the muscles in his thighs flex and stretch the fabric of his suit.

A new heat flushes across my face.

God , this man is hot.

I have to keep reminding myself that I invited him here tonight to cook for him…and nothing else.

"Come in," I say, opening the door wide enough for him to enter.

He smiles and immediately starts joking with me. "You sure you want to cook for me tonight?" he says. "I'm not easily impressed."

"Well, get ready to be surprised," I say.

He walks into the living room and looks around the apartment. I can't help but feel self-conscious. My place has to be far more humble than the places he's used to.

"Cute place," he says.

"You don't have to say that."

"I mean it," he says. "It's cozy…in a good way."

"Well, the magic is in the kitchen," I say, trying to divert his attention from the mismatched furniture and worn out carpet of the living room, and he follows me.

"Is this the only place where all the magic happens?" he asks.

I know exactly what he's insinuating, but I pretend to ignore it.

"The pasta should be done," I say, changing the subject.

"Is that what we're eating tonight?" he says. "Pasta?"

"It's not just any pasta," I smile. "It's my grandmother's recipe…every bit of it, from the Bucatini down to the Bolognese."

I grab the steaming pot of pasta, carry it to the sink, and drain the boiling water through the colander. I give the colander a shake, to ensure the water is gone, and I bring the pasta to the Bolognese sauce simmering on the stove.

Then, I grab my wooden spoon…the very same one used by my grandmother, and maybe even her mother before that, and I stir. I bring the spoon from the sauce, cup one hand underneath it, and carefully bring it to Palmer's mouth.

"Here," I say. "Taste this."

He places his mouth on the spoon and takes a sip.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"Unbelievable," he says. "That's good—real good."

"Just wait until you try it with the handmade Bucatini."

I grab a plate and place some of the pasta and sauce on top. Then I shave a few fresh curls of parmesan onto the dish.

Palmer grabs a fork, twirls the pasta between the prongs and brings it to his mouth. He chews slowly, considering the flavors and textures. He doesn't say anything right away, and instead goes in for a second bite.

"Stunning," he says finally.

"You like it?"

"Love it," he says. "I've never had a dish like this before. I mean it. You'll have to share the recipe."

"I can't do that."

"You don't trust me?" he says, smiling and stepping closer.

"It's a secret family recipe," I say. "No one outside of the family has it."

He reaches out and brushes my face with the tips of his fingers.

"If anyone can keep a secret," he says, moving his fingers from the side of my face down to my lips, "it's me."

I can't look away. I can't move. I'm drawn to Palmer like a moth to a flame, and the more he touches me, the more I want him.

My eyes are locked on his and he suddenly leans down, slowly pressing his lips to mine.

The feeling is instant and electric. Like I've been shocked by the live end of a wire. I part my lips and feel his warm tongue basting mine. I can feel myself melt into his embrace.

What have I gotten myself into?

Nicole

“I’m sorry,” Palmer tells me, standing up straight and taking one step back. He purses his lips, and then looks at me hesitantly. “I shouldn’t have.”

Slowly, I raise my hand and brush my thumb over my lips, feeling the way the warmness of his lips seems to linger on mine.

“You’re sorry… for what?” I ask him, and the words leave my lips before I can even process what I’m saying. I’m not thinking rationally right now, but how could I? After being kissed by him, it’s almost a miracle I’m still thinking.

Slowly, I get up and go on tiptoe. Grabbing him by his shirt, I press my lips against his, closing my eyes as I succumb to another perfect kiss.

He’s on me then; his lips curl into a grin, his hands find my waist as he kisses me with a gentleness I would never believe he had in him just a few days ago. It’s still hard for me to understand what’s happening right now, but…

Does it even matter?

Our lips have touched, and my body’s telling me all about what I need to do next. And, God, I've never felt anything like this before. I’ve never…Well, I’ve never actually been with anyone before.

No matter—he’s here now, his hands tracing the contour of my curves over my black dress as his cock becomes hard. I feel it against my thigh.

There’s a slow burning ache between my legs, my pussy becoming as wet as it has ever been. God, what’s happening to me?

Without even thinking about what I’m doing, I take one hand to his crotch, pressing against his cock with the open palm of my hand and rubbing over it. Softly, I trace its contour with just the tip of my fingers, imagining how it will feel to have his long member sliding inside of me.

He feels so damn big. He’s so huge that I still have a hard time understanding how it’s even possible for something like…this to exist.

His shape is long and thick, perfect, really, and I can’t help but salivate at the thought of having him deep inside of me…

My heart races fast as I try to wrap my mind around the fact that someone like Palmer is here with me, his body burning with lust and desire. He’s one of the most important chefs in the world, a wealthy man, handsome and charming, someone who can have any woman he desires…and I’m just a simple girl from a small town.

How can he even want me?

Whatever. He wants me.

That’s all that matters.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, I start unbuttoning his pants, brushing my fingers over his boxer briefs. My heart is drumming anxiously inside my chest, and I slide my hand under his boxer briefs, my fingers curling around his member as if they have a life of their own.

I start stroking him in all his glorious length, going over from his tip to his balls—oh, God , I can’t wait to feel each and every inch of his cock deep inside of me.

If we keep going at it like this, he’s going to ruin me, I just know it. Now that we’ve kissed, it’s just impossible for me to keep my hands off of him.

And that sounds so good. What could possibly be better than having my body completely destroyed by someone like Palmer?

Like every girl, I want the first time to be special. Different, even. I never thought it’d happen in a cramped apartment and with a man I'm supposed to hate.

But being here with him…it feels special.

It feels different.

I caress his balls with my free hand, still grasping his cock tight while I move my hand up and down, from his tip to the base, marveling at his size.

I need it inside me. I need that as much as I need air to breathe and my heart to beat. It would be a sin to waste such a moment…

He nibbles at my lower lip, his hands going down my cheeks and then my neck, to the round mounds of my breasts, grabbing and squeezing gently.

Possessed by what seems like an insatiable hunger for my breasts, he slides the shoulder straps of my dress down my arms and then leans into me and starts sucking on my right nipple, pulling down the cup of my bra and holding it in place with his long fingers. I can’t help but moan as his tongue dances in circles around it, lapping at it endlessly.

Palmer leans into me, his lips against my ear, and he whispers.

“I have no idea what we’re doing,” he breathes out. “But this feels amazing.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks as he says it, and I don’t even know what to say. Having someone like Palmer whisper those things at me is better than almost anything else I have experienced during my short time here on this planet. I could spend the whole day in his arms, with him whispering these things to me, and I would never get tired of it.

Only problem I can see with that is that I would spend the whole day completely wet.

But then again, that sounds just about perfect.

I don’t even know how it's possible for me to be so damn wet. It’s completely ridiculous. Of course, my body seems to disagree; every single cell inside me seems to be aching for Palmer.

“I…I need to tell you something,” I find myself saying, placing my hands on his chest and taking a step back. He looks into my eyes, his lips just a thin line made out of curiosity as he waits for me to continue.

“I’ve never…been with anyone,” I finally confess, barely believing that I’m telling him this.

But if I’m saying it, that’s because I want that to change…and I don’t know what to think of that.

Maybe it’s better that I don’t even think. Maybe it’s better that I just act.

“Seriously? Someone like you ?” he asks me, and his words are pregnant with surprise.

“Someone like me?”

“Nicole…Fuck. You’re beautiful. And not just that; you’re smart and talented. How is that even possible?” he continues, reaching for me and tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

“I guess…I’ve always been busy with work,” I reply, looking down at my feet as I feel my cheeks growing red. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. Especially with a guy like Palmer.

“Not tonight,” he whispers, and before I can do anything, he sweeps me off my feet. Carrying me in his arms, he walks out of the kitchen and into my bedroom, nudging the door open with the tip of his shoe.

He doesn’t even bother with flicking the light switch; he just carries me all the way to the bed, gently sitting me there.

He pushes me down on the mattress, his hands darting to my back and lodging themselves there. In a sudden movement, he is on top of me, our bodies pressed against each other as we kiss.

Oh, God, is this really happening?

His lips go from my mouth to my chest then, and as he sucks and licks my nipple, I can’t help but wonder if this is what paradise feels like.

He squeezes my breasts hard as he sucks on them. One of his hands goes down my belly and, still over the fabric of my dress, presses it over my eager pussy, rubbing it slowly with just the tip of his fingers.

I grind against his hand, swaying my hips and trying to sate the aching desire my insides feel for him.

Damn, I can feel every nerve ending in my body yearning for him.

His hand goes down my waist and he slides it under my dress, his fingers hiking up to my thong; with a flick of his fingers, he pushes the small string of fabric to the side and brushes one finger slowly against my clit.

I shudder and exhale sharply as he presses down on it. It’s like being hit by lightning.

I can’t see, I can’t speak, I can’t hear—all that I feel is his fingers slowly stroking my pussy.

I thrust my hips upward against his hand; I can’t handle all this teasing, I really can’t. I’m going to die of anticipation.

Then, as if he’s capable of hearing my thoughts, he pushes my hips down onto the mattress, the palm of his hand pressing hard against my pussy. He lets one finger go inside of me in an upward motion and, before I can even let out a heartfelt moan, he has his thumb over my clit again.

He lets go without a warning—the absence of his touch almost too painful to endure.

Getting up, he grabs my hand and makes me stand; with a sudden movement, he has me pinned against the wall of my own bedroom, my back against the wall.

I close my eyes as he runs his hands through my hair and pushes it back from my face. We stand there in a silence only broken by the sound of our breathing, our bodies brushing against each other as we just savor that sweet closeness.

When I open my eyes, I see him looking at me, his lips slightly parted as if he’s lost in a daze.

My hands go to his chest, my fingertips feeling the rough outline of his muscles with deliberate care. He’s so perfectly sculpted that it’s hard to believe he wasn’t artwork done out of a marble block.

He reaches for my mouth with his, kissing me in abandonment. My heart flutters as I kiss him back, my lips submitting to one of the absolute best moments of my life. I could stay here forever, lost in this sweet trance.

His hands go down the side of my body and I tremble in anticipation, feeling his fingers stop at my waist and then make their way under my dress and up to between my thighs.

Once again, I quiver as he presses down on my clit, the gentle warmness of his fingers making my body feel light and relaxed.

Softly, he parts my outer lips with a slow flick of his fingers, and I gasp as he slides one inch of his finger inside me. Slowly, he feeds his finger into me, each inch drawing a trembling moan out of my lips.

“Oh, my…” I start, but he doesn’t let me finish. The words die in my throat as he slides one more finger deep inside me in a hooking motion, going straight for a secret spot I didn’t even know existed inside me.

It’s like he knows my body better than I do, as absurd as that sounds. He presses there, making my whole body burn; my muscles tense up as he rubs his finger deep inside me, and I arch my back as something snaps in me and ecstasy floods my mind.

I never thought I’d be a screamer, but I guess that’s exactly what I am; as he fingers me hard to the point of oblivion, and I come, there’s little else I can do but scream as loud as possible.

Yup, I’m definitely a screamer.

Once I’ve calmed down a bit, I reach for his cock, grasping it tightly in my trembling fingers, and I immediately know what I want to do.

I make him switch places with me. and then I fall to my knees, his cock dangerously close to my lips as I stroke him. He leans back against the wall, his hands resting on the top of my head, and I relish the feeling of absolute control.

He’s mine.

He’s mine for me to do whatever I want to do.

I part my lips and let my tongue out, flicking it against his tip; it’s warm and big, and I have to resist the urge to simply have him inside my mouth at once.

But no, I have to take my time. I want to drive him completely mad and show him that I can tease and torture just as well as he can.

Somehow, I can’t help but feel the importance of proving myself to him. It seems that I take as much pleasure from seeing him climax as I do from orgasming myself.

His pleasure is my pleasure.

I part my lips and brush them softly against him, the salty flavor hitting me at once. I want to have him inside my mouth so bad it’s unreal… God, my heart is tight in anticipation.

Still, I fight back against my eagerness, and I lick all his length, my tongue going down his shaft and then back up again, circling around his tip.

I lay my lips there once more, gently sucking on his head, and I can’t take it anymore; I open my mouth wide and let him slide in over my tongue.

In a second, my mouth is filled with him, his thickness almost too much for me. I have to force my jaw open so that all of him fits, and I can barely do anything with him inside my mouth besides slowly bobbing my head back and forth.

And that’s exactly what I do, a shiver going down my spine as I feel that delicious member of his being engulfed by my lips.

My hands grab at his firm ass, pulling him in and forcing his cock inside my mouth and down my throat. I lap with my tongue at his shaft, sucking eagerly and relishing every single second as I stroke him hard, my wrist flicking up and down in a flowing motion.

His fingers tighten on my head, grasping at locks of my hair, but he doesn’t pressure me in any way—he lets me go at my own pace.

I start going faster then, my hand stroking him at the same time that I suck him. I try to go deep, but his long inches make it almost impossible for me. I try all the same, my mind ordering me to leave nothing on the table.

As I start to go faster, his hands start guiding me at the same time that he thrusts into my mouth ever so slightly. I look up at him and he grins at me, a flash of pleasure brightening his face. I can only imagine how it must be for him to see me there, on my knees, his huge cock inside my mouth.

I’m ready to go all the way, to not stop until he comes, but he has other plans. I almost feel sad as he pushes my head back and makes his cock pop out of my mouth; grabbing at my wrists, he makes me get up.

In a heartbeat, he has me pinned against the wall once again, holding both my arms above my head as he kisses down my neck and heads straight to my nipples. I moan as he sucks on them, my whole body buzzing.

Letting go of my arms, he lets his hands fall to my waist and he slowly goes down to his knees. Is he going to do what I’m thinking?

Oh, fuck, yes… Yes, he is.

He takes one of his hands and puts it under my leg, just below my ass, and makes me raise my leg. Holding me like that, he lifts my dress up to my waist and pushes my thong to the side.

He leans into me and has his tongue trace the contour of my inner lips with maddening patience, just stopping for one moment to flick it at my clit.

He goes on like that until I can’t bear it any longer. I thrust my hips against his mouth and, instead of fighting it, he lets himself go all out.

He wraps his lips around my pussy, sucking hard on my outer lips as he rubs his thumb around my clit. I throw my head back against the wall and moan hard, feeling my whole body shiver as my mind goes numb with ecstasy.

Where has he been all of my life? I definitely wouldn’t still be a virgin if I had met him before.

I grab his hair with such strength I’m amazed he doesn’t say a thing. But he doesn't’ complain; he simply redoubles his efforts as he devours me.

I press my pussy against him wildly as I hold his head in place, not believing what I’m doing. This isn’t like me, to be overtaken by desire in such a way... But then again, I’ve never met someone quite like Palmer, someone that knows exactly what he’s doing.

I would be counting my blessings right now if it weren’t for the fact that my mind has simply decided to shut itself off.

Wrapping his lips around my clit, he sucks eagerly as he holds me back against the wall with his forearm over my waist. As he sucks, he lets one finger slide inside me.

He starts fingering me slowly, each coming and going motion of his making me purr anxiously. I can feel my body already starting to sweat.

In an instant, there’s one more finger inside of me and, before I can prepare for it, he slides a third one. I don’t know how that’s even possible!

He strokes me slowly, his movements gentle and patient, keeping a rhythm that makes that slow mounting pressure spread all over my body and coat every single one of my senses.

My hands start grabbing at random locks of his hair in abandonment as electricity bites at me, clawing under my skin at my taut muscles. I grit my teeth and close my eyes, the universe exploding inside my head.

My arms shake and tremble, flaying wildly; if he wasn’t holding me against the wall, I’m sure I would simply collapse onto the floor.

As it is, I remain in place, delight coursing through me with such intensity I can’t even remember my own name or where I am.

Once I come crashing back down to earth, he takes his fingers out of me, and I quiver as he does it. Placing my hands under his chin, I make for him to get up; standing tall, he grabs my head with smooth gentleness and kisses me softly.

I can feel my own scent still dancing in his lips, and it simply drives me completely crazy.

“Tired?” he asks me, that grin of his telling me there’s more to come. I don’t even have the strength to speak, so I just shake my head and lie.

Of course I’m tired, but right now, I won’t admit it. Oh, no, I’ll fight through tiredness as long as his body is close to me; I’ll push myself to the brink of exhaustion and then I’ll just keep pushing further.

Without even letting me catch my breath, he makes me raise my leg once more and, before I know it, he pushes my thong to the side and has his tip brushing over my inner lips. I expect for him to enter me with one simple and quick thrust, but he simply holds his position there.

I feel his cock pulsing in aching desire, and I have to admire the ability he has to take his time to drive me mad.

I break free of his grasp to push his pants down his legs and my trembling fingers start unbuttoning his shirt frantically. I need to feel every single inch of him inside me, feel every bit of his body pressed against mine.

With my arms over his shoulders, I thrust my hips at him, begging him with my body to have at me. But he resists, matching my thrust with a backwards motion, and simply continuing to brush his tip against me once more, up and down, up and down.

I can’t take it, I really can’t. I need to feel him inside of me, and I need it now.

“Are you sure?” he asks me suddenly, and I can see it in his eyes: if I’m not totally sure of what I’m doing, he’ll back off, as hard as it might be.

But all I do is nod in desperate agreement. The fact that he asked me makes me want this even more. I’ve never felt like this before; my muscles are tense, and my insides seem to be burning.

And to have him so close to me and yet doing nothing…

The outer limits of my mind are stretching and I can feel something in me about snap.

“Yes, I want you…” I moan, still trying and thrusting my hips at him.

“I love it when you say it like that,” I hear him saying, but I can barely understand what the words mean. My mind is exploding, and all rationality his slipping away from me.

“Please…” I beg. “Please…”

He gives me half an inch of his cock, and I feel my whole body trembling frenetically.

“More…”

One inch in and my pussy is tight like a vice around his cock. I push my body forward, but he resists my advances, feeding his cock into me so slowly even time seems to be distorting around me.

When I think he’s about to let it go all in, he pulls back, starting the process all over again.

“No…” I cry out, my fingernails clawing at his back.

“You’re in charge here,” he whispers, caressing the back of my neck with the tip of fingers.

He thrusts into me with such force that fireworks go off behind my eyelids.

I’m gritting my teeth now, a fire running through my limbs. He starts to thrust hard, his hips slapping against mine in a furious rhythm of flesh-on-flesh.

He keeps going for God knows how long, his body tirelessly punishing mine. I don’t even know how the hell I’m still holding my position against the wall, such is the fury he is unleashing on me.

I tighten my pussy around his cock with violent harshness, and that only makes him go harder, his coming and going motion destroying my mind.

One hard and final thrust and his cock lodges itself deep inside me, his tip pressed tight against my g-spot.

Just like that, I explode.

Again.

One more hard and deep thrust and I come in an instant, a maddening scream escaping my mouth and filling the entire cabin. I feel my inner walls spasming around his cock, but instead of stopping, he keeps thrusting at me, unrelenting.

Still with my whole body buzzing, my limbs completely out of control, I raise my leg just a bit more, allowing him to go deeper inside me.

Am I moaning or am I screaming? I don’t even know, and, to be honest, I don’t care.

He keeps moving in and out of me as the orgasm still bites and claws at my mind, and I love him for it.

I don’t want him to stop. Each thrust of his dilutes the whole world around me, and I feel myself being pulled into the depths of a world of pleasure I didn’t even know existed.

I lean into him, still with my eyes closed but looking for his mouth. He locks his lips on mine, our kiss growing wild and completely savage.

Pulling back, he takes his lips to my neck and then whispers.

“We’re just getting started.”

I nod, my head spinning with the promise of more.

He pulls me into him and, before I know it, he has me in his embrace.

We kiss in abandonment as we stumble through the bedroom, completely drunk with lust. With a growl, he throws me on top of the bed and I fall there, my trembling body pushing against the sheets. With my back to him, I breathe out deeply as my body appreciates the fact that it can lay down at last.

I feel exhausted, completely spent… And still, I want more. Much more.

He climbs on top of me, his fingers like hooks on my waist, and I jut my ass at him. I prop myself up on my elbows, feeling exposed in that position and loving it even more precisely because of it.

I grab at the sheets as he smacks my ass with the back of his hands, and I wiggle my backside at him in tense anticipation. With a quick motion of his hands, he grabs my thong and pulls it down my legs. My whole body shakes as I feel the fabric of it brushing down my skin.

How did this happen to me? It wasn’t supposed to happen. But I am becoming completely crazy for him, each second his body isn’t on mine painfully tortuous.

Parting my pussy lips with two fingers, he rams his cock deep inside me and my arms lose all their strength at once: I collapse onto the bed, only my backside still raised up at him.

He thrusts into me hard and unforgiving, handing sweet punishment in the most lovable way possible. He reaches for my hair, grabbing and gathering it in a bunch and making me raise my head.

I’m moaning… I’m moaning so hard it’s unbelievable. I do it until I feel my throat becomes sore, and then I do it some more.

I start rocking my hips back at him, the pendulum motion of his cock going faster and faster.

I’m so spent even my soul feels numb.

And yet he never stops. He reaches around my waist, finding my clit and rubbing on it as he keeps pounding into me mercilessly.

I try to scream in delight, but even my throat is completely exhausted. I simply lay there as he brings me once more to the edge of delirious rapture and throws me down into the abyss.

Hooking his fingers onto my hips, he pulls back and makes me turn around. I lay back on the bed, opening my legs so that he fits right between them. A shiver goes up my spine as I lay eyes on the perfectly sculpted muscles of his chest.

Leaning into me with his whole body, I feel the tip of his cock brush against my pussy.

Soft and careful, he holds his position there until I can’t take it anymore. I thrust my hips toward him, my pussy lips parting and engulfing his tip. I bite my lower lip as I feel him enter me.

Now there's nothing but ecstasy for me. As I feel him slide in and out, his thickness straining and pushing against my inner walls, I’m taken to a place so perfect and dream-like that I’m not even sure if whatever is happening is real.

It’s way too perfect to be real.

I notice him looking at me, eager to know if I’m alright. I respond in the best way I can, with a deep moan that climbs up my throat and cascades down my lips with the ferocity of a wild animal.

How could it be any other way? His cock inside of me feels like completion, a pleasure so intense, it verges on the mystical.

He goes in and out softly then, my legs wrapped around his back and pulling him inside me. My eyes are closed, my mind only capable of processing the gentle thrusts of his cock as if there were nothing else in the world . And, as far as I’m concerned, there isn’t.

His body rocks against mine, the most delicious ebb and flow I’ve ever felt in my life, taking over until I can’t resist it anymore. The muscles in my legs make me tighten them around his back like a vice and, with both hands grabbing at his hair, I sway my hips from side to side uncontrollably as mind-numbing electricity takes my body by assault.

He keeps thrusting, rubbing my clit with suddenly erratic movements, I feel him ready; I summon what little strength still lives inside of me, and I tighten my hold on him. He stops then, his muscles so tense he seems made out of marble.

When his cock spasms harshly inside my pussy, I can’t help but submit to that wildfire inside of me and scream. Pleasure crashes against my soul as I feel his cum gushing in a torrent once more, an earthquake of climaxing delight attacking both our bodies.

I can’t hold any longer so I just collapse completely on the bed; he falls with me, his cock still buried deep in my pussy. I moan, feeling his thickness still spasming as he lays on top of me, cum dripping down my thighs.

We stay like that for…I don’t even know how long. One minute, one hour? We stay like that until our exhausted bodies become capable of moving again, time having transformed itself to an abstract concept.

He rolls to the side then, his hand resting on my lower back as he caresses the dimples there. I turn to him, struggling to open my eyes. He’s looking at me, a gentle smile on his lips.

“That was…” I try to say, but I can’t find the word to describe it. I don’t think any dictionary or language in the whole world has a word that fits the description of everything I just felt. It’s just impossible.

That was more than just sex.

“Yes, it was,” he merely agrees, and pulls me into him.

I lay my head against his chest and finally let exhaustion take over me.

In just a few seconds, I’m fast asleep.

Palmer

My eyes open, and I look around the small, dark bedroom.

Nothing is familiar.

Not the tight space, not the glow-in-the-dark clock the shape of a moon on the nightstand, not the carpet, not even the floral-print comforters...that I also happen to be butt ass naked under , I think, as I peer down at my body.

And then it hits me. It really sinks in.

I remember that I'm not home.

I remember the food…that secret recipe, and the sex…

Nicole.

What the fuck am I doing here? I drag my fingers through my hair, pulling it back from my temples. I rub my eyes, as if to make sure this isn't all just a dream, and then press my fingers against my forehead.

This isn't like me at all, to be sleeping with some girl in a shitty apartment, in a shitty part of town. I'm slipping. I've gotta get a hold of myself.

I have a goal, and I can't afford to get derailed now.

I need to get out of here. There's no telling where my clothes are, or my wallet, or my keys, or my phone…but I don't want to wake Nicole up, so I'm going to have to feel my way through the dark.

This place isn't that big. My stuff has to be close by.

I carefully slip my feet out of the comforter, and swing my legs off the bed. I stand up, my body stark naked, the darkness my only cover. I don't see my clothes, so I shuffle my feet against the carpet, hoping to walk into them.

There's nothing. They’re not here.

So I get down on all fours, and picture what I must look like if someone where able to see me: Ridiculous. I feel like a kid going behind his parents' back and sneaking out of the house or something…but I guess that's partially true.

I'm trying to sneak out of this apartment.

I look over at the bed, to make sure Nicole is still sleeping. Luckily, she is.

I continue to feel along the carpet, and then I finally find my suit pants and boxers.

Thank God, I think. I slip them on. The room is so quiet that the sound of the fabric seems irrationally louder than I know it is, and I cringe as I pull them on and zip them up.

Fuck. I still need my keys, my phone, my wallet, my shirt, my shoes… okay, think , think, think , I tell myself.

When did I last see my things?

Last night was such a blur, I honestly can't remember.

There was food. There was wine. And then things escalated from there.

There was sex. Great fucking sex that I can't think about right now. I've gotta get—

My thoughts are cut short when I see two amber eyes peering at me from the darkness.

I walk over and see that it's Nicole's cat Whiskers, and that underneath the cat are my coat, shirt, wallet, and keys.

I walk over, and try to shoo the cat off my things, but it doesn't budge.

Move, cat, scram. I need these things more than you do.

“Meeeooww,” the cat voices back its disdain before jumping away. Even in the darkness, I can see cat hair all over my coat and shirt, and I try, with as much quiet as I can muster, to brush off as much as I can.

But of course it's no use. I'll need to get these dry-cleaned.

I slip my shirt and coat on, and then, as soon as I turn around to look for my shoes, they find me.

I trip and stumble into the bedside table, almost knocking over the moon-shaped clock. It teeters on its edges before finally settling back into place.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Seriously? Fuck my life right now.

Thankfully, Nicole still hasn't moved. At least I can still get out of here without her knowing. This'll be less a walk of shame, and more an act of Houdini.

I slip my feet into my shoes, hopping on one foot, and then the other. The cat eyes me from the corner of the room, as if mocking me with its orange orbs.

“Stop that,” I whisper. But Whiskers refuses to look away.

If it could laugh me right out of this room, I'm sure it would.

I shove my hands in my pockets and look for my phone. Shit. It's not there.

I pad my suit pockets—the two exterior and two interior pockets—but there's still no phone.

Then I see it out of the corner of my eye—a sliver of light bouncing off the glass of the phone's screen. It's on the chair next to the bed. I grab it and slip it into the pocket of my suit pants.

Finally. I have everything I need to make an exit and leave this place.

I take a few steps, heading toward the door, but I have a sudden urge to turn around and look back at Nicole, to look at her one last time before leaving.

When I do, I see the silhouette a perfect woman lying there. The bed sheets are pulled just below her breasts, and they're exposed to anyone lucky enough to look. It takes everything in me not to slide back into that bed and take her soft, warm body into my hands.

To run my tongue across her nipples and pinch them between my teeth.

I shake my head in disbelief. I've been with plenty of women in my life, but Nicole is different. When she's near, the rest of the world melts away. The maddening rush of the world seems to stop.

It's almost unreal how one woman can be so hot and so fucking perfect…and make me experience such mind-blowing sex.

“It's a shame,” I whisper, shaking my head again. I can't have any distractions in my life right now.

The clock is ticking.

And I have a restaurant to run.

Nicole

He's making enough noise to wake a bear. No one could sleep through that. How stupid does he think I am?

I can feel the bed shift as he slides out from the comforter. I hear him shuffling around the room looking for his clothes.

He's literally on his hands and knees fumbling his way through my dark bedroom. I stifle a laugh. I mean, he nearly knocks over my nightstand. How clumsy can one man be?

And even my cat seems to be annoyed with him.

For a moment, I think about saying something. Letting him know that I'm awake. Maybe even flipping the light on so he can find his things.

But if he's the kind of man who thinks it's okay to slip off after getting me in bed with him without so much as saying a good bye, or a thank you for a good night, then as far as I'm concerned, he doesn't deserve to leave here easy.

Besides, it doesn't matter. Not really.

Even if I did say something, I'm sure he'd rattle off some fake nicety, and give me some bullshit excuse as to why he has to leave here in a big hurry. He would probably say something along the lines of, It isn't you, it's me .

I'll let him think he's slipping out of here undetected, if that's what he wants. So I lie there, pretending to be asleep.

Which feels like both the dumbest and smartest choice I've ever made… all at the same time.

Then I hear him say something under his breath.

"It's a shame,” he whispers.

My mind reels. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Is it a shame he's leaving? Is he considering getting back into this bed?

Or is he ashamed for coming here in the first place and being with me?

As I listen to him leave, and hear the front door click open and then shut behind him, the silence of his absence weighs heavy on me.

There's no more wondering. He's gone, and he didn't bother sticking around.

The silence is definitive.

Why the hell did I sleep with an asshole like Palmer? I'm mentally kicking myself for being so weak.

Although if I'm being honest, there really is something about him that's magnetic. I'm drawn to him like ice cream is to cake, or like a strawberry is to chocolate.

When he's around, it's like the most natural thing in the world, and even though there's a small voice in the back of my mind that throws warnings and alarm bells, my body moves toward him without hesitation. I even cooked him my grandmother's secret recipe!

I slap my hand down on the mattress in frustration, bunching the bed sheets beneath me. It's clear that he's an asshole…but he's a hot asshole, and I've just had the best sex of my life.

Well, the first and only one, too, but I’m sure that sex isn’t always that…amazing.

That chiseled body. Those eyes. That smile. And those hands.

I feel my pulse flutter just thinking about him, and I grow wet.

He was a god in bed, he really was. I can feel my pussy begin to tingle as I think about how amazing sex was with Palmer—the way he moved with purpose, without hesitation, and how confident and calculated he was and how he just knew what he wanted—and what I wanted, too, for that matter.

Slowly, as is possessed, I part my legs under the bed sheets. I grab my breasts in my hands, and pinch my nipples between my fingers.

This immediately sends my body into overdrive, and I close my eyes and part my mouth, letting out an involuntary sigh.

I picture Palmer touching my breasts, not me. I imagine it's his strong hands grabbing my nipples, and kneading the soft flesh as if it were something prized.

I slowly move my hands down lower and lower, across my abdomen, and hover just above my pelvic bone before making the plunge even deeper.

I can’t believe I'm doing this. One minute I'm thinking about how much I regret sleeping with an asshole like Palmer, and then next I'm fantasizing about him.

Screw it, I think to myself as I spread my legs further. A little fantasizing never hurt anyone.

My mind focuses on Palmer's body.

Biting down on my lower lip, I slide my hand down between my thighs, pressing the tip of my fingers against my pussy. I stifle a moan, and then decide to go all the way; I slide my hand further and then press down on my clit.

Pleasure electrifies my nerve endings all at once, and my eyes roll back as I imagine Palmer back here in my bed, that mysterious smile dancing on his lips. I’d cook him a hundred more secret recipes just for him to be really here again.

I’d just reach for his cock, feeling it harden against my eager fingers…

Oh, God, I can’t stop myself now. I slide my fingers in my wet pussy and, parting my inner lips, slide my middle finger inside. I curl it upward like a hook, driving it all the way in and only stopping when I find my G-spot.

I press hard against it while I use my thumb to stroke my clit. I close my eyes as my brain starts to hum with an electricity all its own.

I imagine the chiseled chest that Palmer hides under his tailored suits and fancy chef coats, and how I'd like to explore the ridges of his abs with my tongue… and with my tongue on his abs, how I'd explore further down between his legs.

I can already imagine his enormous cock sliding in and out of me, taking my pussy…

“Oh, God,” I moan, my quivering voice echoing throughout the darkness of my apartment as I start moving my hand faster.

I slide one more finger inside my pussy and start flicking my wrist fast, my fingers moving in and out of me at a furious pace. I pretend they’re his cock, stretching me wide and driving me insane with a newfound hunger.

I arch my back, moaning loud enough for my cat to dart off—Whiskers must think I've lost my mind, but I don't care. This is too good.

I take my free hand to my breasts, squeezing them eagerly. Images of Palmer's naked body flash behind my eyes. I shut them tight, and a burning need to feel his body on mine consumes me.

In this moment, it's the only thing that matters.

“Oh, fuck,” I groan, my inner walls tightening around my fingers, and without warning, I begin moaning through grit teeth as a sudden spasm takes over my body. Every muscle fiber inside me begins to twitch erratically, and I have no choice but to ride the wave over.

When everything subsides and I'm able to open my eyes, I take a deep breath and look up at the ceiling.

Finally, my mind has cleared, and I decide: Having Palmer in my bed tonight was fun, but it was also a mistake.

He's a much better fantasy than he is a reality.

Palmer

I've messed up more dishes in a single afternoon than I have in my entire professional career—too much salt, too little salt, too much flame, not enough flame.

As much as I hate to admit it, I can't get Nicole out of my mind. Everywhere I turn, I'm reminded of her.

I'll never be able to look at another pasta dish without remembering that night at her apartment.

And just when I think the day can't get any worse, it does. Oh, it gets so much worse.

I'm standing in front of a hot skillet, searing a fresh tuna steak and getting ready to squeeze just the right amount of lemon on it when Brit bursts through the kitchen doors.

"Have you seen this?" she says. Her eyes tell me she's wild with frustration.

I look down and see her cellphone in her hand. The browser is open on her screen, and it appears to be a published article.

"Doesn't look familiar," I say, shaking my head.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but read this."

By the look on her face, I know it can't be good. I grab her phone and begin scrolling.

"Among the dishes offered by Chef Palmer's Pearl is a dry fish akin to prison food,” I read out loud. “I was too timid to try some items on the menu for fear of developing digestive problems, and that's putting it mildly. The risotto was inedible—having taken on the consistency and flavor of what I can only describe as wallpaper paste."

I roll my eyes.

"Oh, it gets better," Brit says. "Keep going."

I continue reading it aloud.

"I wouldn't wish for a natural disaster to strike anyone's restaurant, but if it did, then no one would have to eat the food offered by The Pearl on Park, and that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

“There literally isn't a single redeeming dish on the menu, unless you count the glass of ice water that accompanied my food. Chef Palmer's dishes are where hopes and dreams go to die. Hot mush, gummy waste, and lukewarm puddles are all apt descriptions for the food I tasted, which is a travesty.

“Even my salad looked as if someone squeezed an entire bottle of cheap dressing on it just to watch every piece of lettuce drown in its own misery. The steak was so overcooked that it resembled the grey innards of an unidentifiable animal."

My voice is now beginning to shake and I tighten into a ball.

"That's going too fucking far—I know I make the best fucking steaks!"

"This is bullshit," Brit says. "These are all lies. It's as if he's purposely trying to ruin you."

I look back down and continue reading the review. If I've read this far, I might as well finish.

"Chef Palmer's restaurant is a bungled and lack-luster attempt at bringing another fine dining destination to New York City. Even the foods that might deserve mild praise, like the grilled asparagus spears, were under-seasoned and could be procured for cheaper if you simply went to a nearby deli.

“As far as the potato soup goes…well, let me just say that it was as thin, murky, and unappetizing as dirty dishwater. As a kid, I was once dared to eat a worm freshly dug up from the school playground. I recoiled, and got so far as to place its wriggling body on my tongue before spitting it out.

“In retrospect, I'd gladly eat that worm before placing another ounce of Chef Palmer's food in my mouth. In summary: Eat at The Pearl on Park at your own risk."

I knew Percy Whitman was an asshole, but I didn't realize he could sink this low. This is possibly the worst review I've ever read. What the hell does Percy have against me?

"Can we survive this review?" Brit asks. She's visibly worried, and I don't blame her.

But if there's one good thing about me, it’s that I'm not a quitter. I have the resolve of a stubborn bull.

"Of course we can," I say. "We're going to keep making high-quality food, and win customers over one meal at a time."

"Uh—Chef—" she says, tapping me on the arm.

"Leave the worrying to me. I have everything under—"

"No, uh, I mean, the tuna," she says, pointing to the pan. "I think it's on fire."

"Ahhhh, fuck," I say, removing the skillet from the heat. The tuna is ruined. I was so caught up in reading Percy's review that I completely forgot about the dish that I was working on.

"Shit, this was supposed to be for table 7," I say, as a thin line of sweat zigzags down my temple. I can't believe how many meals I've fucked up today.

First, it was Nicole, and now it's Percy. I just can't focus. Even though we're busy, the best thing I could do right now is probably remove myself from this kitchen.

I need to do something about all of this.

I need to get my head on straight.

If I don't, I'll be helping everything Percy said come true, and I can't afford for that to happen.

"Brit, I need you to do me a favor," I say.

"Anything, Chef."

"I need to hand over all kitchen operations to you today."

"To me? Are you sure? It's so busy, and—"

I cut her off. "Look at me. There's no one I trust more."

With that, I unbutton my Chef coat, toss it to the side, and grab my car keys.

There's only one thing that can help me right now.

I need to find Nicole.

Nicole

I remove the mop from the bucket and press it against the tiled floor. Leaning on the handle, I push the fibers of the mop back and forth, and watch as their grey strands leave foamy streaks of soap in scattered patterns.

Sometimes I like to imagine that I'm a painter wielding a giant mop brush—painting the place in wild streaks.

I'm a firm believer that a restaurant's safety and success hinges on how organized and clean a place is. And judging by the amount of soap I'm using, this floor is going to be clean enough to eat off of.

Not that I'd suggest that, but I’m just saying…

As I push the mop, I perform a mental checklist—disinfect prep surfaces, wipe down the splash walls, clean the grill, pour a drain cleaner in the floor drain, run the hood filters through the dishwasher—check, check, check.

I'm making good progress, and even though it's late, I kind of like how quiet and solitary this place is after hours—when the guests are gone and everyone else is back at home. It's when I do my best thinking.

The quiet, the monotonous movements of cleaning… I can just let my mind wander.

Unfortunately, my mind keeps wandering back to the same thing: Palmer.

It's a tortuous loop.

His charisma. The way he can effortlessly keep a conversation. The way he can make me laugh. The way his eyes pierce me and reel me in. And of course what he can do in bed…

I shake my head. No. Not again.

I can't be thinking about him. It was one night, and it was a mistake.

A big mistake.

But I'd be lying if I said he wasn't constantly on my mind.

I let out a sigh and push the mop back into the bucket, rinsing it of soap and the day's grime.

I decide that the only way I'm going to stop my brain from overthinking is to listen to some music. I grab my cell phone and press my music-streaming app.

Let's see… I think I need to channel my grandmother right now. She always knew how to cheer my up and keep me motivated, and she's truly the reason why I'm in the restaurant business.

I scroll through my music options and stop on Doris Day, my grandmother's favorite singer. I play a song and immediately start dancing around the kitchen.

It transforms me.

"Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be, the future's not ours to see, que sera, sera."

I spin on my toes and reach my arms out, as if I'm giving the world a giant hug. I'm sure I look ridiculous right now, but I don't even care.

I'm loving the music. It lifts me. And it feels as if my grandmother is here dancing with me right now.

"When I grew up and fell in love, I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead, will we have rainbows, day after day, here's what my sweetheart said, que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be, the future's not ours to see …"

Why is it that every song turns to love?

If I didn't love this song so much, I'd change it, but whatever, I'm just gonna continue to dance this out.

I spin and twirl and, yes, I even picture myself doing all of this in the strong, muscular arms of Palmer.

I know, I know… I just can't help it. I don't know what's wrong with me.

It's probably for the best that I'm never going to see him gain.

Sex with him is too good. Is that even a thing? Sex that was too good ?

I probably sound insane. Regardless, I'm going to go on record and say it is. I'm living proof.

The chorus of the song comes back on, and in one final move, I run across the kitchen and do a small leap in the air—just like the way Baby jumps into the arms of Johnny Castle in the movie Dirty Dancing… except, it's not like the movie at all, and I don't land in a man's arms—I land in the dirty mop water.

Well, that's not exactly accurate. I bump against it and the brown water splashes into my shoes.

There goes my mood.

I can feel my pulse kick in agitation.

I reach for a towel and try to soak up as much of the water as possible, but now my feet are damp and cold, and I don't want to be here anymore.

I want to go home, soak in a bath, and pet Whiskers.

I want to pour myself a glass of wine, wear seat pants with an elastic band, and maybe even pig out on pizza and binge watch Netflix.

I wipe the sweat from my brow, and then take my ponytail out, letting my hair fall down and cascade around my shoulders.

I start flipping off all the light switches and reach for my keys when I hear something that makes me stop. It sounds like a low rumble… and it sounds like it's coming from right outside of my restaurant.

I take a peek out of the front window and see a motorcycle parked at the curb. A man is unstrapping his helmet.

Who in the hell is parking here at this hour? Doesn't he see the place is closed, and—

But once the helmet comes off, I recognize the man immediately, and my heart beats so fast I feel dizzy.

It's a total body reaction and nothing I can do or say will make my heart mellow out now.

The man is Palmer, and he is walking up the steps to my restaurant.

I unlock the door for him.

I go to open my mouth, but not a single word comes out. And before I can try again, he places both of his hands on my shoulders and pushes me up against the wall. Then, he leans down and his lips crash against mine.

It's the best kiss of my life.

Nicole

This is happening.

It’s not a dream, and it isn’t a hallucination

No, this is really happening.

With my mouth pressed against his, our tongues dance around one another in a frenzy, and my hands go down from his chest to his waist. I pull him into me, eager to have him—to make him have me—but he stops me, yanking on my hair.

“I had to see you,” he breathes out his attempt at an explanation, his voice brimming with desire. No; it’s more than desire or lust. It’s a burning need, one that forces him to relinquish all control.

I’ve never felt something quite like this; it’s a desire so strong, so fierce that now I understand how some women can make the rashest of decisions… I'm just glad it’s Palmer here with me. Somehow I know that with him it will be alright…

“Why?” I ask him, my voice quivering as I lock my eyes on his.

“Because I had to,” he replies, offering me a thin smile. “I had to .”

Our lips touch again, the sweet flavor of his mouth making my skin prickle. I reach with my tongue for his and, finding it, dance in slow gentle circles around it.

His hands go to my lower back, his long, thin fingers brushing against my skin. His touch is gentle and delicate and, behind closed eyes, I can hear how it makes my heart flutter inside my chest.

“I’m glad you came,” I find myself saying, running one hand through his hair, my heart beating so fast that I can barely think straight.

I don’t really know what’s taking hold of me, but I push him back against one of the walls, and press my mouth against his. He doesn’t even hesitate, placing both of his hands on my ass and squeezing it over my dress.

Grabbing him by his collar, I pull him close to me, so close our lips are almost brushing against each other. I truly don’t know what kind of devil got into me, but I no longer know the meaning behind the word control .

“I needed this,” he continues, his lips hovering over mine. “I needed to kiss you, to feel you again.”

With that, he closes the distance between our mouths; our kiss becomes savage, his hands pulling down the shoulder straps of my dress and hungrily looking for my breasts.

He grabs them, but this time gently, his fingers pressing down on my flesh. And then he pushes down the cup of the bra over my right nipple; leaning in, he lays his lips over it, sucking softly. I can feel my nipple hardening even more inside his mouth as he laps his tongue against it, tracing slow and seductive circles.

As he sucks, his hands go to my back and, finding the clasp of my bra, he undoes it, pushing it down my arms.

I shiver, the cool air in the room caressing my breasts. In an instant, his mouth goes from my right nipple to my left one, his lips wrapping themselves around it with care, and at the same time, with a kind of passionate fury.

I grab his hair, holding his head in place as he kisses my nipples one at a time, his long gentle fingers squeezing at my breasts.

“Wait, wait,” I tell him, placing both my hands on his shoulders and pushing him back.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” He asks me, his blue eyes trying to read the expression on my face.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I reply with a quick smile, and then I turn on my heels and cross the dining room. I lock the door, which I had unlocked to let him in, and then close all blinders, sheltering us from the outside.

As the darkness takes over the restaurant, long shadows caressing both our bodies, I start feeling as if I’m in a dream. A dream where the edges of reality become blurred and sweet, where the real world doesn’t have a say on how things go.

Closing the distance between me and him, I take my hands to his belt. Looking into his eyes, I unbuckle it with slow movements, the metallic jingle of it coming undone sending a shiver up my spine.

I pull his pants hard down his legs, and he takes his shoes off in the process, kicking them off one at a time.

“My turn,” he whispers, and his hands fly to my waist. He turns me around, his hands going up my back, and he pulls down the zipper of my dress. I push the dress down with the tip of my fingers, my bare ass turned to him.

I can feel his eyes devouring the sight of my half-naked body, enjoying the shape of my body and delighting themselves on how only just a small strip of fabric covers me.

Turning back to him, I put my hands on his chest and start unbuttoning his shirt. My fingers work faster, as does my heart, and I feel the tension rising in my body as the tan muscles on his chest come into sight.

I slide one hand down his chest and stomach toward his crotch, and I press it there, feeling him go hard. Turning my hand around, I curl my fingers around his length.

He takes the hint and does exactly what my body demands of him—he presses the palm of his hand between my thighs, his fingers caressing the wetness that has taken over me.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” he whispers into my ear; with a flick of his fingers, he pushes my thong to the side and feels my naked wetness with his fingers.

I am so wet I am almost expecting the wetness to drip down my legs.

I can't take it anymore.

“I needed it too,” I repeat, grabbing him tightly, feeling his hardness pulse against my fingers. “I needed it bad,” I continue, and then I find my knees buckling under my weight.

I go down on my knees, not even thinking about what I’m doing, and hook my fingers on the waistline of his boxer briefs. I pull them down, slowly, and I feel a knot in my throat as his cock comes into sight.

I run the tip of my tongue between my lips and then, my eyes never leaving his, I lean into him.

I only look away when my lips are hovering over the tip of his hardness, drops of pre-cum already glistening there. Using only my tongue, I reach for it and, the moment I finally touch the tip of his cock, his salty flavor hits me at once. It lands on my tongue and, moving quickly, travels all the way up to my brain, setting in motion a frenzy of desire and lust.

“I have no idea what you did to me,” I tell him, pulling back from his cock and looking him in the eyes again, “but I can’t help myself.” With that, I open my mouth as wide as I can and dive onto him.

I feel his shaft pushing down on my tongue and brushing against the inside of my cheeks as it goes down, but I keep on pushing through. To see him and touch him is one thing… But to have him in my mouth is a completely different thing.

Oh, and to have him inside me…I don’t even know how to describe how that makes me feel.

Perfection doesn’t quite represent how good it is to feel his body on mine.

I push myself down until my lips touch the skin at the base of his cock, his tip already pressed against the back of my throat, and I hold my position there.

I keep his whole cock inside of my mouth until I can no longer do it, and only then do I roll my lips back up his shaft, slowly moving them until they’re wrapped tight around his head.

I go all the way back, and my lips smack as his cock pops out of my mouth. Then, I tilt my head sideways and, with my lips pressed against the side of his shaft, I brush them down until my mouth is on his balls. I grab his boxer briefs again and, tugging hard on them, I send them down to his ankles. He kicks them off fast, and then rests his hands on my head.

“Keep going…” Palmer groans, tangling his fingers on my hair again. I look up at him and, as I do it, I part my lips and brush the tip of my tongue against one of his balls. I’m of half a mind to suck on him until he succumbs to pleasure and gushes all of his seed inside of my mouth, but I know that he wants much more than just coming in my mouth…

And, if I’m being honest, so do I.

I lap with my tongue at his balls and then I move to the next one, repeating my motions. Pulling back, I open my mouth as wide as I can and, cupping both his balls with one hand, I suck them both inside of my mouth. They fill me up in such a way that my jaw starts to hurt, and I have no other choice but allow them to slide out of my mouth one by one.

I go back to the tip of his cock then, my lips and tongue tracing an upward line over his shaft, and I fit the tip of his cock in my mouth once more.

The pressure of his fingers on my head intensifies, and I close my eyes, surrendering to the wild desire fluttering inside of me. I open my mouth as wide as I can and gobble up his shaft once more, bobbing my head up and down over his cock until the wet sound of my lips on his flesh seems to fill the whole restaurant.

It’s funny—I’ve never been with anyone before, but now I can’t imagine anything better than this. Pleasure shoots up from my feet to my knees, to my groins, and then up my spine until it finally nestles in my brain, blending in with the soft warmness of desire.

Still bobbing my head, I grab his cock with both my hands and start to suck and stroke at a matching pace, the pendulum motion of mouth and hands an entrancing one.

I could keep going like this forever… You know, I always thought that a blowjob was solely for the man’s pleasure, but now I see that I was wrong—I’m doing it right now not because he likes it… but because I do.

I only stop when he holds me by the hair, stopping my pendulum motion, and pushes me back until his cock pops out of my mouth.

“You’re driving me completely insane…” he tells me, deviousness in his eyes. “You know that, don’t you…?”

“Maybe,” I tell him, a wild grin taking over my lips, “but why don’t you show me?” With that, I go up to my feet and grab one of his hands.

I guide him toward one of the tables at the center of the dining room and push him back, forcing him to lay down; I climb on top of him fast, straddling him.

He grabs me by the waist almost immediately and hooks his fingers on my waist.

“You look delicious,” he tells me, his eyes roaming all over my naked skin, and I can almost see desire floating in his deep blue eyes.

“That means a lot, coming from a chef,” I whisper back at him, taking both my hands to his crotch and grabbing his cock again. I want to push his cock deep inside of me, to ride him until I pass out, but he’s taking his time…

Instead of simply pulling me close, he brushes two fingers down my neck and cleavage, and then he keeps going until his fingertips meet the place where skin and thong meet. Slowly, he goes over the barrier, my eyelids drooping as I feel the soft pressure of his fingers on my drenched pussy.

Desire igniting my movements, I start to stroke him at a gentle rhythm, my hand going up and down his shaft with clockwork precision.

As his fingers leave my pussy and go back up my torso, a shiver runs up my spine and makes my skin prickle. He takes his hands to my breasts, squeezing them gently.

That gentle warmness of desire grows fiercer under my skin as I feel his touch, my two hard rosy nipples burning under the palm of his hands.

As if he could read my mind, he leans into me, parting his lips and fitting my right nipple into his mouth; lapping at it with his tongue while he sucks, he forces a whimper out of my lips, pleasure turning into sound.

“I like that,” he tells me, pulling back and looking into. “To hear you moan…” He goes to my other nipple, nibbling at it with the right amount of pressure and making the desire that roams free inside of me grow hungry and wild.

All rational thoughts lose themselves in the woods of my mind, and I don’t even want to reel them in—no, let them go and lust will take over, exactly the way it should happen.

“I’ll moan more…I’ll moan as much as you want me to…” I whisper into his ear, and then nibble at his earlobe, pulling on it with my teeth. “But you’ll have to make me.”

That’s all I have to say; the moment the words leave my mouth, he lets go of my breasts and flattens the palm of his hand right between my thighs, pressing hard against my drenched pussy.

With a wicked grin, he pushes my thong to the side and, no waiting or teasing to it, he simply pushes his index finger past my folds. Curling it upward like a hook, he runs it all the way in, only stopping when his fingertip is tightly pressed against that inner spot inside of me, the one that has me moaning right now.

I throw my head back, and I let the moan that’s climbing up my throat explode in the air. He takes that as a good omen and slides his finger out and then in again, fingering me until insanity takes over. God, he’s only using his finger and I can barely think straight…

When the moment comes for him to use his cock, I’m really not sure on what’s going to happen to me.

Is there such a thing as too much pleasure? Can you die from it? Can it ever be too much?

“I want…” I pant, and he slides his finger all the way in until it meets my G-spot.

“You want…?” He asks me, rubbing his finger against my insides and making me breath so hard that it’s almost impossible to speak. Screw that, I can barely think of what I want to say, let alone say it.

“I want…” He does it again, pressing harder against my G-spot and cutting me short. Still, I grit my teeth and power through, ordering my brain to keep working through the avalanche of pleasure that’s assaulting me.

“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.

But could I really see myself dating a guy who might ruin my business?

I stop myself just short of answering that question. I justify it by saying that at least Palmer is the best sex I've ever had.

I'm talking mind-blowingly good . Sex like that is hard to walk away from.

I look at the clock and am reminded that it's only getting later and later, and so I grab my purse and keys, and leave the apartment.

Once in the car, I type in Palmer's address and wait for the GPS to route me.

I look down at the map. Swanky neighborhood , I say to myself. But what did I expect? Palmer is a culinary rock star.

As soon as my phone says, "You've arrived at your destination," I look up and see just how breathtaking his apartment is.

A valet parks my car, and a doorman ushers me inside.

"I'm looking for Chef Palmer," I say.

"Is he expecting you?"

"Yes, he is."

"One minute," he says, making a quick phone call, and I can only assume that Palmer tells him to let me through because immediately he says, "Right this way, ma'am."

I walk to the elevator, and as soon as I step in and see the door close behind me, my heart starts to thump in my chest. It's beating to a whole new drum, as if it has a mind of its own.

My heart and mind are racing in equal measures. Why am I so nervous? This isn't the first time I've met with Palmer… but it is the first time I'm meeting him at his apartment, in his space… not mine.

And for some reason, it makes everything feel so different.

It's new, and it makes me feel vulnerable.

I watch the elevator climb to the top penthouse suite, and as soon as the door dings open, I take one last deep breath and step out.

Everything about this building screams luxury. It couldn't be more different from my own apartment.

Finally, at the end of the hall, I see two massive doors. It's the entryway to his apartment.

I straighten my hair and knock.

It seems like an eternity before Palmer answers, but in reality, I know it must've only been a few seconds. Regardless, as soon as the door opens, my heart catches in my throat.

He's wearing an easy smile and smells like summer on the Atlantic, and I want nothing more than to feel his body against mine.

He doesn't give me a chance to say a word. Instead, he scoops me into his strong arms, lifting me nearly off my feet, and in this moment, there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

Nicole

The moment his lips touch mine, I become his.

There’s no other way of saying it. Whatever it is about Palmer, I simply can’t resist him.

I don’t even know why I came here. Is that all it takes—one phone call, and I’m knocking at his door? I’ve never thought of myself as the easy type, but when it comes to Palmer…well, when it comes to Palmer, I have no idea what to think.

He was supposed to be this cold figure, a harsh man that cared about nothing but his ambitions. But that’s not the real Palmer.

At least that’s not the Palmer I’ve come to know.

"I’m glad you came," he whispers and, leaning in, Palmer brushes his lips against mine once more. As he kisses me, my hands roam over the fabric of his shirt, untucking it and pulling it free from his pants. My fingertips feel the outline of his abs, and I almost lose it.

Butterflies hit the pit of my stomach, outstretched wings on their maiden flight. Palmer's lips captivate me with a wanderlust that I have never felt before. My skin is covering with prickles from the chills rushing up and down my spine.

As stupid as it might sound, I believe these are the kind of feelings women succumb to in romance novels. As a young girl, I could sit for hours and read how the perfect romantic tryst would begin. I never really believed in them, but I wished they were right.

And now here I am, living a romance like that. Wait—did I actually say the word romance ? Oh, Palmer’s messing with my mind more than I’ve begun to imagine.

But I didn’t leave my bed tonight to think about the meaning of things.

No, I came here because my body demanded it.

“I had to come,” I tell him, whispering these words against his lips.

Our lips are softly massaging against each other, our tongues locked in a tight embrace. My hands move up Palmer's chest, and I start unbuttoning his shirt; I keep my eyes locked on his as I do it, my knuckles softly brushing against his tanned chest on the way down. Then, I take my hands to his shoulders and push the shirt down. It floats down to the floor softly, landing at his feet.

I can't believe how perfect he is.

I use the tip of my fingers to trace over his flesh like a soft feather, and I can feel him tense slightly, but not in a bad way.

"Nicole… keep doing that and I won’t be held responsible for my actions," Palmer mumbles against my lips, our tongues taking turns at tasting each other lips.

I move my hand up to the back of his neck, cradling the back of his head in my palm.

He’s a weakness for me. The truth is I’ve imagined this in my mind, over and over again, never knowing if we’d be together again.

After the first time it happened, I just tried to push it off my mind. But then he stormed inside The Old Tale, pulling me against him as if he needed it more than anything in his life. And now… now here I am.

I want to pinch myself to make sure I'm not daydreaming again. Gripping a little flesh on my hip, I smile against his lips.

Oh, he’s real, more real than anything else in my life.

Pulling back, Palmer looks at me, chuckling.

"Did you just pinch yourself? This is real, Nicole. And by the end of the night…you will never forget just how real it is."

I widen my eyes, my lips parting a little in awe. Palmer knows me too well already. I've let my guard down, and though that isn't bad, it does scares me.

"Shh, kiss me again,” he whispers, his voice gentle and seductive. “I feel like I've become addicted to those lips already."

I lean up on the tips of my toes, grasping his bottom lip with my teeth.

Pearly white teeth clamped onto his lower lip, I press my body against his and close any space between us.

I feel my nipples hardening against the cup of my bra, my breasts mashed against his naked chest. I can feel his heartbeat too. It’s slow and steady, but I can tell that its pace is slowly building up.

And so is mine.

I'm Alice in Wonderland and I’m falling down the rabbit hole farther and farther as the clock ticks on.

I’ve never felt this way—so consumed with another person that I’m already looking forward to doing this again. I mean, we haven't even started yet.

Palmer reaches around to the back of my black pencil skirt, pulling the zipper down. I can feel as the teeth release each other.

"I want you so fucking much, Nicole… you have no idea," he continues, his hungry eyes locked on mine.

As my skirt falls down my legs, he then takes his long fingers up my legs, closing in on my inner thighs. I almost feel he’s going to press his hand against my pussy, but he makes a quick detour and rest both hands on my hips; hooking his fingers on my black silk panties, he pushes them down slowly, the cool air in the room caressing my nakedness.

“C’mere,” he whispers then, his hands going back to my waist. He grabs the hem of my blouse and pulls it over my head, my hair cascading over my naked shoulders as he throws the blouse to the side.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he tells me, his fingers going around to my back, looking for the clasp of my bra. He releases it the moment he finds it, and I feel the cups drooping over my breasts, my nipples becoming even harder than before.

He removes the bra gently, his eyes widening as my breasts jump into sight.

The only thing I’m wearing right now are goosebumps, and there are a lot of them.

Palmer slides his hands down my back, not stopping till his palms grip my ass. Holding me tight, lifting, he takes me to the large leather couch that takes over his living room, and lays me back on it.

The only light in the room is coming through the large floor-to-ceiling windows. The moon is full tonight, and it blends with the dim lights of the night, the towers around Palmer’s apartment like beacons.

Palmer stands at the end of the couch, his eyes staring at my feet and working their way up my long, tan legs. He’s taking in every inch of me into his memory. He’s etching the perfect masterpiece in his mind.

I suck in my stomach when his eyes stop right between my thighs. Suddenly, and I don’t even know why, I feel a little shy. We’ve done this before, but with him…it always feels like the first time.

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down softly on a pillow. It's incredible the way he makes me feel.

I clear my throat, my voice shaking a little.

"Do you like what you see, Palmer?"

Of course, he does. Why am I asking this? I can tell by the outline in his pants that he likes what he’s seeing.

And if likes it as much as I like what I’m seeing, this is going to be a good night.

"How about I show you how much I like it?" Smirking, Palmer doesn't wait for me to respond. He moves between my legs, kissing my lower lips.

"Oh, God!" Trembling, my whole body shakes the moment I feel the warmth of his breath on my pussy lips.

"Open your legs wider. Put them on the floor." Palmer’s voice is authoritative, demanding, but it doesn’t need to be. I’ll do anything he says at this point.

I can’t—and I won’t—resist him.

I open my legs wide, the wetness of my pussy drawing his gaze. My inner folds are glistening, the soft pink tint slowly deepening in color. I'm more aroused than I’ve ever been.

Palmer’s between my legs, his tongue swiping up the outer lips like a brush painting a canvas. Long strokes over the mound, soft ones as he goes further down.

He’s driving me completely insane, and I want more. I want him to wiggle his tongue between my lips; I want him to satisfy my desires.

"You taste incredible, Nicole,” he whispers, stopping for a moment to get the words out. “I want you," he continues, pressing the tip of his tongue against my clit, pushing down hard on the tiny button of happiness.

I can't stop my legs from trembling. It's driving me crazy the way my body craves him. He’s perfect in every possible way, and I can't get enough of what he’s doing to me.

Palmer parts my lips, and his tongue slides up and down as he lays his forearm over my stomach, holding me against the couch.

I clench my cheeks, but the way his thumb is rubbing my clit relaxes me.

Pushing the tip of his tongue past my pussy lips, Palmer knows exactly how to make me quiver. I’m shaking, and thankfully, there is a cushion beneath me to hold me, my fingers gripping the fabric till my knuckles turn white.

"Palmer, that…that feels so good. Don't stop."

Using his tongue to paint a picture inside my pussy lips, I almost feel breathless from the intensity. I never even knew that a man could make a woman feel like this using only his lips…

I arch my back from the surface of couch beneath, and my legs tremble.

"What are you doing to me? This is completely insane,” I tell him breathlessly, but I don’t wait for a reply.

I push my pussy against his mouth, feeling Palmers' tongue slide inside my pink lips, the small entrance stretching around the tip. The way he’s using his tongue reminds of the way he takes me when he’s inside of me... there’s a certain eagerness to his movements, a certain recklessness.

Placing his hand on top of my pussy, pulling upwards towards my stomach, Palmer has me unable to form words. I moan out with approval as he forcefully devours me.

Putting his hands on my thighs next, he spreads my legs open even wider. I stretch as far as my muscles will allow, exposing myself entirely to him.

"Nicole, you’re just… fucking perfect. I could keep doing this forever,” he tells me, breathing out each word slowly. His eyes are locked on mine, and I feel my heart thumping hard as I notice the way his lips are glistening from my wetness.

And then he’s back on my pussy.

"I can't take it anymore,” I cry out, reaching for his head and tangling my fingers in his hair. I pull him into me once more, forcing him to bury his mouth against my pussy, and I start swaying my hips like a woman possessed.

“Oh my god! I'm going to…I’m going to come," I moan, clamping my hand over my mouth to muffle my cries, my body giving in to ecstasy.

Consumed with pleasure, my body trembles to the point my muscles ache from the tension. Complete rapture overtakes me. Thankfully, it’s just the two of us in here, and I can moan and scream as much as I want to.

Palmer is drenched in my juices, and when he looks up at me, I can see a trail run down his chin.

I remove my hand from my mouth, shaking, "Oh God, what the hell was that? I've never come like that. Ever."

Smiling, Palmer leans into me again, licking me till I’m free of all my juices, sliding up my body to share them with me. Softly, he brushes his lips against mine, the flavor of his kiss so sweet it’s almost maddening.

I've never done anything like this, but what can I say? When Palmer’s with me, I feel capable of almost anything.

His touch has changed me.

"It’s my turn," I tell him, still out of breath. I didn’t need to say it, though; he’s ready for me to take him in my mouth. I can't miss the fact that he has his whole length pressing against my thigh through his pants.

It must be uncomfortable for him, I think, reaching down to help.

I tug his zipper down, reaching in. I slide my hand inside his boxer briefs, and curl my fingers around his shaft. The warmness of his cock spreads to the palm of my hands, and then it goes over my arm and takes over my brain.

Slowly, I start flicking my wrist, stroking him as my heart keeps on racing faster and faster.

"I want you so much," I continue to say, the rhythm of my hand keeping up with that of my heart, my eyes locking on his.

I take my free hand down his back and push both his pants and his boxer briefs down; I pull his cock out, and the moment I feel his shaft brush against my naked thigh, my insides feel as if they’re about to explode.

I blush a little, moving over on the couch for him to lay back. His cock is standing up like a tent pole, demanding all of my attention.

I lick my lips to moisten them. My eyes never looking away from Palmer's cock from the moment it was out in the open.

I want to feel him in my mouth. I sit on the end of the couch, leaning down to lick his length from its root to the tip.

My tongue slithers up to the rim around the top of his cock, licking slowly around the entire head. His size alone is intimidating, but that won't stop me.

I want it all.

My eyes on his, I never look away. I want him to watch me blow his mind. And the fact that he is gnawing on his bottom lips tells me that he is enjoying my warm mouth.

"Nicole, Jesus… your mouth is incredible," his voice a growl, one brimming with lust. Oh, I just love that in him.

I lower my lips down the shaft, taking my time with it. My jaws stretch to take all of him inside of me, but I simply keep going; I won't stop till I have his entire cock inside my mouth.

Palmer places his hand on the back of my head, pushing me down till there is nothing left to take in. Holding my head steady, I fight to breathe through my nose. It's such a rush, being dominated like this.

I feel his fingers twist in the strands of my hair, pulling my head back, only to push it all the way back in. This time, he uses his hips to help him bottom out.

I moan against his cock, but that seems to turn him on even more. He keeps on dictating the movements of my head, my lips rolling up and down his entire length.

The room’s illuminated by the moon shining through the windows, our bodies casting long shadows that seem to tumble over his living room, almost as if they were alive.

From my apartment, to The Old Tale, and now his apartment… whenever I’m with him, it seems that the place we’re in becomes something out of a dream.

I wrap my hand around the base of his cock, stroking him as I keep on bobbing my head.

"You’re killing me,” he breathes out, tugging at my hair as if he wanted to make me stop.

Of course, I won’t be denied.

My eyes are still on his as I open my mouth as wide as I can. The steady stream of pre-cum lets me know he's getting close, and I can’t wait for it.

I want it.

I want him to feel like he’s bursting with ecstasy, I want to hear his groans of pleasure…and I want to know that I’m the sole reason for that.

I pull back softly, knowing he is about to come The first shot of his seed hits the back of my throat fast. The second is a steady stream of warmth across my tongue. I push my head back down, taking all of it, my eyes closed as I savor him.

I moan softly as my tongue circles the head of his cock, coaxing anything he has left out. Then, as slowly as I can manage, I take my mouth off his cock. I look up at him, smiling as I notice the dazed grin on his lips.

“That was fucking amazing,” he breathes out, his chest rising and falling at an erratic pace.

The first thing I notice is that he’s still as hard as he was before. He doesn't soften at all. I slide up his body, feeling the warm of his skin against mine, and position myself over his cock.

Still grabbing his shaft, I rub his head against my wet pussy lips, arching my back as I feel that intense need to have him inside of me. He lays his hands on my ass, trying to reel me in, but I resist him for a moment.

There’s something about the moment before having him inside of me that drives me completely insane, and I want it to last. I keep on rubbing myself against his cock, making him lose his mind, and then he simply digs his fingers into my ass cheeks and pulls me down.

With one thrust, he is entirely inside of me.

I lean my head back, soft locks of hair cascading down my back as my pussy walls stretch to accommodate his size. I’ve never felt anything like this. Not only is he massive in length, but his girth is also astounding.

I'm in heaven right now.

Palmer moves his hands up my body, hands gripping my naked breasts as his hips force me to open wider for him. Oh, I love the way I can take him in with ease. The massive tip is pushing into my deepest point, and moan after moans falls down from my lips.

Lust doesn’t even begin to describe the state I’m in.

I place my hands in the middle of his chest. I lift my hips, only to take his cock back inside of my gripping walls entirely. I like it when his head entirely pulls out, and I need to ease myself down all over again.

That pressure against my core forces goosebumps all over my body, a violent shiver going up my spine.

I keep my body upright, thrusting down as he meets me with each stroke, and I let out a groan as he starts upping the pace.

"Fuck, Nicole, you're so tight."

He’s right, I’m tight, but I’ve never had a cock like this before. He's huge compared to my tightness. And I feel it each time he pushes in, making me lose my breath each and every time.

Maybe it’s all in my head, but his cock is addicting.

"Oh my God, harder, Palmer."

My voice cracks with desperation. I love the way he pushes his cock into my pussy walls as his hand grasp my hips tight. He’s pumping every inch of him deep inside of me. Like a well-oiled machine, we work in perfect sync with each other.

I slide my hands up his chest, resting my body on his now. With one movement, I find myself beneath him. He is taking charge now, showing my body that’s in charge, and I like that.

No, I love it.

Our lips mesh together, and we kiss in a fevered pitch. I never want to let go, nor do I want this night to end.

Pulling my legs up to wrap them around his waist, the feel of his cock hitting my innermost points brings on a series of overwhelming moans. I can't stop. Each time his cock massages my clit, I get lost in the brink of a violent orgasm.

Arms and legs entwined, I can't hold back any longer.

I must come.

Crying out in pleasure, my body shakes in full force. There is no turning back now. I feel the rush of heat so deep inside of my body, waves of lustful pleasure enveloping me.

"Palmer, oh dear god…I’m coming! "

My legs tighten around his body as the waves roll over my entire being, the scorching heat of ecstasy severing the connection between my body and brain.

He pulls out of my pussy then, his cock soaking wet from my juices. He looks into my eyes for a moment, and that grin on his lips seems to widen. Then, I realize what’s on his mind: my pussy.

He places his hands under the cheeks of my ass, pulling my hips up to meet his face.

I’ve just orgasmed, and I’m sensitive to touch, and so his tongue on my clit feels like an electrical impulse radiating through my body.

"Fuck, oh God!" I cry out, the words slipping from between my lips. I can't control myself at this point. I've never had anything that could compare to this.

The sounds of his lips against me, the way he licks every crevice of my pussy, pushing his tongue into my little pink entrance…it all makes me lose it. I can't stop shaking from the way he’s ravaging me.

He keeps licking the whole length of my pussy, his tongue slipping in and out of it, pushing its way past my folds. It’s funny—we’ve only been together a few times, but this feels as though we’ve been lovers for a lifetime.

"Bend over. I want you from behind," he tells me then, pulling back from my pussy. Palmers' voice has that authoritative tone again, and I just do as he tells me to, laying back down on the couch. Looking up with a smile, I turn, pushing my body up with my knees.

I wiggle my hips back and forth, teasing him as I feel his eyes wandering over my curves. Even though the cool air in his living room makes me shiver, my core temperature must be boiling.

"Want some?" I whisper, warm blood making its way to my cheeks. I can’t believe I’m talking like this. What happened to the shy Nicole?

Palmer reaches over and slaps my ass lightly, the sound of his hand landing on my flesh making me close my eyes. He’s loving it, at least as much as I am.

He leans in, taking one last lick up my pussy lips, his tongue flicking fast and hard against my clit. And what an incredible feeling. So soft and warm, his tongue feels more than amazing.

Sliding up to run his cock over my pussy lips, he holds for a moment, teasing me. Just like I did to him.

Then, he presses the head against my pussy, pushing through the lips and into my tight walls.

"That feels so good, Nicole," he groans, his cock pulsing hard against my inner walls

His cock all the way inside me now, he holds still inside my walls, not wanting to pull back. Not yet. He’s taking his time, and I’m loving every single second of it.

Palmer uses a single finger to move up my back, tracing the curve of my spine on the way up. It isn’t till he reaches the end of my hair that he stops; he grabs a fist full of hair, increasing the pace inside of my tight walls. Smirking, he pulls all the way out, slamming back into my pussy walls.

"Fuck, you have no idea how good this feels," he whispers, talking as he fucks into me deeper. With his free hand over the curve of my ass, I bite my lower lip as I feel his thumb grazing over it

"Oh my God!"

I can't control it.

Palmer’s doing everything that I want, everything that I need. It’s as if he knows exactly what’s going inside my head, my mind like an open book to him.

I whimper, pushing back on his cock to let him know what he’s doing is okay.

"Fuck," he groans, slamming his cock so hard into me that I have to grab at the armrest of the couch, trying to stop myself from tumbling forward. The sound of his thighs slapping my ass echo throughout the living room like a lustful symphony, and I surrender to the moment.

I start to shake as he goes harder. I grip the surface below, my fingers knotting into the soft fabric as he pulls out, only so that he can slam his cock inside me again.

"You’re so fucking tight…" He tells me again, his hands running up the side of my body to cup my breasts.

Of course I'm tight. Anyone would be tight to a cock like this.

I bite down on my bottom lip, and he reignites his movements. I whimper a little as he rocks his hips against mine, that pleasant warmness taking over my soul again.

Sex with Palmer… it's a rush that I was never prepared for, but now I can't get enough of it.

"Fuck!" Palmer growls out as he starts to fuck me with a new-found fury. He isn't gentle now. He wants to ravage me, and with every thrust in, his balls smack against my skin.

The sound echoes through the living room again, adding to that symphony only the two of us can hear.

The couch starts jolting from the movement of our bodies, its sound blending in with the sound of both our bodies, but that doesn’t make us slow down.

God, how can someone make me feel like this? It’s surreal.

I push back each time he drives in, our bodies becoming one with each other.

Acting on instinct, I slide my hand down my flat stomach, not stopping till I've reached my pussy. Its lips are still soaking wet. Pressing the tips of my fingers against my clit, I start rubbing around in circles, my eyes rolling in their orbits as he keeps fucking my pussy.

I look back over my shoulder, watching as the muscles in his arms tighten each time he pushes his cock deeper into me. His abdomen is rock hard, and a little trickle of sweat moves down his brow.

This man is the perfect lover.

I start working my clit harder now, biting on my lower lip as I do it. I feel my pussy walls tightening around Palmer’s cock, and I know that I won’t last long.

"Harder, I need it harder,” I cry out, my fingers moving so fast over my clit that it almost feels as if it’s on fire.

"Please, I want it all. I need you so bad," I continue, my voice cracking from the pleasure building inside of me.

I’m close to coming—again—and I can’t wait for it. I have three fingers pressing down on my clit, working it in a way I never even knew I was capable of—all that so that I can reach that perfect climax. My thighs are soaked as my juices drip down my legs.

God, I can't get enough of him.

I never will.

Holding onto my ass cheeks, he pulls out entirely; then, he smacks the shaft against my pussy before pushing the head back in, bottoming out. Each time he does it, I’m one step closer to coming.

I’m about to come when he pulls out from inside of me. God, he’s driving me completely crazy. Rubbing the head over my pussy, he doesn't push in. Not yet.

He’s taking me to the next level, the one where I’ll need to beg him.

I’m trying to avoid giving him that much power over me, but what can I do?

"Tell me you want it," he says, his voice whimsical. Filled with a devious laughter that I can't handle. Should I tell him yes? Scream out for him to fuck me as hard as he can?

"I want it, Palmer. I want you…I want you to fuck me. Hard."

There, I said it.

And now I want him to use every part of my body as if he owns it.

Smirking at me, Palmer turns me around and forces me to lay down on the couch. Moving between my legs, he pushes his cock into my pussy with one stroke.

We are both so close to coming that our bodies slam against each other, our lips crushing hard, tongues dancing as we fuck harder than ever before.

I scream out.

My nails rake down Palmer's back as I come with such force that my mind feels as if its melting inside my skull.

"OH GOD!" I scream at the top of my lungs, the sound of voice filling his whole apartment.

It becomes too much for him.

One more stroke and he explodes inside me. My pussy tightens up around his cock as we both come hard, electric ecstasy wrapping itself around us both.

We stay like that for a long time, his body on top of mine as we try to catch our breaths. By the time he rolls to the side, squeezing himself by my side on the couch, my mind slowly starts to awaken again.

Still silence and the long shadows of his living room tumble over our naked bodies, I let out a deep sigh and run one hand through his hair.

“You okay?” He asks me, his voice cutting through the silence like a pebble thrown into a pond. And, just like that, the softness of his voices send slight waves all over my body.

“I’m okay,” I tell him, not knowing what else to say.

“Just okay?” He asks me, and I can almost feel the smile on his lips.

“No, not just okay.”

“Then what?”

I hesitate for a moment, thinking of the rights words. My fingers keep on running through his hair, caressing him, and then I just smile.

“I feel…happy.”

Palmer

"Look at this place," Nicole says. "It's amazing."

I can't help but smile, as she walks around my apartment wide-eyed. The innocence with which she looks at the world is refreshing. She's soaking it all in, taking nothing for granted.

"This," I say, pointing around the apartment, "is just a collection of things. Don't get too excited. We can't take these things where we're going."

She frowns. "Well, that's kind of a dark thing to think about."

"It's the truth," I shrug. "But… they sure are fun to collect."

"Since when did you become so humble? This isn't the cold, calculated, driven chef I've heard so much about," she laughs.

"You can't always believe what you read."

As soon as I say that, I can't help but think about Percy Whitman and his reviews of my restaurant. That's a prime example of something that shouldn't be believed.

"What's this?" she says, pointing to a painting on the wall. "It looks so… chaotic."

"That's a Jackson Pollock painting."

"A real Pollock?" she says, her eyes widening again. "You own a real Pollock painting? I've heard of him, but have never actually seen one of his paintings in real life."

"You see all of those lines? He created this piece by dripping paint on a canvas that was placed on the floor. Pretty incredible when you think about it… I don't think anyone else was using that technique at the time."

"Couldn't anyone do this thought? I mean, it just looks so… messy," Nicole says, stepping closer to the painting. "I could take a paintbrush and drip a bunch of paint onto the floor."

"It's in the eye of the beholder, I guess, but I think there's something remarkable about Pollock… the way he rebelled, you know? The way he used color. And he wasn't concerned with painting objects that he could see in everyday life, like a traditional landscape of the sea, or of a fruit basket, or a vase of flowers.

“It feels as if he wanted to show action… he wanted to show what was going on in his own emotional interior with all of these lines."

Nicole considers this. "I can appreciate that. I think you have a point," she says, and then laughs. "Who knew Chef Palmer was so… cultured."

"What's that supposed to mean? Did you think I was some soulless brute?" I laugh, giving her a hard time, but she blushes, and I change the subject.

"You hungry?" I ask.

She doesn't answer. Instead, she's walking into the living room, transfixed by the things she sees. And as I follow her around the penthouse, I realize that I'm so surprised by how genuine I am being with her.

Normally, when I have a woman over, it's a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am sort of affair. We fuck. We maybe eat.

And I watch her as she walks out that front door.

But this is different. Nicole is different. She isn't like any of those other women.

"Unreal—you collect pottery too?" she asks, pointing to a vase.

I smile. "That's a Brouwer vase."

"Never heard of it, but I love the colors—the gold and reds and yellows… all kind of swirling together. The more I look at it, the more I think I can sink right into it."

"This piece comes from Long Island, and I like it because of the way it's crafted, using an open firing technique."

She shakes her head. "You're gonna have to speak my language. I have no idea what that even means."

I lean in close, and delicately grab her hand in mine. "Here," I say. "Touch this." I drag the tips of her fingers across the vase, and she follows my lead, feeling the texture.

"The glaze on this has been whipped by flames," I say. "And that creates some really spectacular coloring."

"Incredible," she says, at almost a whisper. "You never cease to amaze me. You have incredible taste."

"They're extremely rare… these vases I mean."

She pulls her hand back. "Then I probably shouldn't be touching it like that."

I laugh. "It's fine. I trust you."

As soon as those words tumble from my mouth, I realize I'm no longer talking about the vase. I'm talking about me. I'm talking about us.

Nicole is the first woman I've ever opened up to… trusted enough to open up to, and if I'm being honest, I should probably tell her my whole story.

"What's wrong?" she says, scrunching her eyebrows.

"Nothing," I say, trying to look away. Is now really the right moment to rip open my chest and hand her my naked, beating, vulnerable heart on a platter?

"I may not have known you that long, but you aren't a very good liar. You're thinking about something… tell me."

She's right. I take a deep breath.

"There's something symbolic about fire that drives me. It transforms things—food, places—but it also symbolizes action and immediacy. I'm so driven to make The Pearl on Park a success because I want to leave my mark on this city.

“I want to show everyone how good high-end cuisine can be… and I don't think I have much time."

She turns and looks at me, holding my gaze in silence.

Then, she finally says, "What do you mean… not much time?"

"It's probably nothing… but a few weeks ago my doctor saw a white mass on a routine scan… in my brain. He told me to come back, so that we could figure out what it was."

"And?" she says, a look of concern washing over her.

"And I didn't go back," I shrug. "I feel fine."

"Are you crazy? Doesn't that seem stupid, to not follow up?"

"Maybe," I say, "but we're all mortal. No one is gonna be here forever, so instead of thinking about that, I'm choosing to live in the present, and focus all of my energy on The Pearl."

There. I said it. I've just served handed this woman the keys to my innermost secrets and desires.

Now let's see if I've scared her off.

Nicole

I look around Palmer's kitchen, taking stock of the ingredients at hand.

Let's see… he has bacon. That will work; who doesn't love bacon? It goes with everything.

I decide to surprise Palmer by making avocado BLTs for breakfast. The last trip I took to California caused me to fall in love with avocados. Now, I add them to anything I can.

The bacon has been smoked with apple wood and glazed with maple syrup. As soon as I open the package, it smells divine.

I heat a skillet, and once hot, I place each strip on the hot stove. The fat immediately sizzles, and the aroma fills the kitchen. While the bacon is getting crisp, I grab a loaf of country bread and slice thick pieces off. I decide to toast them, and then slice slabs of purple heirloom tomatoes.

Only the best ingredients on hand, which doesn't surprise me. Palmer's a fellow chef, after all.

Once everything is ready, I layer the bacon, tomato, and lettuce on the crusty bread, and top it with buttery wedges of avocado. My mouth is watering just looking at these stacks.

"Something smells good," Palmer says, causing me to jump.

He laughs. "Did I scare you?"

"I was so focused on getting these BLTs just right, I didn't even hear you behind me," I say with a smile. "It's a lot of pressure cooking for one of the world's most famous chefs, you know."

"I see you started early," he says. "Is the sun even out?" I watch as he rubs his eyes.

"Sorry it's so early, but I have to leave soon, and before I leave, I wanted to cook and share breakfast with you."

He walks over and presses his lips to my forehead. "That's thoughtful. I love it."

"I wouldn't say that just yet. You haven't even tried it," I smile. "You might not say that after you've tasted it."

He laughs. "I'm sure it's just fine."

I watch as he brings the sandwich to his mouth and takes a big bite. He chews thoughtfully. "You know what I think?" he says.

I shake my head.

"I think this is a keeper."

As soon as he says it, I smile. There's something about Palmer enjoying my cooking that always makes my mood soar and puts a permanent smile on my lips.

I take a bite. It's a thick sandwich, so I struggle wrapping my mouth around it.

But he's right. It's good. Real good. And it hits the spot.

"Wait … you have something," Palmer says, stepping toward me. "Right… here."

He reaches up and places a finger on the corner of my mouth, wiping off a stray piece of avocado. I'm usually embarrassed when someone points out a piece of food on my face, but right now, the only thing I can think about is his touch, and the way it makes me feel electrified.

I smile, and I think about the way he opened up to me. He's so much more than the hotheaded, womanizing, soulless, chef that the tabloids make him out to be.

He has depth. He's cultured, and likes art, and is so full of information that it makes my head spin. He's like a walking Wikipedia, and I never find myself getting bored in his presence. The truth is, I could listen to him talk forever.

And what was up with what he told me? Is he sick? What did he mean by a "white mass" was found?

As soon as he said it, he wanted to change the subject. It was clear he was trying to get something off his chest, but he didn't want to go any deeper.

Maybe it's nothing. Besides, it's really none of my business.

But I can't help but wish he'd go back to his doctor for a second opinion.

"Someone's a messy eater," Palmer laughs, bringing my thoughts back to the present.

"Look at this thing," I say, pinching the sandwich between both of my hands. "It's thicker than a mattress."

We both get a good laugh at that, and as we're joking around, something catches my eyes. Behind Palmer, on the counter, is a magazine. It's opened to an article written by Percy Whitman.

I can see that he reviewed The Pearl on Park, and it's not good. In fact, the review is downright scathing.

I read one of the headlines: "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."

It feels as if someone has dropped a bowling ball down my throat and its lodged itself into the pit of my stomach.

My heart tightens.

Percy is my friend. Did you write this review because of me?

Am I to blame for this?

Maybe I shouldn't have been so hard on Palmer, and maybe I never should've vented any of my thoughts to Percy. I just feel like this is somehow my fault.

"Everything OK?" Palmer asks.

I smile. There's no way I want Palmer to know what I'm thinking.

"Oh yeah, it's fine," I say, and then lie, pushing these thoughts out of my mind. "I was just thinking how I really should be going. I have a long drive ahead of me."

"Not yet—finish breakfast at least," he says with a smile.

It's a smile that's disarming. It's a smile that makes me yes when I should say no.

He senses my hesitation and he continues to prod me.

"You like this bacon, right?"

"Who doesn't?" I say.

"Want a strip ?"

"Very funny," I smile, placing my hand on his. "I see what you did there."

God there's nothing I wouldn't give to play a game of striptease in this kitchen, with this man, but my family will kill me if I don't show up today.

"I'd love to," I say, "But I have to leave. Rain check?"

"If you have to leave, at least me drive you."

"No, that's not necessary."

"I insist," he says.

"Seriously, it's far, and a pain in the ass—"

"Fuck no—forget all of that," he smiles, dismissing every excuse I'm throwing his way. "I'm driving you."

Palmer

I must be going insane. First, my restaurant is under attack by some asshole critic, and now, here I am, volunteering to drive some girl to her parent's place.

Seriously? What the fuck is wrong with me?

I should be going to the Pearl. I should be rallying my staff, and countering Percy's review with a PR blitz of my own. But am I doing any of that? No.

What's going on? Am I falling for Nicole?

No… it can't be. I don't just fall for women. And I have a plan for my life, and this scenario isn't a part of that plan. Not even close.

Falling for Nicole is impossible.

But as we're driving, and the music is blaring, and my fingers are tapping the steering wheel, and Nicole's hair is dancing in the wind that's blowing across my open convertible, she looks so happy… and I feel so happy…

And I can't help but wonder.

Isn’t it true that sometimes life is unpredictable, and no matter how well you plan it out, sometimes plans change?

I shake my head. I can't get ahead of myself.

I'm the kind of guy that writes everything down and plans it out. And I'm even talking writing lists for the lists I already wrote.

Do you see what I mean? Everything is organized. This isn't on any of those lists.

So right now I just need to recognize that I'm simply spending time with Nicole. We're having fun. It's nothing more than that.

"There it is," Nicole says, pointing to a small house on the side of the road.

I haven't been outside of the city in ages—has it been years?—so to be driving through the suburbs feels weird.

"This is my childhood home," she says. "Nothing fancy, and as much as I couldn't wait to leave it, I have to admit… I still miss it sometimes."

"It's nice," I say, and even though it looks like every other suburban home I've ever seen—a flower garden, a tree in the front yard, a driveway, and a white fence—I mean it. It is nice.

It's kind of refreshing to not be walking into another crowded high rise. This is somehow more… personal.

As soon as I get out of the car and open Nicole's door, a large dog runs out of the house barking. Its shaggy red coat is getting lifted in the wind.

"It's OK," she says. "He doesn't bite."

The dog recognizes her and immediately wags its tail. She pats his head, scratches behind his ears, and gives him a playful pat on the back. He licks her hand in excitement.

"That's a good boy, Rusty—a good boy," she says, leaning down and showering him in playful kisses.

"You're quite the animal lover," I say.

I've never owned an animal. It's not that I don't like them, it's just that I've admired them from a distance.

"I love them," she smiles, her eyes still fixed on the dog. "If I didn't go to culinary school, I think I probably would've become a vet."

"I can see that," I smile.

As she finishes petting Rusty, we walk up to her parent's house and before we reach the door, Rusty is all over me. First, he's jumping on me with his two front paws, and I'm trying to pet him, hoping that'll calm him down and he'll get bored with me, but it doesn't seem to work.

"Get down, Rusty," Nicole urges, but the dog only listens for a few minutes before going right back at it. Then, when no one's looking, I feel him shoving his nose in the crotch of my pants, sniffing for God knows what. I shoo him away, and luckily he listens this time, taking the hint.

"Baby, is that you?" a woman says, approaching the door.

Nicole embraces her in a hug. "It's good to see you mom."

Immediately, her mother looks over at me. "Oh, and who do we have here?" she smiles.

"This is Palmer," she says, introducing us. "He's my… um, he's my friend."

Her mother eyes me suspiciously, wondering if I'm a friend as her daughter says, or if I'm something more.

"It's a pleasure," I say, extending my hand.

"Palmer is a chef, mom," Nicole says. "He owns The Pearl on Park."

"Well, isn't that nice," her mom says. "Come in, come in."

We walk in and immediately to our right is the living room. A game of football is playing on the TV, and people are shouting.

"C'mon—make that catch!" someone yells, and another says, "Did you see that? That was almost a QB sack!"

"This," Nicole says, pointing to one side of the room, "is my dad, and this over here is my brother."

They both turn to me, and give me a nod and a welcome handshake.

I look back at Nicole. "I should go now," I say. "I'll let you guys enjoy your lunch."

I turn to leave and then feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Oh, no—stay!" her mother says.

"No, no, I don't want to be a bother," I say.

"It's no bother. We have plenty of food," her mother insists.

"No, he's busy, mom," Nicole says.

"Nonsense, no one is too busy to eat a home cooked meal," her mother says, practically blocking my exit.

Nicole looks at me with eyes that say I'm so sorry about this , but I just smile.

"OK, why not—I think I can join you for a meal," I say.

"Great!" her mother beams. "Now please, sit down."

There's no escaping now.

Nicole

I'm kneeling on the floor, petting Rusty and watching him lick my hands, and my knees are digging into the carpet that is too shaggy to be anything remotely modern—I don't think my parents have replaced it since the 1970s or something, and I'm stunned. I mean really stunned.

This entire day has not gone as expected.

And above all, I'm nervous.

How's this lunch going to go? Is my mom going to say stupid like, so when are you going to give me grandkids, Nicole? Or is my dad going to say something equally stupid like, But surely being a chef isn't a real career, is it son?

And there's no telling what will tumble out of my brother's mouth. I should probably tell you that my brother's an animal, and he doesn't have a filter. I'm being serious when I say anything can happen, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that level of embarrassment. Not now. Not with Palmer.

"You have a lovely house," Palmer says to my mother, and she's eating it up. I've never brought a man home before… and definitely never a man as handsome as Palmer, and I can tell she's just loving it.

Her face is lit up brighter than the sun, and she’s melting into his gaze. She keeps giving him reassuring pats on the shoulder, which is the kind of thing she only does to people she really likes.

I flash him another look that says I'm so so sorry , because let's be honest, I'm sure he doesn't want to be here.

How could he, right? He has better things to be doing right now. He has a high-end restaurant to run.

He'd probably rather have a filling replaced, or get a flat tire on the freeway than be here right now.

And my mom practically held his hand to the flame, and blocked the door, which is so embarrassing it makes me want to die a little inside.

But Palmer just flashes me a smile and something tells me he really doesn't mind. It's as if he does want to be here.

"Can I help you with anything?" Palmer asks my mom.

"Why don't you come in here and help me peel these potatoes."

I roll my eyes. Why can't my mom be a normal human being and just let him sit here as our guest.

This is Palmer we're talking about… a world-class chef. The kind of chef that people have to pay hundreds of dollars just to eat with.

I love my mom. I really do. I love my entire family.

But you don't ask guests like that to peel and wash potatoes, you know?

But again, he's a gracious guest, and I watch him walk over to my mother, wash potatoes, and hold a sharp paring knife in his hands.

He peels the skin with ninja-like speed, and my mom's impressed. Really impressed. I can see it in her eyes.

I hear them make small talk. She's asking him about his restaurant, and where he grew up, and all the normal mom stuff, and he continues to smile and answer everything he throws at her.

"Kitchens aren't always serious and stressed out places," Palmer says, and I crane my neck to hear what he's saying. I'm still sitting there, petting the dog, and pretending to not pay attention, but the truth is I'm trying to listen in harder than I've ever eavesdropped in my life.

He continues, "This one time, a dish guy stretched a heavy duty yellow scrubbing glove over the entire top of his head—I don't know how he did it, but he did—and it looked just like a cock's comb. He proceeded to strut around the kitchen like this."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Palmer tuck his arms into his chest in the shape of chicken wings and bob his head, back and forth.

I can't help but smile at that, and even my mom is cracking up. I mean, she's laughing so hard that she's wiping tears from under her eyes.

"I kid you not, the dish guy was flapping his arms around, bobbing and tilting his head, and clucking like a chicken. It was one of the funniest things I've seen in my whole life."

My mother is barreled over, clutching her sides.

It's so surprising, seeing Palmer like this. He isn't the arrogant asshole chef I knew him to be.

He's funny and warm. And he's charismatic.

And when it's all time for us to sit at the table, even my father seems to love him.

"I'm a huge Buffalo Bills fan—always have been," Palmer says, and my father slaps him on the back.

"A man of my own heart!" my father says. "Any Bills fan is a friend of mine."

For a minute it almost feels like I'm in some alternate universe. Who are these people, and what have they done with my parents? Who is this man?

Things are going so well, and everyone is getting along better than I could've ever hoped for.

For some reason it's stunning… having man like Palmer, sitting here and sharing a simple family lunch with us, in this humble home because of his extreme wealth and fame… and what I thought was arrogance.

But he isn't arrogant at all. He's captivated my family, and they're a tough crowd to please.

This man… Chef Palmer could eat anywhere in the world. He could eat with any chef, and any celebrity.

But he's here. In my childhood home. Sharing a simple meal with a simple middle-class family.

And I love him for that.

Palmer

"Excuse me while I take this call," I say, pushing my chair back from the table.

My cell phone is vibrating in my pocket as I grab it and walk out the front door.

"Palmer speaking," I say, pacing the front porch.

"Finally—there you are. You're a hard man to get a hold of. Look, I'll get straight to the point. I have some bad news." It's Roger Mills, my business manager.

Any time I get a call from him, I brace myself and expect anything to come out of his mouth because he always gives it to me straight. But now the words bad news bounce through my brain like ping pong balls and I don't know what to think.

"Give it to me."

"The bottom line is that investors are feeling shaky about your restaurants, not just The Pearl on Park," he says.

"Why now?"

"It boils down to all the bad coverage you've received."

I know exactly what coverage he's referring to. Percy Whitman .

"I already know about those reviews—they're bullshit. Unfounded garbage and—"

"Unfounded or not," Roger says, cutting me off, "investors are freaking. Those are some of the worst reviews a restaurant has ever seen."

"It's all lies, they can't be believed."

"Tell that to the rest of the world," Roger says. "I'm serious. This is bad. Real bad."

"Look," I say, "I'm actually in the middle of lunch and I'm busy, can I—"

"We don't have time," he says. "We need to act now."

"I don't want to talk about this right now. I'll figure it out and I'll call you back soon."

"Palmer, wait, Listen, I think—"

But I don't give him a chance to tell me what he thinks. Instead, I end the call and the connection goes silent.

It's strange. It seems my entire business is in jeopardy, but being here with Nicole and her family—I'm happy. I gather my thoughts, take a deep breath and enter the house.

"I was just telling Nicole's father about your chicken story," Nicole's mom says. The entire table is laughing.

I smile. "There are more funny stories where that came from. I could spend hours telling you stories."

"Well, we aren't going anywhere," Nicole's father smiles. "Tell us what happens in those kitchens of yours."

"Well, in this business, we get every kind of customer you can think of. One day, many years ago, when I was first starting out, we got a particularly difficult woman. She orders the soup of the day—a French Onion.

“The waiter brings it to her. She says it's too cold. So, no problem, right?

“This is a typical, routine sort of complaint, if you will. The waiter brings it back into the kitchen, and we give her a new, piping hot batch."

"Was she satisfied?" Nicole asks.

"Oh no—the story doesn't stop there," I laugh. "So, the waiter brings it to the woman, but now she says it doesn't taste right and that we must've changed our recipe. The waiter assures her that isn't the case, but she keeps badgering him and badgering him. He tries to change the soup again, but to no avail.

“The woman is insistent that again, it isn't right. She's really digging into him now, saying things like How hard is it to make soup , and Isn't this your job . So finally, the waiter reaches a breaking point. And I kid you not—he grabs that soup bowl and saucer and flings it across the dining room like a Frisbee.

“The entire thing smashes against the wall and everyone is stunned. And what does that waiter do? He leaves without a word. We never saw him again."

"You have to be kidding!" Nicole shrieks. "Was anyone hurt?"

"No, but we got a good laugh out of it later."

The entire family is laughing now, and as I turn to look at each of their faces, I realize that I'm having the time of my life. I never expected to enjoy myself as much as I am.

It's as if the worries of the world—my restaurant, my health, Percy Whitman trying to sabotage me at every turn—fades away.

I like Nicole's family. They're simple people and that's refreshing.

Her family has completely managed to charm me.

"Here, try this," Nicole says, passing me a small, chilled glass.

"This looks interesting."

"It's Limoncello—my grandmother's recipe."

"Then I bet it's good. Your grandma seems to have the best recipes."

I take a sip, and it's better than I imagined. It's the perfect palate cleanser—the citrus infused, lightly sweetened alcohol couldn't get much better.

Nicole can sense the satisfaction on my face and she smiles.

"Glad you like it," she says, and under the table I can feel her slide her hand up my thigh. "Because there's more where that came from."

I don't know if it's the hint in her words, or her touch… or maybe both, but my cock twitches and I shift in my seat. Letting my dick get hard, right here, at a table surrounded by Nicole's family, is not something I want.

But Nicole seems to understand this, and a devious smile forms on her lips.

Just as her mother's asking me if I'd like a second helping of food, Nicole drags her fingers up my thigh, coming within inches of my cock.

I can feel it harden with the proximity of her touch. Within seconds, I'm going to be harder than a steel rod.

"I'm, I'm fine—I uh, the food was, well, it was great—it really was—but I'm full, thank you," I stammer stupidly.

God, can I sound anymore ridiculous?

Nicole grins wider.

"I think I'm going to show Palmer the house—give him a tour," Nicole says, and her parents nod.

Then she turns to me.

"I want to show you my childhood bedroom."

My heart kicks in my chest and my cock leaps.

"Show me the way," I smile.

Nicole

“This is…” he starts, trailing off as he looks around my bedroom. I close the door behind us as we step inside, eager to have his arms wrapped around me, but I stop as I look at him.

His eyes seem to linger on my childhood pictures; slowly, he then heads toward the full body mirror I have on the corner.

“That’s my grandmother,” I tell him as he reaches for one of the pictures taped to the mirror.

In the picture, she’s standing in front of a red brick wall, wearing a loose apron over a faded dress. Her dress is blue, the kind of blue that reminds me of the restlessness of the ocean in the first days of winter, and only the whiteness of the polka dots splattered all over it break those memories of early winter.

Her cheeks are flushed, the lines around her mouth carved deep by years of easy smiles and generous laughs.

“A woman with no wrinkles is a woman without a story to tell,” I whisper, and Parker looks at me. “That’s what she used to tell me,” I continue. “She’d tell me that all the time. She made me believe in hard work.”

Those memories are the reason I left home in the first place. They’re the reason I abandoned the dappled shade of the trees, the comforts of home, and the lazy afternoons when the whole horizon would stretch to accommodate a warm sunset.

I gave all that away and replaced it with the stern shadows of buildings smudged by the fog, the quick-fire chatter of city dwellers, and by the rapid pulse you’d only find in a big city.

“I like that,” he whispers, plucking the picture from the frame and staring at it, his thumb grazing over it. I stand there in complete silence, just taking in the scene. He’s looking at my grandmother’s picture as if he yearned for something like that, for family, for comfort.

“I’ve never met my grandmother,” he tells me matter-of-factly, and the casual tone in his voice makes my skin prickle.

I wonder about him. He seems… lonely.

The kind of man that’d push family, friends, and lovers out of his life, only so that he could focus on his goals. A man whose ambition burns so bright it devours everything around him.

And that doctor’s appointment he told me about… I don’t even know what to think about it. I can't imagine how that's affecting him. He seems to believe death’s jaws are snapping at his heels, and he wants to go out with a bang instead of fizzling out.

That thought makes my heart ache. I try to push it away from my mind, but I can’t imagine a world without Palmer.

It hurts too much to think about it.

“Come here,” I whisper, reaching for his hand and pulling him into me. I need to feel him close to me. I need to hold him tight, just to make sure he won’t disappear like a forgotten dream.

I look into his eyes, my heart drumming wildly inside my chest. He smiles then, caressing my face with the back of his hand. Leaning into me, he brushes his lips against mine. It’s a simple kiss—tender and kind—but it’s enough for me to lean in and press my forehead against his chest.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper.

I lay one hand on his chest, and I stay like that for a long time, just listening to his pulse. The warmness of his body seems to spread into mine, and it doesn’t take long for this feeling of comfort to turn into something more.

“Me, too,” he replies, and that’s all I need.

I can do without the flourishes and the pretty words. I can do without declarations of love and flowers. I can do without all that.

All I need is Palmer, his lips against my hair as he whispers those words.

I grow wet, and I can already feel my drenched thong sticking to my skin. My heart is racing furiously inside my rib cage, pumping desire through my veins as if I just received a shot of adrenaline. The blood that runs through me is charged with lust and sinful thoughts, inflaming that burning need I have for his body.

I tried to avoid this. I knew how… stupid it would be for me to be near Palmer. He’s my one and only weakness—handsome, dangerous, and relentless. But here I am now… revealing all my childhood secrets to a man I was sure I’d hate.

I don’t even know how any of this happened.

The moment The Pearl on Park moved into my neighborhood, I started nursing a special kind of hatred for a man I saw as cold and calculated. A man who didn’t know the meaning behind the word heart .

And yet, here we are.

I surrendered to him.

I gave him my body and I gave him my heart.

I take one step forward, my eyes never leaving his, and I grab him by the scruff of his shirt. Pulling him into me, I press my mouth against his, parting my lips and brushing my tongue against his. I start unbuttoning his shirt, my eager fingers flying down the fabric as I bare his chest.

With one hand on my waist, he takes the other to my hair, grabbing it viciously. He pulls my head back and starts kissing down my chin toward my neck; once there, he starts nibbling the soft skin gently. I close my eyes as I feel his lips against my neck, my rational mind slowly drowning in an ocean of pleasure.

With jerking movements, I tug on his shirt and make the rest of the buttons pop out. I run my hands over his chest, feeling his warm skin under my fingertips. It's absolute perfection. Good Lord, I just want to feel every single inch of his body and surrender myself to him.

And there’s nothing stopping me.

Grabbing the fabric of his shirt, I pull it down his shoulders and throw it to the floor. I pull back from his kiss and take one hard look at him, my eyes wandering over his chest. I can’t even hear my own thoughts over the loud drumming of my heart.

My lips curl into a smile as I look back into his eyes, and I let my hands slide down his chest until they meet the hem of his pants. I unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly, sliding my hand down his pants and caressing the bulging shape that’s tenting his underwear.

I start stroking him over the fabric, my fingers curled tight around his cock. He’s gigantic, his member pulsing against my hand in such an intense way that my insides clench in anticipation.

Leaning into him, I lay my lips against his, and then start kissing down his jawline. I trace the contour of his neck and go down to his chest, feeling his hard and ripped muscles against my lips.

I go down on my knees then, pushing down his pants and boxer briefs as I do it. His cock springs free in a heartbeat, jumping eagerly into my hand.

My fingers curl around it once more, feeling its warmness against my skin. I start stroking him slowly, my eyes locked on his as my hand goes back and forth at a low teasing rhythm.

I open my mouth wide, leaning forward and taking his tip inside my mouth. Sucking on it, I let his flavor—a salty and manly one—inundate me.

My eyelids droop and, before I even know what I’m doing, I’m moving forward, his whole shaft sliding inside of my mouth. I start to suck, bobbing my head back and forth and twirling my tongue around his dick. It tastes amazing, the scent of manhood crawling up my mouth and lodging itself on my brain like a perfect blanket.

Cupping his balls as I suck him, I caress them and roll them over my fingers. Then, as he kicks off his shoes, I push his pants and underwear all the way down and push them to corner of the small room.

Pulling back for an instant, I stroke him as hard as I can, my eyes widening as I try to comprehend the huge member right in front of me; it doesn’t matter how many times I see it, I’m always amazed by his size.

My skin prickles as, slightly leaning forward, he places both his hands on my shoulders and pushes the straps of my dress down. The fabric droops over my torso, baring my chest, and I immediately take my hands behind my back.

Blindly, I find my bra’s hook and unclasp it, letting it fall down my arms and onto the floor. There’s no need for instructions—the moment my naked breasts come into view, he grabs them gently, his fingers brushing over my hard nipples.

I lean forward so that I can start sucking him again, his shaft rolling over my lips easily. With my hands on his ass cheeks, I start bobbing my head back and forth as fast as I can. Matching my own rhythm, he starts thrusting, his fingers running through my hair as he ravages my mouth.

I close my eyes, half-expecting him to not resist the way I’m sucking him. I wouldn’t complain if he came in my mouth, not at all.

But, of course, men like Palmer are never satisfied with one simple blowjob. They want more, always more.

And I love him for it.

He grabs my wrist, making me stop my stroking motion, and gently pushes my head back. I let his cock slide out of my mouth, and then allow him to pull me up to my feet.

He places his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back against the wall. I go willingly, simply looking at him as he goes pushes his body against mine, his chest pressed against my breasts.

We kiss again, our tongues dancing around each other as his hands go up and down my side, exploring the curves of my body as if I was the most wonderful woman on Earth. And the way he touches and kisses me almost convinces me that I really am that wonderful.

I part my legs slightly so that he can fit between them, his hard throbbing cock pressed tight against the front of my dress. I hike it up to my waist as his hands go up my leg, his fingers caressing my inner thigh and dangerously reaching for my thong.

The moment he presses his hand against my pussy, the wet fabric of my thong—the final frontier—a violent shiver of desire goes up my spine.

I grab his wrist and make him press his hand on me harshly, my pussy becoming even wetter as I succumb to that sweet pressure.

Taking the lead, he flicks my thong to the side and, kicking patience to the curb, slides one finger inside of me. I feel a scream climbing up my throat, but I grit my teeth and stop it just in time, remembering where I am. I didn’t avoid a scandal a few days ago just so that step into another.

He brushes his fingertip against my G-spot, darts of pleasure hitting each and every one of my nerve endings. My eyes are closed, and I can’t hear a sound; my brain can only process one thing, and that’s the pleasure he is inflicting on me.

Which is exactly what I want. I need all of my brain power to be solely devoted to pleasure right now. After all, why would I want to focus on anything else when I have Palmer right here?

When pleasure knocks at your door, you answer it.

I place my hands on his back, sliding them down to his ass and grabbing it hard, his cock pulsing against my body. As I feel the perfect curves of his ass, he starts to slide his finger in and out of me at a vicious pace.

My pussy is boiling, an eruption of pleasure threatening to overwhelm me. Actually, it isn’t a threat: it’s merely a fact. I know it’s coming.

And when it does, I don’t even have time to moan. I simply surrender to the avalanche that overtakes me and pulls my rational mind down into the depths of a decadent and sinful world.

My fingers turn into claws and I hook them in his ass cheeks as I come; driven by instinct, I bite down on the tender flesh of his neck, my whole body twitching from the sudden orgasm. He keeps going, sliding his finger in and out of me, without even allowing me to catch my breath.

Stopping for one second only, he uses it to grab my thong and push it down my legs; he then does the same with my dress, leaving me naked against the wall. He takes one step back, his hungry eyes wandering over my body, and I shudder in anticipation.

Leaning in, he starts kissing my neck, his lips tracing a downward line over my body. I feel his mouth between my breasts, and then his lips wrap themselves tight around one nipple.

Arching my back, I let a low moan tumble out of my lips as his mouth moves down to my stomach, laying gentle kisses over my navel as it continues its downward trajectory.

Much in the same way I did before, he goes to his knees, his mouth dangerously close to my pussy. He starts to kiss my inner thighs, teasing me mercilessly as I squirm.

God, I want to feel his mouth on my pussy, his tongue on my clit… I want him to eat me, to devour me as if I were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted in his whole life.

As if he could read my mind, he immediately presses his mouth against my wetness, his tongue lapping at my clit eagerly.

I lift one leg up and place it over his shoulder, allowing him to easily fit his head between my thighs. Opening his mouth wide, he sucks my drenched folds, taking my juice in his mouth as his tongue starts to jab at me, parting my inner lips and sliding in and out at a maddening pace.

I rest my hands on his, feeling dazed by the way he moves his head. Grabbing locks of stray hair, I pull him into me violently as I thrust my hips against his face, rubbing my pussy all over his mouth.

Relishing it, he redoubles his efforts, sucking and licking in a way that turns a never-ending sequence of hushed moans into a long drawn out one. I have to bite my lips and remember where I am, trying to focus so that I don’t moan louder than I can.

The moment he focuses on my clit, his lips wrapped around it as he presses down with his tongue, my whole body shakes as I come. I pull his hair as hard as I can, throwing my head back as I grit my teeth, suppressing a wild scream of savage pleasure.

I’m still shaking when he slides two fingers inside of me, moving them in and out in a matching rhythm to that of his tongue. He’s not even eating me out; he’s fucking me with his mouth.

I don’t even know how it’s possible, but the first orgasm still hasn’t died and I’m already coming again, cresting the peak of pleasure’s mountains as my body is consumed by burning intense pleasure.

My limbs are flailing and I’ve lost all control of my body—I’m like a puppet, carnal pleasure pulling the strings and guiding me towards another dimension… one where only ecstasy matters.

Guided by the desire to achieve that transcendence, I take my hands to his face and make him look at me, locking my eyes on his.

“Take me. Make me yours,” I tell him, the tone of my voice half-commanding, half-begging. Lucky for me, I don’t have to command or beg; he’s ready to give me what I want right now.

He goes to his feet, a devilish grin on his lips.

“You’re already mine, Nicole. You just don’t know it yet,” he says, pressing his body against mine. I shiver at his words.

He grabs his cock with one hand and presses its thick head against my inner lips; gently swaying his hips, he rubs his tip against me, my body and mind buzzing with excitement as I bury my fingernails in his back.

With my fingers acting like hooks, I motion for him to thrust, to pierce me with his cock and fuck me like I’ve never been fucked before. But he takes his time; he keeps on gently rubbing his cock against me, never allowing it to go more than a few centimeters inside of me.

Then, the whole world explodes; he thrusts violently, his meaty member sliding inside of me with one single stroke and scorching all of my nerve endings.

His cock stretches my inner walls as it goes, making me wonder how is it possible to have something so huge inside of me. I know I don’t have other men to compare him to, but judging by all the gossip I’ve heard… let’s just say that Palmer must be in a league of his own.

He starts ramming it inside of me harshly, his fingers going down my back and nestling under my ass cheeks. He pulls me up and into him, lifting me off from the floor, and I lock my legs on his back.

With my arms over his shoulders, I pull him in and make him move even more viciously, each thrust of his is like a stab of pure pleasure, a mind-numbing high that would put any kind of drug to shame. In fact, just two thrusts and I’m already an addict.

Rocking his body against mine in a back and forth motion, our bodies fuse into one, our muscles moving as if we were part of the same machinery. My brain is working overtime trying to process all the information that my nerve endings send it, but it’s almost impossible; there’s a limit to how much pleasure I can handle.

It doesn’t take long for me to come again, my pussy tightening around his cock as I claw at his back. I do it hard, my fingernails sliding across his skin with enough strength to draw blood.

A grin dawns on my lips as I imagine how he’s going to look after I’m done with him; he’s probably going to be able to say that he has just fought a wild cat if anyone asks him what happened to his back.

Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. I like being wild… as long as he’s with me.

A violent scream climbs up my throat and I purse my lips, throwing my head back against the wall as I order my brain to keep my mouth shut. Even so, I can’t stop a moan from escaping into the cool air of the room, my body burning up with orgasmic violence.

I tremble, shiver and twitch, all of me surrendering to him.

“Good,” he whispers against my ear, his lips seductively brushing against my skin. “Now we can get started.”

Start? Oh, Jesus.

I’ve already came God knows how many times and only now he’s talking about starting? I don’t know if I can actually survive this. Has anyone ever died from having too many orgasms?

Oh, well, that wouldn’t be such a bad way to go. I mean, everyone has to die; if I have to go, why not have it happen while Palmer’s inside of me?

He pulls back, my skin prickling as I feel his cock sliding out, and puts me down. With a grin on his lips, he places his hands on my waist and turns me around. I place my hands against the wall, at shoulder height, and jut my ass back at him.

His hands run down my side, and he moves them over the curve of my ass, grabbing my cheeks hard. He presses his body against mine, the warmness of his skin on mine. With his cock firmly pressed between my cheeks, I start rocking my body, grinding against his cock.

I exhale sharply, ready for what’s to come; I reach for his cock and, grabbing it, push it down. Placing the tip against my innermost folds, I let go of it and place my hand back on the wall.

He eases into me gently, my pussy resting against the tip of his erect cock. As he moves, I have to grit my teeth as he pierces me, my inner walls once again accommodating his massiveness.

When he’s in me to the hilt, he starts to move with a slow and gently rhythm. But I don’t want to move slowly; I want to go fast. I want to go furious.

I start jutting my ass back, moving my hips with a ferocity I didn’t know I had in me.

Fucking me hard, he places his hands on my hips and pulls me in as he thrusts, my mind almost destroyed by the intensity of his thrusts. My back arches as I succumb to his thrusts, my body sandwiched between a perfect man and a slab of concrete, with no escape possible.

And, really, why would I want an escape? He should be the one wondering about escaping, because I’m not letting him go anywhere—at least until my body is utterly and completely spent, that is.

Holding me against the wall, his rhythm starts to grow at a mind-bending pace, his cock hitting me so fast that I can already feel the blood inside my veins starting to boil.

I moan through gritted teeth, closing my eyes as all existence starts to fade away. I can’t see or hear; I can only feel. The whole universe seems focused on the place where our bodies meet and fuse, his cock pounding my pussy without a single hint of mercy.

I come once again, my body completely electrified. I rest my forehead against the wall, hitting it repeatedly as I try to cope with the raging joy that courses through me. It’s perfection, one devoid of any kind of mental brakes or whatsoever.

Just like that I let a loud moan tumble out from my lips. I almost don’t even care if anyone hears us.

He pulls his cock out and places his lips against my neck, kissing me tenderly. Then, he makes me turn on my heels, my back against the wall. My hands go to his chest and, clawing at his pectorals, I smile mischievously.

My hands go to his shoulders and I push him back, motioning toward the bed. He doesn’t complain as I guide him there, making him sit as I look upon him with hungry sinful eyes.

He licks his lips, his eyes never leaving mine, and I climb on top of him, my legs open wide as I sit on his lap. My hands slide down his chest and, once again, his cock is in my hands.

Guiding his thick member home, I let it pierce me like a spear, his shaft going in easily. I don’t give him time to process what’s about to happen; I simply start rocking my body against his, my ass slapping his legs as I go back and forth.

I move wildly, still out of control, and close my eyes as he reaches for my breasts, grabbing them eagerly as I fuck him in abandonment.

I ride him hard, and I ride him fast, punishing his cock with all my might. I feel drops of sweat pooling on my forehead, but these only make me go faster. My muscles are already aching, but I don’t care—I’m a woman on a mission, and I won’t be denied.

I grin as I feel sweat dripping down my back, down my face and into my lips, the salty taste of it coating my tongue.

Suddenly, I get up in a rush and, before he can do anything, I turn my back to him and ease myself down on his cock once again. His hands go down my back to my ass, and he slaps my cheeks hard as I start riding him in a reverse position.

My ass bounces up and down, slapping his body again as I try to survive the onslaught of pleasure that rages through me like a wildfire.

If anyone told me the world would end tomorrow, and that this would be the last time I’d be with anyone… Well, I can say with confidence that I wouldn’t be able to do any better. I’m giving my all here.

I clench my jaw, breathing through my nose as my muscles start to spasm. I don’t even feel the need to scream anymore—my body does all the talking now, my muscles jerking as I come once more.

I might be coming, but I’m too far gone to stop—I keep riding him violently, my ass bouncing up and down as his cock ravages me. Somehow, though, he still manages to resist my assault.

But not for long, I can guarantee you.

Standing up once more, I tower over him like a Queen. He looks at me with a grin on his face, sweat on his forehead, and I grab his hand. I motion for him to lie down on the mattress, and that’s exactly what he does.

Guided by instinct, I immediately plant each foot on the side of his thighs. I squat down, grabbing his cock and pointing it straight up. I brush it against my folds, his tips rubbing against all of my length, and only then do I go lower

I go as slow as I can, his shaft gently lodging itself inside of me. Then I start to jump and down over his cock, moving as fast as I can and pushing through my exhausted muscles.

I might be tired; I might be spent, but I’m not a quitter. I will see this through.

It doesn’t take long.

Before I know it, his cock starts to spasm and I feel a warmth inside of me. He starts to cum, his semen gushing inside of my pussy like a fountain, filling me to the brink and dripping down his cock. It goes on for what seems like forever, an endless torrent of thick cum inundating me as I finally ease myself down and stop moving, allowing myself to savor the sweet ecstasy that courses through us both.

Still coming, he hooks his fingers on my waist and thrusts upwards, I let out a surprised moan as the tip of his cock goes as deep as possible, yanking one final orgasm out of my system. I lean forward, grabbing his ankles as flames of indescribable pleasure crash against my body and turn my mind into ashes.

I roll to the side, completely spent, and smile as I feel thick strands of cum dripping out of my pussy and down my legs. I hear him moving, but I don’t even open my eyes—he kisses me then, his lips brushing against mine with a gentleness that contrasts with the way we fucked.

Because there was nothing gently about these last minutes—it was pure and unbridled fucking.

And God, I loved every single second of it.

I lie down next to him, my eyes closed as I try to catch my breath. After a while, I finally open my eyes and look up at the ceiling. How many times did I stay awake in this same bedroom, wondering about my future through the long hours of the night?

And now here I am, with a man by my side.

A man I’m falling in love with.

Nicole

I toss the tomato chunks into a bowl, and then I place a cucumber on the cutting board and slice it into thin medallions. Looking at this cucumber, I can't help but think about Palmer's huge, thick… no, stop that Nicole, get your head out of the gutter .

I need to focus on the restaurant... the food… my staff... staying afloat.

I can't get distracted. Not now.

Because, if I don’t focus, then I’ll end up thinking about him. Because if I'm being honest with myself, I'm falling for Palmer.

There, I said it. I'm falling for that man.

I can't go a single minute without him being in some corner of my mind—his smile, his touch, something funny he said, the way he makes me feel, or even the way he cooks his food.

It's ridiculous. Palmer's presence in this city might mean the end of my restaurant, but somehow, that doesn't stop me from falling for him.

He could literally put me out of business, and every day I see the signs—raising rents, fancy cars, a new clientele—but as each day goes by, I want him more.

How is that even possible?

The good seems to outweigh the bad.

I look up at the ceiling and give a silent apology to my grandmother. I'm sure she's rolling over in her grave right now.

I'm sorry, nana. I feel like I'm letting you down. You gave me my love for cooking and you believed in me. You envisioned me going far, and here I am, throwing it way for a man that I'm falling head over heels for.

But this man has so many positives.

He's incredible with my family, and they love him. He's charming, and funny, and gracious—and he had my mom and dad in tears with laughter. He even helped peel potatoes, of all things.

He completely won them over.

"OUCH!" I hiss, looking down at my finger. I sliced right into it, and a red bloom appears on the tip.

I run over to the sink and hold the cut under cold, running water. At least it's not deep enough to warrant stitches. I reach for a band aid and wrap it tightly around my finger. Then, for extra precaution, I place a latex glove over it.

"That looks deep," a voice says from behind me, and I jump. Literally, it feels like my feet have come five inches off the ground.

I swing round to see who it is, and find the pale face of Percy Whitman.

How long has he been standing there? Was he there long enough to hear me pour my heart out to my dead grandmother?

"You scared me," I say. "I didn't expect to see you back here."

"I have some great news," he says beaming. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet; he's so excited.

"I could use some good news today," I say, looking around the restaurant and still nursing my finger. "Some days, it feels like I'm drowning here."

"Remember The Pearl on Park restaurant that we talked about? And how you've been so worried about it?"

How could I not? But Percy doesn't know this. No one knows that Palmer and I have been spending time together.

He could never understand how much Palmer and his restaurant has been on my mind.

I shrug, trying to play it casual. I can't let Percy read my emotions. "Sure, what about it?"

"I've just learned that Chef Palmer's investors are backing out after all of the bad reviews he's received."

"Wait, what? You mean Palmer's restaurants are in trouble?" I say.

"You got it—exciting, right? Now you don't have to worry about your future in this city," Percy says, clapping his hands together.

My heart sinks, and my stomach spins the same somersaults I spun as an 8 year old in gymnastics class.

"You really think he's going to shut down?"

"It's a good possibility that he'll have to close The Pearl on Park, from what I can tell. That's the word on the street anyways."

"Wow, that's, uh—"

"That's big news, I know," Percy says, cutting me off. "I was so excited that I had to come over right away and let you know."

"I don't even know what to say."

"I know… you're too excited for words," Percy smiles, petting my arm. There's something about his touch that makes me recoil.

He thinks he's doing me a favor by writing all of these terrible reviews, and helping to shut Palmer down, but now I just feel sick.

"I have to run," he says, giving me another pat on the arm. "But we'll talk again soon."

I watch as he walks out of the restaurant and I feel dizzy; my entire body is churning with emotions.

I'm so conflicted about this whole thing. And now, I feel guilty.

I'm the reason why Percy went after Palmer in the first place. And this guilt feels like a shadow that's following me and pressing on my shoulders. Just knowing that I've hurt Palmer is a huge, black weight on my conscience.

This isn't who I am. I can't let this happen.

I'll never be able to live with myself if Palmer loses his restaurant. And the fact that he didn't tell me… must mean he's been carrying the weight of this knowledge and didn't want to burden me with it.

I have to fix this. I have to find Palmer and explain my guilt to him.

He may hate me, and he may never forgive me… but I have to do it, even if it means losing the best man I've ever had.

But maybe I can convince Percy to help me.

Love’s more important than business, right?

Palmer

"The Pearl on Park is more than just a restaurant," I say. "It's a destination. It's innovative.

“It elevates cuisine, and gives diners an experience that they can keep for a lifetime. This is a restaurant that elevates the culinary world of New York City."

"Some experience that's been," one investor says under his breath, rolling his eyes.

The restaurant is closed today, and my investors and I are sitting in the dining room. They called this meeting last minute, and I knew it wasn't going to be an easy conversation.

It's bad enough that I'm losing money by being closed today, but now I'm forced to listen to a group of skittish investors tell me that my food sucks and doesn't have a future. That's a tough pill to swallow.

"We just don't see it," one man says, shaking his head and scratching his short-cropped beard. "Nothing's adding up."

"The reviews of your food are some of the worst we've ever seen, and that's saying something," another man says. His mid-section is so large that he's using it as a shelf for his hands. "The critic goes so far as to say that an inexperienced child could do cuisine better than you can."

"I can explain," I say.

"There's no need," he says. "We've seen enough. The reviews make it crystal clear."

"Look, I have the money," I say. "I just don't have the liquidity to sustain this new venture without your backing."

"We understand where you're coming from. We really do. And we pride ourselves on taking risks," one man says.

He's trying to sound empathetic but instead it comes off feeling patronizing. "We root for the underdog and fund projects that many banks wouldn't touch within a 10-foot pole. But this is a risk we can't take. It would be suicide. If the food was any good—"

"The food is good," I say, cutting him off. "Those reviews are bullshit. A man who has a personal vendetta against me wrote them.

“I don't know why, or where that's stemming from, or what his issue is, but it's true. Let me prove it to you. I'll cook for you right now—you can taste the food I make here at the Pearl—here, I'll fire up the grill, and I'll share the menu with you and—"

"Mr. Palmer, I'm sorry, but this is non-negotiable," the bearded man says. "We've already made our decision. Save your cooking for another time."

I nod my head. I'm trying to keep my cool, but I'm so frustrated that I think I could flip over every table in this dining room, and Hulk every chair. I could rip down the curtains and smash every plate.

My frustration is boiling over, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to remain calm.

"Thank you for your time," I say, once I know this conversation is over. I did everything I could, but even that wasn't enough. "I'll show you men out."

I watch as each of them push their chairs away from the table, and shuffle their feet to the front door. I unlock the door, walk them step out into the afternoon sun, and walk as they disappear into a nameless sea of businessmen and cars and taxis.

I lock the door behind them and then turn to look at my restaurant.

The Pearl was supposed to be my crowning achievement in life. It was supposed to be my legacy. I've planned, dreamed, and prepared for this day my entire life.

But without investors, I'll have to close this flagship restaurant. There's no way around it.

How the fuck did things get this bad? How could I let this happen?

It feels like I've hit rock bottom.

I walk over to the bar and grab a bottle of Glendronach 18. People ask me what my favorite whiskey is—and that's a tough question to answer because it varies on my mood, but this bottle right here is always in my top five.

Happy, sad, mad, glad—whatever—you name it, and this whiskey works.

I grab a glass, and pour an amber ribbon of the liquid in. I take a sip and let the liquor burn a hot trail down my throat. And then the flavors hit me—sweet sherry, leather, tobacco, and even polished wood dance on my tongue.

I stare at the bottle's label. There's an idyllic sketch of what must presumably be the Scottish countryside. And as I stare at this label, it hits me.

At least I still have Nicole.

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I remember her.

With her, I can get through this. I can get through anything.

In fact, I can picture sitting on a grassy hill, in the countryside with Nicole … just like the one on this whiskey bottle.

Just then, I hear a rapid knock on the door. I turn and realize my day just got better.

It's Nicole.

I can't believe she's here. She's wearing a cotton dress that is getting kicked up by the wind, and her hair is dancing about her shoulder.

I walk over and open the door.

"I'm so glad you're here," she says. "I saw you weren't open. I was worried. And I just wanted to—"

"Shh," I say, placing a finger on her lips. "Less talking." I wrap my arms around her delicate body in a full embrace and lift her off her feet. I pull her into the restaurant and lock the door behind us, and then, I lean down and bring my lips to hers.

Nicole

“Palmer,” I try to say, but I’m too weak to fight against his lips. When it comes to Palmer, I’m too weak to resist. And even if I were strong enough to do it… I doubt I’d want to.

“Hush,” he tells me, lacing one of his arms around my waist and pulling me in. He leans into me, my eyelids drooping as I press my lips against his. I feel his scent crawling into my mind then, creating a perfect lustful perfume.

My hands climb up the side of his body, and I run them up his neck and to his hair. I curl my fingers around locks of hair and force him to throw his head back. With a fiery smile, I hold him in place and kiss his neck, my lips savoring his skin.

With a growl, Palmer looks at me and, placing his hands on my hips, forces me back. I step backwards until my ass is pressed against the edge of one of the tables in the dining room, my hands against his muscular chest.

My fingers on his collar, I start unbuttoning his dress shirt, my knuckles brushing against his tanned skin. He grabs my hair hard and yanks on it; I throw myself back, sitting up on the table and supporting myself with my elbows on top of it.

I keep unbuttoning his shirt, baring his chest inch by inch as he lays his lips against my neck, nibbling at my tender skin. As I open the last button, I un-tuck his shirt, pulling it out from inside his pants. I immediately press my hands against his chest, running my fingers over the marble edges of his muscles.

Who sculpted this man? My God, the lines between his abs and around his pectorals… This is perfection.

He kisses me all over the neck, his lips traveling all the way to my shoulders.

He bites on the straps of my dress, grabbing the right one between his teeth and pulling it down. He lets it fall down my arm and then grabs the other strap with his hand and tugs on it as well.

The front of my dress droops over my chest, my breasts and black lace bra jumping into view. The moment he catches a glimpse of my breasts, he grabs my dress and pulls on it harshly, sending the fabric down to my waist.

With shaky hands, I run my fingers over his abs and up to his shoulders, sending his shirt down his arms and onto the floor. My eyes wander once again over his perfectly chiseled muscles

My brain hasn’t even given me time to figure out to do, but I find myself lunging forward, reaching with my tongue for his abs. I lick them with the tip of my tongue, sliding over the spaces between each block of abdominal granite.

While I’m leaning forward, Palmer uses this moment to slide his fingers up my back and unhook my bra. I feel the cups becoming looser over my breasts and, the moment I pull away from his torso, he curls his fingers around my bra and tugs on it hard. A shiver goes through me as my naked breasts come into contact with the air around me, my nipples hardening in an instant.

He reaches for my breasts then, his spread fingers gently squeezing my flesh. He starts squeezing harder and harder, my hard nipple pinned between his fingers.

Reaching for him, I grab his wrist and guide his free hand to my left breast. He lays his fingers there softly, pinching my rosy tip between his thumb and index finger. I look up at the ceiling, close my eyes and take a deep breath.

I came in here to tell him something, but oh, how could I resist something like this?

The moment I open my eyes, he’s already coming for me. He presses his mouth against my neck, laying gentle kisses on my skin as his hands caress my breasts.

Pressing my thighs together, I realize I’m soaking wet. My thong is completely drenched, and I already feel it dripping down my thighs.

Have I ever been this wet? I’m so damn horny I’d need a perfect man to satisfy my cravings, and what do you know? I do have the perfect man right here, and he’s ready to do my bidding.

I lace one arm around Palmer’s neck and, with the other, I reach for his crotch. I flatten the palm of my hand there, my fingers pushing against the tented fabric. He’s already hard, his cock almost vibrating with furious desire.

I close my hand around it, grasping it tight, and give it a firm squeeze. As I do it, he stops kissing my neck, his mouth going straight down; he takes his hand off of my breast, opening space for his mouth, and immediately wraps his lips around my nipple.

Softly brushing his teeth against it, he teases me with pain but, in the end, he delivers only pleasure: he pinches the rosy burning tip with his lips, sucking eagerly on it as he traces quick circles with the tip of his tongue.

Curling my fingers around his thick member, he exhales sharply against my skin, sending goose bumps all over my body. I start to stroke him, my hand fighting against the fabric of his pants as I flick my wrist in a steady cadence.

Not letting go of his cock, I lean forward again, pressing my lips against Palmer’s naked chest. I let my tongue run between his abs, the warmth of his skin making me lose all control.

I need him now.

Right now.

My fingers trembling with anticipation, I start to unbuckle his belt, and it comes undone with a metallic clink . I go for his zipper then, pushing it down, his cock pushing back against my hand, stretching the fabric of his underwear to the limit. I feel his hard cock brushing against my knuckles, and that only reinforces the fact that I need to feel him, to have him, right now.

I'm actually surprised his throbbing member hasn't ripped its way out of the fabric that restrains it. Oh, well, I can help with that; with my fingers on his waistline, I slide his boxers down and over his cock, allowing it to jump straight into my hand.

Instead of immediately grabbing it, I lean back, my eyes flying down to his cock as I run my tongue between my lips.

Only then do I reach for him, curling my fingers around his long shape, feeling his warmth spread to my hands and up my arms. I start moving my hand, stroking him with back-and-forth and movements as I become wetter than ever. As I become possessed by desire, I start going faster, both my hands working themselves into a blur of movement as I stroke him.

God, I want more. This is barely enough.

I jump down from the table, letting go of his cock and making him take a step back. Before he realizes what I have in mind, I go down on my knees, looking up at him. He towers over me, a perfect giant ready to unleash all his tension and desire upon my body.

I won’t let this moment go to waste.

Not a fucking chance.

I move to grab his cock again, but first there’s still something I need to do. I push his pants and underwear down from his knees to his ankles, and he finishes the job by taking off his shoes and kicking off his clothes.

My eyes sweep the room, looking with satisfaction at the pile of clothes scattered around the floor. With him naked in front of me, I finally curl my fingers around his cock, resuming my jerking motion with renewed strength.

With a grin full of sin and promise, I lean toward his cock, slightly parting my lips and darting my tongue out. I flick it against his tip, scooping up the few drops of pre-cum glistening there, and a shiver goes up my spine as his raw manly flavor coats my tongue.

Circling his tip with my tongue, I brush my lips against it, teasing him hard. I can already feel his hand lying on my head, unconsciously nudging me forward.

Happy to oblige, but at my own rhythm, I open my mouth slightly, allowing his tip to squeeze itself between my lips and over my tongue. I suck on it softly, slowly pulling my lips out before going in again. I repeat this motion over and over again, each time I go in, my lips going just an inch further down his shaft, my hand still clutching his cock.

As my lips finally meet the base of his huge cock, I roll them back out completely. Then, I tilt my head sideways and lay my lips against the side of his shaft. I kiss him up and down, sucking on his shaft as I go.

My mouth moves up and down until it finally inches closer to the root; I move even further down, kissing his balls and sucking one of them into my mouth. I roll it over my tongue as I caress the tip of his cock with my index finger, driving him completely crazy.

Going back up his member, I part my lips; instead of slowly allowing his cock inside my mouth, I simply take it all in at once. His cock rolls over my tongue eagerly, only stopping at the back of my throat. I wrap my lips around it and suck my way back, bobbing my head back and forth as fast as I can.

His scent and flavor blends into a perfume of manliness that crawls all the way up to my brain, digging its claws into it and driving me completely insane. I try to go deeper, pushing his shaft inside of me until I can barely breath. Only then do I pull out, my hand still on his cock.

“Fuck, Nicole… you’re perfect,” he breathes out, grabbing my hand and pulling me up to my feet. Before I can do anything, he pushes me back against the table, my ass once more against the edge.

Moving fast, he places his hands on my knees and pushes my legs apart; the moment there’s enough space, he slides his hand up my inner thigh, pressing his open palm against my drenched thong. He presses against me viciously, a submissive moan climbing up my throat and jumping down my lips.

With half a growl, he pushes my dress down. In under a second, he has me sitting on top of the table, my juices dripping down my thighs. He goes for my breasts, his hands exploring my body and making all of me buzz with excitement.

“You have no idea what I’ll do to you,” he whispers against my ear, his voice brimming with promises. He kisses my neck, his lips traveling upward to my ear as well.

“Once I’m done with you, you won’t be able to tell left from right,” he continues, nibbling my earlobe before continuing to kiss me down my neck.

His lips keep descending over my skin, slightly detouring when he finds the valley between my breasts. He kisses the curve of my breasts and then takes one nipple inside his mouth, sucking it hard. Then, he goes up to the other side, doing the same there.

My skin starts to prickle as he changes gears and lowers his mouth, going over my navel and dangerously closing in on my pussy. My unconscious mind guiding me, I part my legs even wider, anxious to have him use my body. He takes his time, though, his lips kissing my waistline and then going down to my groins, never once venturing into untanned skin territory.

I grab his hair viciously, trying to force him right between my thighs; to my surprise, he doesn’t fight back. I guide his mouth to my pussy and he presses his lips tightly over my wetness and against the drenched fabric of my thong. His finger goes up my legs and to my thighs; grabbing my thong, he starts to pull it down my legs.

As he pulls back from my pussy, I lift my ass up from the table and he takes it off of me in a heartbeat, his eyes flying straight to my naked pussy, the expression on his face one of lust.

Like a ferocious animal, he attacks; he leans into my pussy, his lips immediately finding my clit and wrapping themselves tight around it, choking it so intensely a sudden scream leaves my lips. With his tongue, he runs circles around it, my body completely electrified. Letting my clit escape his mouth, he runs his tongue between my inner lips, sucking my folds into his mouth.

With his lips on my clit, he presses down with his tongue, applying the right amount of pressure. Then, he brushes one finger over my inner lips; not a full second after that, he slides it all the way in, his fingertip flying straight to my G-spot. I arch my back, all of my nerves endings working overtime to send the overload of information up to my brain. Which isn’t an easy task, but I push through, hell bent on squeezing every last drop of pleasure from all of this.

Grabbing him by the hair, I ball my hands into fists, thrusting wildly and rubbing my pussy against his mouth as I come. He makes it even more intense by keeping that perfect pressure on my G-spot, his finger never moving through the storm that is my orgasm.

I let my head down and take a deep breath, pleasure raging through me. When I open my eyes again, he’s looking straight at me, mischievousness flickering there—and then he’s gone.

He plunges into me, his tongue jabbing at my clit mercilessly. His finger slides out of my pussy and he places both his hands under my knees, forcing me to place my legs over his shoulders.

I can’t help but moan as he ravages me completely, devouring my pussy mercilessly, a sensation I never thought I’d feel exploding inside my brain. He keeps moving, his tongue squeezed tight between my pussy lips as I come.

I can’t help but scream as well. My body trembling, I let the sound of my scream inundate the whole room, a powerful orgasm taking the steering wheel and driving me right off pleasure’s cliff.

Working in tandem with my climax waves, his tongue settles into a lazy rhythm, caressing me with a suspicious gentleness; somehow, I know this is just the calm before the storm.

Propping myself back up on my elbows, I look down at him. He pulls back, his eyes travelling up my body. I smile at him, the orgasm washing over me and immediately leaving my body ready for more.

Standing up, he places his hands under my knees and pulls me into him, dragging my ass to the edge of the table. I sit up, my hands darting to his rock-hard cock. I grab it, immediately moving my hips forward so that his tip is just an inch away from my pussy.

“Do you have any idea how much I want you?” he asks, his voice lustful and mischievous at the same time.

“I think I do,” I reply with an anxious nod, flames of desire crawling under my skin.

“I’m not sure about that,” he mutters under his breath, but he smiles all the same. “But I’m going to show exactly how much I want you.”

“Then do it,” I groan, anxious to feel him inside of me.

I don’t want to waste any time on idle conversation: with my fingers curled tight around his cock, I pull him into me. He comes willingly, grabbing his member and rubbing its fat head against my inner lips.

His tip goes up and down over my folds and, when I least expect it, he finally thrusts. Fuck, I’ve missed him. There’s something ethereal about it; in a sense, it has to do with the size, but that’s not the most important thing… It’s the way he’s capable of wielding it that leaves me pining for more.

If fucking were an art, then he has reached the pinnacle of mastery.

Thrusting hard, his cock strains against my inner walls as it goes in, pleasure whipping my brain like a foreman. It doesn’t matter how many times I’m with him, it’s always transcendent whenever he slides his cock in for the first time.

He keeps ramming me, his hands on my breasts, squeezing hard.

“God…” I mutter under my breath as he starts to go faster, his cock ravaging me with such intensity that I’m afraid my own soul might just shatter into a thousand little pieces. He doesn’t care about any of that; of course, he keeps pounding and pounding, my body giving in to ecstasy.

Moaning, I let my body fall back over the table. I arch my back as I climax, my body burning from the inside out. Like a wave you can’t fight off, his thrusts pull me deep into an abyss of pleasure and, for a second here, I almost pass out.

Then, my body still adrift in a sea of pleasure, something lewd and wild crosses my mind.

I’m not done yet.

I want more.

“I want more…” I say, echoing my thoughts as I try hard to speak between breaths.

He doesn’t even respond. He simply pulls his cock out of me and leans forward; he picks my limp body up from the table and, going down to his knees, puts me down onto the floor. Breathing hard, I roll to the side, anxious for what comes next.

“Lay down,” I whisper at him, placing my hands on his chest and pushing him down. He does as I say and I climb on top of him, holding his cock with both my hands and pointing it straight up.

I ease myself down, leaning forward and placing both my hands on his chest.

He starts to thrust then, but he does it at a gentle pace, Slowly, I move my hips at the same time, rolling them over his waist as I feel his cock sliding in and out of me.

Slowly, he starts to up the pace, bucking his hips harder at me.

“Harder,” I find myself moaning, my voice echoing in the empty restaurant. He understands what I mean pretty fast.

I close my eyes, surrendering to heavenly bliss has Palmer buries his cock inside of me. I can’t even start to describe how it feels. It’s almost as if I died and went to Heaven.

He’s thrusting as hard as he can, his cock sliding in my pussy to the hilt while he keeps his lips pressed against mine. My nerve endings are a mess, pleasure coming at me from all angles. My brain is shutting down, all of my senses becoming overloaded. And, amidst all this chaos, all I do is scream as loud as I can, the fact that my throat is sore as hell long forgotten.

“You’re mine,” Palmer says, his hips slapping against my ass.

“No,” I somehow manage to mutter between screams. It’s hard to get the words out—scratch that, it’s almost impossible. Even so, I struggle and do it.

“You… You’re mine,” I say, my heart tightening up as the words roll out from between my lips.

I feel his hand on my hair then and, twisting it, he grabs a handful. I throw my head back as he pulls, my back arched as he starts to thrust at a completely maddening pace. My sense of self disappears, and all of my senses shut down. I don’t feel pleasure — I am pleasure.

I come hard. No, that doesn’t give justice to what I’m experiencing right now. I explode. I go off like a nuclear bomb, my body burning in ecstasy.

Supporting myself with my hands on his chest, I breathe out sharply, trying not to pass out. My mind is running on fumes, all of my thoughts nothing more than a scattered collection of images and sounds.

I roll to the side, a cascade of moans falling from my lips, my body sensitive to every single touch. His cock pops out of my pussy, and I close my eyes as I lay down on the floor.

A few seconds—that’s all I need. God, I need to catch my breath. Have I ever felt this exhausted?

“Need a break?” I hear him say, and that wakes up something inside me.

Of course I don’t need a break.

Not when I’m with him.

Grabbing me by the waist, he forces me to roll to the side, making me lay belly down on the floor. He climbs on top of me and, sliding one hand under my belly, makes me stick my ass up.

"Fuck me..." I whimper, my voice tinged with what sounds like begging. I raise my ass back in his direction, my back tracing an upwards line towards him. He grins as I beg and slaps my ass, a red mark appearing immediately as I moan loudly. "Fuck me, please, Palmer."

His fingers go under my ass and between my legs, rubbing against the wet lips of my pussy. I’m desperate right now, I need his cock more than anything.

Luckily, he doesn’t want to make me wait: he presses his hips against me, the tip of his cock finding my wetness and, parting my folds wide, slowly entering me, each inch of his long, hard cock earning a gasp from my mouth.

He’s going slow, but I want it all, and I want it here and now. I press my body back against him, forcing his cock to go all the way in one swooping motion, like a sword sheathed to the hilt.

I don’t need to say a thing; he knows what I want, and he knows how I want it.

He grabs me by the hips, both his thumbs resting against the dimples in my lower back and, holding my body still, he starts going back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of me furiously.

My ragged breathing turns into wild moans, and these moans turn into low screams of furious pleasure. My fingers turn into claws against the floor, lines of pain and pleasure forming around my eyes. My lips are pursed, my teeth gritted.

He’s coming at me hard and mercilessly, the sound of his thighs slapping my ass growing louder as his cock keeps on ravaging me.

"Harder! Harder!" I scream out and Palmer obliges, upping his rhythm to a tempo so rough I’m amazed I can keep up with him. But not only can I keep up, I also want and need to keep going like this; I need to feel ravaged, to feel utterly and completely destroyed with a pleasure so intense it scorches all of my thoughts.

He wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, both our bodies glistening with it. Palmer grits his teeth in effort as his body keeps on rocking against mine, my whole body hurting with the ferocity with which he’s fucking me.

"Yes... Yes..." I moan, over and over again, my head resting against the mattress as if I have no more strength left in my body to raise it.

“So… fucking… tight,” he groans and, even though I can’t see him, I can already imagine the wide grin he has on his face. He slaps my ass hard as his cock ravages me, my inners walls tightening around his member, each stroke of his driving us closer to the brink of madness. And he simply won't stop.

He’s fucking me wildly, my mind completely overwhelmed by the sensations jolting through my body.

I feel like his prey right now.

"Don't..." He doesn't need to hear the rest of my words to know what I want, but I carry on. "Don't stop! Don't stop!"

He keeps going and going until my pussy tightens so hard around his cock it’s almost a miracle he still manages to keep on thrusting. He savors my tightness with each stroke, burying himself deep inside me and then retreating until only his tip remains in me.

One final and deep stroke and a wild scream scratches the back of my throat, bubbling up to my lips as a desperate cry of pleasure.

Palmer tightens his grip on my hips, keeping me in place as he fucks me into obliviousness with a savage fury, my whole body spasming in a seizure of ecstasy. I twitch and spasm until all strength leaves my limbs, my body collapsing onto the bed completely spent.

Following after me, Palmer rests his body on top of mine, his cock still firmly planted inside my pussy, his chest and stomach lying against my back. He rocks his body against mine like that, his cock moving back and forth with a will of its own; Palmer’s rhythm only changes when the insanity of release takes over him.

I can almost feel the adrenaline raging in his veins, crawling under his skin and making him feel as if he’s about to burst. His muscles tense hard and, for a moment, he even stops breathing, his mind directing all vital functions to the only thing that matters right now—pleasure.

He chokes a groan in his throat, and I feel a current going from deep inside of him to his cock. He exhales between gritted teeth as his cock spasms violently inside me, his cum darting out and filling me up. He buries himself as deep as he can go, drawing a cry from me as he does it; he holds there, feeling the spasms of his cock spread through his whole body.

“This…this was perfect,” he whispers against my ear, and then rolls down to the side and sprawls his arms to the side.

“It was,” I agree, rolling to my back and looking up at the ceiling. Yes, this was perfect…but I still haven’t told him all about Percy.

And I’m afraid of what might happen when I do.

Nicole

“It feels so different,” Palmer whispers, looking up at the ceiling. We’re still lying on the floor of his restaurant, my head resting against his chest as he holds me close.

“What?” I ask him, slowly moving my face so that I’m looking at him.

“The restaurant,” he replies, his eyes still focused on something that I can’t quite see. Maybe he isn’t looking at anything. Maybe he’s just looking inward, rummaging through all the thoughts he guards so well.

“It’s always full, you know?” he continues, distractedly running one hand through my hair. “It’s different when it’s empty. It feels like an empty shell.”

“Tomorrow it’ll be full again,” I tell him, turning to him and placing one hand on his chest. “You’ll see.”

“I doubt that,” he whispers, the tone of his voice so casual and indifferent that I can’t quite decide what he’s feeling right now. It almost seems like he’s trying to detach himself from his restaurant, the one thing in the world he seems to care about.

It breaks my heart to see him talk like this.

“You can’t doubt yourself,” I try and tell him, my mouth going dry as the words leave my lips. How can I be telling him all this when I’m the one that took the leash off Percy?

It’s my fault The Pearl on Park is having issues. If I hadn’t behaved like I did, complaining about a man I knew nothing about, none of this would be happening.

Sure, the slow march of progress would eventually force me to close down my restaurant, but so what? That’s the cycle of life. If it isn’t Palmer’s restaurant, it’ll be a shopping mall next week, or some high-rise condo.

But no, I had to bitch about the competition to Percy, and he took it upon himself to start a war against a man who doesn't deserve any of it.

“It’s over, Nicole.”

His voice... so casual; cold even. It’s almost as if he doesn’t care about what happens next. It hurts to hear him speak about his restaurant like this; I know that, more than anything, he wanted it to be a success.

And now his dreams seem to have been crushed.

“It doesn’t need to happen like this,” I insist, not sure if I believe my own words. What do I know about anything?

I’m just the owner of a small bistro restaurant; I never had to deal with investors or anything like that. I know absolutely nothing about the inner workings of a multi-million dollar enterprise.

“Forget about it. Whatever happens, happens,” he whispers, his vacant gaze reaching for some place where I can’t reach him. I just stay there, nestled against his body and staring at his face, the dim lights of the restaurant making his features sharper.

He’s smiling, but there’s a certain sadness to it.

It’s almost tragic.

More than just it being about the restaurant, I see a deeper worry in his eyes. He feels as if the clock is running out on him, and I know he believes his next breath might be the last one. I can’t even imagine how it must feel to know he won’t have the time to see his dream come true.

Then, almost as if we we're commenting on the weather, he simply shrugs and sits up. He stretches his arms and then goes up to his feet, jumping inside his boxer briefs and pants.

He starts making his way toward the kitchen and I follow after him, throwing his button-up shirt over my shoulders.

“Hungry?” he asks me, opening the large fridge that seems to take over half the wall of his industrial kitchen, large enough to house a small army of cooks and waiters.

“I’m fine,” I reply offhandedly, still thinking about how I should tell him. Because I have to tell him that I’m to blame; if it weren’t for me, The Pearl on Park would be a success.

“No, you’re not,” he chuckles, more to himself than to me. “Nothing good happens on an empty belly, you know?” He continues, grabbing a couple of eggs and bacon from inside the fridge.

He grabs one of the frying pans hanging overhead and lights up the stove, and I just watch as he cuts a small square of butter and lets it fall from his fingers into the pan.

“Palmer... there’s something I must tell you.”

I don’t even know how I summoned the courage to tell him that. But, somehow, I did. He raises his eyes, his gaze meeting mine, and then he just waits for me to continue.

“I was the one that -”

The words lose themselves on the way up my throat as I catch a glimpse of something on the counter next to me. There’s an open notebook there, a fountain pen resting between pages, and my eyes are immediately drawn to what’s written in there.

“Nicole?”

I hear Palmer’s voice, but I’m not even processing what he’s saying. I’m just reading what’s written on the notebook; it’s a long list of ingredients and procedures, all of them a step toward reverse-engineering my grandmother’s recipe.

No, it can’t be.

I try and tell myself that I’m dreaming, but there’s no mistaking it. It’s all there, in his little notebook. He’s been trying to figure out my family’s recipe, and without telling me.

But why would he do that? Unless... unless he was planning to use it as a hail Mary attempt at saving his restaurant. Maybe he hasn’t given up on The Pearl on Park. Maybe he’s still trying to save the only thing he cares about, even if that means stealing from me.

Even if that means betraying me.

“Nicole, are you okay?” He asks me, taking one step toward me, but I can’t even look into his eyes. I just purse my lips, throw his shirt over the counter, and walk back to the dining room.

He follows after me, surprised, but I remain silent as I pick my clothes up from the floor and get dressed.

“I just remembered,” I tell him, lying with every single tooth I had, “there’s somewhere I need to be right now.”

“Nicole—” he calls after me, but I don’t stop. I just walk out of his restaurant, tears stinging my eyes.

How could I have been so wrong about Palmer?

Palmer

One minute I'm offering to make Nicole bacon and eggs, and the next she's running out of the restaurant as if her feet are on fire. She couldn't get out of here fast enough. She didn't so much as give me an explanation, or even a look.

I've never seen her act that way before.

Things were going so well… maybe even perfect. At least more perfect than I've ever known a relationship with another person to be.

My mind replays all of the moments we shared this week, to see if anything was amiss. Was there something I didn't pay attention to? But the more I think about it, the more I think that all of the moments were perfect.

Like the other day—sharing one of the best steak recipes with her.

I stirred the chocolate sauce on the stove. The kitchen smelled amazing, and we were still standing there in an after-sex glow. I was shirtless, and she couldn't keep her eyes off of my body. I couldn't keep mine off of hers, either.

I mixed in heavy cream, dark chocolate, and chili pepper. To give it some kick , I said with a wink.

"And you're serving this on a steak?"

It's going to be mind blowing—just wait and see," I promised her with a smile.

"When I think of chocolate, I think of ice cream, or sundaes, or strawberries, or cake, or even truffles… but steak?" she said.

"Trust me."

"I do," she said.

The way she said that with the depth of her eyes, more than her words, made me know she meant it. And it also made me melt faster than the chocolate in that saucepan.

I continued to whisk the chocolate until it was thick and glossy like a silk robe. I added a splash more cream, and a sprig of rosemary to top it off.

"Perfect," I smiled. "Could you grab me that filet?"

She nodded, and brought me the perfectly caramelized steak.

"How did you get so good at cooking steaks?" she asked.

"That's a secret," I smiled.

She watched me as I drizzled the chocolate sauce over the fillet and carefully sliced off a piece.

"Here," I said. "Taste this."

She leaned in and carefully parted her lips. I brought the fork to her mouth, carefully placing it on her tongue with my free hand underneath it.

"Oh. My. God. That's good. Sinfully good, Palmer," she said, her face flushing—either from the heat of the chili pepper, or from me handfeeding her the amazing steak, I’m not sure.

I smiled at her reaction. "There's a hint of coffee in there too," I told her. "Can you taste it? It brings out the chocolate."

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she chewed.

"You are a culinary god," she said. "I'm dead serious."

My thoughts come back to the present.

That was one moment of many perfect moments. She called me a god. Everything was going so well.

But now? Now Nicole's colder than a freezer-burned drumstick.

I pick up my cell phone and dial her.

The phone rings and goes to voicemail.

Fuck. Now she's ignoring me.

What the fuck is going on?

I call her restaurant and Kate picks up.

"You've reached The Old Tale, how can I help you?"

"Hi, Kate—it's me, Palmer."

"What do you want?"

"I need to talk to Nicole and she isn't answering her phone," I say. "Is she there?"

There's a moment of silence.

"Please—I just need a quick word with her."

"Sorry, she isn't here," Kate says. "She left me running the restaurant today."

"Is she OK? I mean, she isn't answering her phone," I say. "She isn't returning my calls. I left countless messages, and it's driving me crazy because I have no idea what's wrong."

"Look, I'm going to be blunt with you," she says. "Nicole is through with you."

"What?" I say, unable to comprehend what she's saying.

But instead of clarifying, or saying anything further, Kate hangs up and the line goes dead.

Well, that wasn't helpful.

That gave me more questions than answers.

I look around the kitchen and pace back and forth. What is it, what is it… why is she so upset? Then I look down at my recipe notes. They're in an open notebook on the counter.

Did she see these notes when she was here?

I shake my head. No, I'm sure she didn't.

I walk over to the bar and pour myself a drink. I look across the kitchen, and then walk out into the dining room. To think—in no time, this place will be turned into God knows what. It will no longer be the culmination of all my hopes and dreams.

All of my goals will be gone down the drain.

I pour a second drink and feel my body start to relax.

At least I gave it everything I got, right? I can look myself in the mirror every morning and say I tried… and I guess that's more than most people can say.

I pour a third drink and gulp it down. Now the liquor is really starting to take effect and I feel a slow blurring of my thoughts at the edges of my mind. My body is completely relaxed at this point, and my mind doesn't have a filter.

With Nicole deserting me… and the restaurant closing… what do I have left in New York City?

Maybe it's best if I leave this place… this city… completely.

As soon as this thought enters my mind, it takes hold and solidifies itself as a real solution. It feels like the right thing to do.

Yes, I should leave.

There's nothing left for me here.

Nicole

I'm home wearing my favorite stretchy pants, a pint of chocolate ice cream in one hand, and an entire bottle of red wine in the other. And I've already eaten my way through half the pint of ice cream, and this bottle is my second of the night.

Don't judge.

Desperate times calls for… some indulgences.

I'm almost through that second bottle of wine, and I'm lying on the couch watching an old romantic comedy. It's called "When Harry Met Sally" and it's one of my favorites.

It doesn't matter how awful of a day I've had; when that movie comes on TV, I'm captivated and my mood is transformed. Literally, there is always at least one scene that will have me laughing.

Like when Meg Ryan's character, who plays Sally, does the famous fake orgasm scene in Katz Delicatessen. She just keeps telling Harry that all women fake orgasms and he can't believe that. He says no way, that can't be true, because he's been with countless women and they've all had orgasms.

But Sally just kind of smiles and insists he's wrong and that what he's saying is a typical guy thing to say, you know?

They go back and forth like this until Sally sort of puts her foot down and proves it to him by having a fake orgasm right there in the deli. In front of the other diners, the waitresses, everything.

I always get a kick out of that because she doesn't seem embarrassed... she just launches right in. And she does it so well and is so convincing that when a waitress walks by she famously says, "I'll have what she's having." And of course she totally wins Harry over… together with the rest of us.

It's a great scene. And you know why? Because it's an honest scene.

I know someone who could stand to learn a lot about honesty: Palmer.

I take another swig from the wine bottle and lie back down on the couch. My body is warm and loose, and I have the distinct underwater feeling that I get when I've had too much to drink.

I watch as Harry's character finally says, "I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

That line always gets me.

I don't know if it's the excessive wine, or my hormones, or both, but now I'm crying. Literally crying.

I can't help it. I'm even sniffling a little. I pull the sleeves of my sweatshirt down low and use it to wipe my eyes.

I feel stupid for crying, but it's uncontrollable.

The movie poses the problem—does sex mess everything up? Like can a man and a woman be friends without letting sex get in the way of things?

I sigh. What if I never slept with Palmer?

How would things be different, if at all?

Why couldn't I have just kept things professional?

Instead, I let down my guard. I was so stupid. I made myself vulnerable.

I was too available… even getting out of bed to see him in the middle of the night, and look what happened? What the hell was I thinking that night?

I was used. Plain and simple.

And the worst thing about it is that I was blind to it all. I didn't even recognize what was happening.

Just then, I hear a knock on the door. My head feels like it weighs a ton and is lodged in a fish bowl, but when I open the door, I play it off like I haven't been drinking a thing. But the person at the door is Kate, and she's not buying it. She knows me too well.

"Uh, oh… how many bottles of red have you had tonight?" she says in a mocking tone.

"None," I lie, and then backpedal. "Ok, well… maybe one."

Kate looks around my living room and spies both bottles.

"You mean two?"

"OK, fine, so sue me… I've had two, but I've also had a rough week so cut me some slack," I say.

Kate laughs. "Not this movie again," she says, looking over my shoulder and directly at the TV. “This must be the millionth time you've seen it, right?”

"Not a million," I laugh. "But OK … maybe nine hundred and ninety nine thousand."

"Sounds about right."

"Did everything go OK at the restaurant today?" I ask.

"Went great," she says, "But I did get a phone call?"

"A phone call?"

"Palmer called looking for you," she says. "He sounded pretty desperate."

Hearing his name makes me cry all over again. I try to hide it by looking away. I don't want Kate to see me like this, but nothing gets past Kate.

"Come here, babe," she says, putting one arm around me. "It's OK. Everything's gonna be fine."

"I'm so stupid," I mumble into her shoulder. "So, so stupid."

"Don't say that," she says, brushing the hair away from my face with her fingers. "You're one of the smartest people I know. I wish I had a quarter of your drive and determination."

"But look at me," I sob. "I'm a mess. I feel for a man who was the enemy, and he used me. I honestly believed me had something special. I believed we were falling for each other."

"Look at me," Kate says, pulling my face close to hers. "Forget about Palmer. There are plenty of fish in the sea."

Palmer

“You were telling the truth,” the blonde girl cries out, her jaw hanging open as she takes in the luxurious dining area of The Pearl on Park. “You really are Palmer!”

“That’s right,” I tell her casually, taking off my jacket and throwing it over one of the empty tables. I knock down a vase of flowers, but I couldn’t care less; this ship is already going down, so what do some flowers matter?

As far as I’m concerned, the whole place could go down in flames.

Hell, I might even be the one setting a match to it.

“Where are you going, Palmer?” The girl asks me, closing the distance between me and trying to kiss me. I guess now that she believes I’m Palmer, the oh-so-fucking-famous-chef, that she won’t grow tired of using my name.

I sidestep her fast, and then make my way toward the bar. I step inside the service area, and then grab a bottle of a 35-year-old Yamazaki whiskey. The whole bottle costs more than thirty thousand dollars, but I don’t give a shit; I need a fucking drink right now.

Well, I need another drink.

I’ve spent the whole night trying to drown myself in beer and cheap liquor, trying to forget all about The Pearl on Park, Nicole, and what must be my impending death sentence.

A failing restaurant, a girl on the run, and a fucking brain tumor—yeah, my life’s perfect right now. Even Pollock’s paintings aren’t as messy as my life has become.

“Oh, I don’t like whiskey,” the girl tells me, and I instantly regret bringing her here. What the hell was I thinking? Sure, she looked fine from a distance—firm breasts, curves that seemed like a perfect fit for my hands, and a smile easy enough for me to know she’d be down for some fun.

But that’s not all there is to a woman. Not after Nicole.

“Can you fix me a Sex on the Beach?” she asks me, looking at me as if she expected me to put down my bottle of whisky and get started on her fucking cocktail.

“Here,” I mutter, grabbing a beer from under the counter and slamming it down in front of her. I do it so fast that foam starts rising up the neck of the bottle, and she jumps back from the counter to avoid spilling some on her dress.

“I didn’t ask for a beer,” she continues, her tone of voice now telling me she’s getting slightly annoyed at me. Not annoyed enough to leave, it seems.

“Well, that’s what you’re getting tonight.”

Without even looking back at her, I start pouring the Yamazaki into a glass, watching as the amber liquid splashes on top of two ice cubes. I let it flow from the bottle onto the glass until I’m sure there’s almost five thousand dollars of whisky on top of the ice, and only then do I put the cap back on the bottle.

“It’s true what they say about you,” she says, leaning against the counter in such a way that I can see nothing but her cleavage.

“And what’s that?”

“You really are an asshole,” she replies, giggling as if she had just told me the funniest joke in the universe.

“A rich asshole, mind you,” I shrug, waving my free hand at the empty restaurant. “I guess being rich balances out all the rest, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe it does,” she laughs, going around the counter and biting down on her bottom lip.

“Amanda, I -”

“My name’s not Amanda,” she tells me, taking one more step toward me.

“Listen, Anna.”

“It’s not Anna either,” she continues, placing one hand on my chest and allowing it to slide down to my belt.

“Look, whatever the fuck your name is, I’m not interested,” I find myself saying.

And, fuck, I can’t believe I’ve said it. This is a first for me. She was about go down on her knees and here I am, refusing a pretty woman’s lips just because I’m feeling down.

“Then why did you bring me here?” she snaps at me.

“I have no fucking idea.”

I’m guessing she didn’t like my honesty, pursing her lips, she steals the glass of whisky from my hands and throws its content at my face.

I stand frozen in place as five-thousand dollars worth of whiskey drips down my hair and face, and then I watch her snatch her purse from the counter and storm out of the restaurant, slamming the door behind her.

Good fucking riddance.

Alone again, I turn my attention back to the whiskey bottle sitting on the counter.

“Hey, ol’ friend,” I whisper to the bottle as I pour some more inside my now empty glass. “Now that we kicked out Amanda—or whatever the fuck her name was—I guess we can enjoy each other’s company, huh?”

Without even blinking, I throw my head back and down the whisky in one single gulp. Then, as the fire goes down my throat, lightning seems to take over my mind. The memories come fast, and they come hard.

Cooking with Nicole in here.

Having her cook for me at her apartment.

Having lunch with her family.

Her curves, the warmth of her skin.

Her smile.

What the fuck am I doing here, talking to a bottle of a whisky like an alcoholic jackass?

I love her.

If there’s one thing I’m sure of in my life—however long it may be—is that I fucking love Nicole.

Leaving the bottle forgotten on the counter, I grab my jacket from the table and put it on. Then, I grab my helmet and put it on as I race out of the restaurant, my heart beating at a thousand miles per hour.

I can’t even think straight as I hop on my bike and make my way toward her apartment, hell-bent on kicking down her door and taking her into my arms, the one place where she belongs.

Forget about money, fame, and restaurants.

Nicole’s the only thing I care about.

I park my bike just around the block, and I’m about to make my way down the street as I see a cab stop in front of her apartment building. I stare at it through the visor of my tinted helmet, and I feel my heart shrinking inside my chest as I recognize the guy getting out the cab.

Percy fucking Whitman.

What is he doing in Nicole’s apartment building? I watch him enter the building, and then I just sit there on my bike, my pulse quickening. I see dark spots taking over the corner of my eyes, and I grit my teeth to try and regain some focus.

Nicole knows Percy, which means she was aware of the war he was waging against me. But it doesn’t make any sense, unless... unless Nicole’s behind Percy.

Unless she wanted to see The Pearl on Park close its doors for good.

Palmer

"Where would you like these tables placed?" a man says.

"Load them into the truck," I say. "Everything goes."

"Roger that."

I watch as every last piece of furniture, every utensil, every steel cooking tool is hauled out of the building. They're going to be auctioned off, the money used to pay back my investors.

I watch as my dream is dismantled, piece-by-piece. The Pearl on Park… a one-time dream, is now a painful reminder of my failure.

But it's over, and I'm ready to close these doors for good. I'm ready to finally let this all go and put it behind me.

I walk outside and tape an announcement to the door. It reads:

"Closure notice: The Pearl on Park is now closing its doors until further notice. We apologize for the closure. The building will be under new ownership. We thank each and every one of you for your loyal support."

I stand back and look at the notice. I could've had someone else do it, but this restaurant was my dream. If someone has to bury it, it'll be me.

It seems like the right thing to do, anyways.

"You're finally admitting defeat," a voice says.

I swing my body to see who it is, and my pulse increases. It's the last person on earth who I wanted to see.

It's Percy Whitman.

"What do you want?" I ask.

It's an unseasonably cold day in New York, and he's wearing a black coat that sits in start contract to his pale skin. He has both hands shoved into his pockets and he's rocking on his heels. The wind lifts the edges of his thin, pale hair.

"I just had to see it for myself," he says, a smile parting his lips.

I can't help but ball one hand into a fist. Who the fuck does he think he is?

That arrogant bastard has the gall to come here and rub it all in my face?

It's taking everything in me to not put my fist through his face right now.

"See what?" I growl, taking a step closer. "Your handy work? It's unbelievable how quickly you moved. But I guess you had help, with Nicole and all. Did you two plan my restaurant's demise over cocktails? Or was it over lunch?"

He looks at me, and there's a genuine surprise in his eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says.

I laugh. "Oh come on—spare me the bullshit. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"It's true that I've never liked you," he says.

"You've made that loud and clear."

"And I think you're a cocky bastard, and I am glad you aren't triumphant with this place," he says. "But Nicole had nothing to do with it."

"What?" Wait, is he telling me the truth?

Have I misunderstood this situation? Is Nicole innocent?

"It's true," he says, his lips still cracked in a smile. "She had nothing to do with it. I was the one who never liked you. And I've been genuine in the fact that I've never appreciated your style of cooking. You call it high-end cuisine, but I've seen it done better elsewhere. You cook without heart. It's like I can taste your cockiness through the food."

I'm trying not to roll my eyes. I'm in no mood to get a lecture from this food critic slash asshole. Here I am, standing on the street corner, taping a closure notice to my dreams, and Percy's feeding me a line of bullshit.

Percy continues, "Besides, your restaurant closing is well-deserved because you're an asshole for wanting to steal Nicole's grandmother's recipe."

Those last words catch me off guard.

"Wait, what did you just say?"

"Oh, don't play it off like you don't know what I'm talking about," Percy says. "Even Nicole knows. She saw it with her own eyes."

My heart leaps into my throat, and my head spins.

The realization sinks in—so that's why Nicole has been acting so strange and is refusing to speak with me!

I've got to act fast. I can't waste another minute.

"Thanks, Percy," I say, patting him on the shoulder.

He looks confused, like he wants to say something more, but shrugs it off and lets me walks away.

I stride away from the restaurant and take out my cell phone. I have a few calls that I need to make.

Maybe I still have time. Maybe it isn't time for me to lock my restaurant doors just yet.

Nicole

I'm zipping my purse and getting ready to leave when Kate shows up.

"You have to see this," she says. She reaches into her own purse and pulls out a small envelope. She hands it to me.

"What is it?" I say.

"Just open it."

Kate loves to keep me on edge sometimes, but I hate surprises.

Still, I give in and break the seal and open the envelope.

Inside there is a card the color of crème brûlée. The weight and texture of it in my hands tells me it was printed on high quality stationery. The paper almost feels like linen, the expensive kind. Its edges are lined in gold foil.

The card starts with a quote and I read it out loud:

"At one point in everyone's life, our inner fire goes out. If we are lucky, we find that fire ignited by an encounter with another human being whose flame shines as bright.

“We should all be thankful for all the people who rekindle our inner spirit."

That quote is followed by yet another one that reads:

"The finest steel has had to go through the hottest fire."

At the bottom of the quote, there's a gold-foiled image of a fire, the flames dancing at the edges of the card.

"Who gave you this?" I say, handing the card back to her.

"Turn it over," Kate says, refusing to take it back just yet.

So I turn it over and read it out loud again:

"Join us for a special evening at The Pearl on Park as we host our final dinner."

I look up at Kate. "You have to be joking, right?"

Why would she give me this? She knows how I feel. She knows how many pints of ice cream I've eaten my way to try and get over Palmer, and how my ass is now probably going to be wider than the state of Texas because of it.

"I think we should go," she says.

"Well, I was trying to leave when you showed up."

She shakes her head. "I mean that I think we should accept the invite and go to Palmer's dinner," Kate says.

"No way," I say, shaking my head in return. "I'm not going. There's nothing you can say to change my mind. I have to put my foot down because that would be like pouring salt into an open wound."

"No it wouldn't, trust me," she says.

"Remember that time you crashed a motorcycle and I met you at the emergency room and the doctors insisted they give you a shot right in the muscle of your ass—as an effective painkiller—and you resisted and tensed up so terribly that they had a hard time getting the needle in? I thought they were going to break that needle in your ass."

"Thanks for the reminder… but what does that have to do with anything?" she asks.

"I just mean that if I show up to Palmer's dinner, it will be like that—equally painful for me," I say.

"Oh come on, that's a little dramatic," Kate says rolling her eyes.

"Trust me, it's not. You've seen what a mess I've been over this."

"You do have a point—the night I showed up to find you watching romantic comedy re-runs with wine stains all over your shirt I thought I was going to have to stage an intervention," she laughs.

"Ha ha, very funny… go ahead and laugh now," I say with a smile, "but the next time you go through some messy break up, I'll be the one laughing."

"You're over thinking this. Look at it this way," she says. "After what Palmer did to you, you should go there and watch him go down in flames. This isn't something you should miss. That's all I'm saying."

Maybe she has a point.

Palmer screwed me over, and it would be kind of satisfying to see him get what he deserves.

Because he does deserve this, that's for sure.

And although I'm not the kind of person who seeks revenge, it might be the closure I need. Like when you see someone’s corpse one final time and the realization sets in that they are no longer the person you loved, and you know that person is really gone, and everything is different.

Whew.

Maybe I do need to see that Palmer is gone from my life, instead of running from him.

"I'll think about it," I say, and Kate smiles.

Palmer

I'm more nervous than I've ever been in my entire life. The restaurant is packed.

The invitations were a success, judging by the sheer number of people who have showed up so far—friends, acquaintances, colleagues, and what seems to be nearly every restaurant critic in the city… even Percy Whitman.

It's exactly what I hoped for.

I shake hands. I smile. And I make my rounds.

As I walk around the restaurant, I pick up pieces of conversation. I get a personal peek into the lives of all these people.

I hear one man say, "It's been weeks, but I think I've made up my mind. I want her back."

The other man considers this, chewing the last bites of his crostini. "Did she get a haircut?" he asks.

"I think so, yes. Why?"

"Forget about her then," the man says. "I hate to break it to you, but you're out of luck. She doesn't want you back."

I continue walking, unable to hear the rest of that conversation, but it gives me some comfort to hear that not everyone's life is perfect.

I walk past a group of women holding wine flutes filled with champagne. They are all wearing short, pearl necklaces, and I wonder if it's in honor of The Pearl on Park. I overhear their conversation as well.

One woman says, "Can you believe the bouncer at the door asked for my ID?"

"You didn't bring it?" another woman responds.

"I totally forgot it, so I look the bouncer in the eyes and I tell him I'm 30. But he just stares back at me and insists that he still needs my ID. So I turn to him and say that I've just told him I'm 30. What woman lies about that?"

The women laugh at this, but one remains fairly quiet.

The woman telling the story turns to her and says, "Why are you so quiet, Heather?"

And in a nonchalant sort of way, Heather turns to them and says, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm just saving my personality for when everyone else gets here."

They all have a good laugh at that, and I have to admit, despite my nerves about the whole evening, even I'm amused.

I hear another group of women talking. They're eating the blue cheese and pear tartlets that I've prepared especially for this evening… and they're not just eating one, they seem to be eating them by the handful.

I love seeing that. People enjoying the food, and relaxing enough to have a good time.

One woman says, "Every psycho I've ever dated was an Aries."

The other woman replies, "Every psycho I've ever dated believed in astrology. But my new boyfriend Tom, well, whenever he travels internationally, he texts me the minute he gets Wi-Fi."

The first woman puts one hand over her chest. "That's so sweet. That's all I want… to be someone's first thought when they have Wi-Fi."

I move on and smile. But my smile fades when I see Nicole's table.

It's still empty.

What if she doesn't show up?

If she doesn't show up, this will all have been for nothing.

Just then, I feel a strong hand clap me on the shoulder. "I must tell you," the man says, "These Prosciutto-wrapped asparagus might be some of the best I've ever eaten. And that's saying something because I've eaten my way around the world."

"That means a lot," I say. "Thank you."

But as much as it does make me feel good to see people enjoying my cuisine, it doesn't fix the fact that Nicole isn't here.

Brit walks out from the kitchen and whispers into my ear, "We need to get started," she says. "It's time for the main course."

"Let's give it a few minutes," I say, hoping to buy a little more time. I don't want to start without Nicole.

"Fine, a few more minutes," Brit says. "But that's it. We can't keep stalling."

As she walks off, my heart's on fire. Maybe this was a stupid idea. I mean, if Nicole has refused to take any of my calls or even text me back, what makes me think she'll show up to this dinner?

I can feel my optimism fading faster than a phone battery on 20 percent.

Yes, this was definitely stupid. I never should've—

My thoughts are interrupted when I see who just walked through the front door.

She's gorgeous. Drop-dead gorgeous with her hair framing her face like a halo.

Everyone seems to turn in their seats when she enters.

It's Nicole.

She came.

Nicole

As soon as I walk through the doors of the Pearl, I'm taken by surprise. This doesn't look like a restaurant's final night.

Every critic in the city is here. There's Francis Ball, the food critic of the New York Times for the last decade or so. There's also Rachel Smith, a celebrity chef with over a dozen #1 cookbooks under her belt. I also spot Joe March, the obnoxious chef who tells it like it is and, in doing so, has won a Pulitzer for keeping every chef in the world on their toes.

Even Percy Whitman is here. Why is he here if he hates Palmer so much? Maybe he's here for the same reason I am… to watch him go down in a ball of flames.

But sitting here now, that's not the impression I get. It doesn't feel like Palmer's going down at all. In fact, it feels like the opposite is true; it feels like he's on top.

This room is filled with the most impressive culinary group of people ever gathered in a single room.

I get the sense that something big is coming.

A waiter comes by and offers me a glass of champagne. I thank him and take a sip. I recognize the variety right away.

It's Champagne Collet Brut Art Deco. One of my favorites. Did Palmer know that?

I take another sip and am overcome with the flavors of raspberry and apricot, and even candied lemon peel. Everything about it is perfect.

"Can I have your attention please, everyone," Palmer says, and my eyes dart to the front of the dining room.

"First, I want to thank each and every one of you for being here tonight—even my most outspoken critics."

Palmer looks directly at Percy as he says this and I hear some low murmurs in the crowd.

He continues, "I have a very special evening planned tonight."

"This should be good," Kate whispers into my ear. She promised to join me tonight, and I'm glad she came. If she didn't, I'm not sure I would've been able to muster the courage to come here alone.

"I'm excited to present a dish to you this evening that I've worked long and hard on," Palmer says to the crowd. He then lifts the silver lid off of a dish and everyone's necks are craning to get a good look at it.

"Tonight, I present to you a Bodacious Bucatini Bolognese with heirloom tomatoes," he says, and the entire dining room erupts in applause. I hear whispers from the table next to me. "I didn't know he had a dish like this," one woman says.

And my heart sinks. It's sinking faster than the Titanic.

I've been tricked. Again .

If I weren't already so emotionally spent, I'd cry. But I can't even cry right now because that emotion has turned into anger.

I'm angry and shocked.

He adapted my grandmother's secret recipe and he invited me here tonight to rub it in my face and use it as his own.

My face is hotter than a campfire. "I told you," I say to Kate. "I never should've come here tonight. This was a huge mistake."

Kate doesn't say anything, but instead tenderly places her hand on top of mine.

Waiters are bringing this dish to every table and diners are smiling. Critics are taking notes and their faces tell me just how impressed they are.

I'm astonished as I look around the dining room.

I've never felt so bad in my life. There's this blackness in the pit of my stomach. It's like I don't want to die, but I don't exactly want to live, and I feel lonely… but I don't want to talk to anyone. I just want to crawl into my bed and hide away from the world.

I feel lost. I'm disgusted with myself. My limbs feel heavy, like they're weighed down with lead anchors. It feels like I'm on a bus and I'm ringing to signal the driver to stop because all I want to do is get off this ride, but the bus just keeps going, and all I can do is watch the world move by through the windows.

I think I've hit an all-time low.

Great. Just when I thought I wasn't going to cry, I feel hot tears well up behind my eyelids and they're threatening to spill over.

I beg my body to not betray me like this. I can't cry. Not now. Not in front of this crowd.

I gather my purse and turn to Kate. "I'm sorry, but I have to leave."

But just as I'm about to stand up, Palmer makes another announcement.

And it's so surprising that I'm frozen to my seat.

Palmer

There are murmurs building louder through the crowd and my heart is beating so fast, I feel as if I might die right here, in front of the world's most powerful culinary critics.

That would be embarrassing.

I tell myself to breathe. Just breathe. Everything is going to be OK.

I hear a song play in my head:

"Everything's gonna be alright, everything's gonna be okay."

Right. It's now or never.

This is the moment I've been waiting for.

"I'm glad you are all enjoying this dish, but I have a confession to make," I say to the room, and every table goes silent. I'm talking silent enough to hear a fly land on a napkin. Every single set of eyes is now fixed on me.

"I invited you here tonight to help me surprise Chef Nicole," I say, and everyone is turning in their seats, looking for her. She seems genuinely surprised.

"You see… one night she cooked this most amazing dish for me. It transported me to another time and place. The place of her ancestors. It was authentic, and so full of depth of flavor and love and creativity… and it told a story.

“More than that, it showed her genius as a fellow chef. I was planning to surprise her with this new dish tonight."

There are now murmurs rumbling through the room again, but I continue on.

"This new dish was supposed to be a blend of my style and hers… a collaboration, if you will."

My eye's lock on Nicole's and I can't decipher what she's thinking. But she still seems to be in a state of shock.

"I did this as a way to say that I love her—I love this woman—and sometimes different things come together, combine, and become something beautiful."

Now Nicole's holding one hand to her mouth and she's crying. Even from this distance, I can see the tears streaking down her cheeks.

The entire room is clapping.

"Bravo—congratulations!" I hear the crowd shout. But I raise my hand to silence them.

"Please don't clap for me," I say. "Clap for Nicole. Congratulate her instead, because she's the only reason I managed to do something like this. She has elevated the way I approach cooking and my own cuisine."

The crowd grows louder. The clapping has now reached a fevered pitch and everyone is on their feet, turning to Nicole.

I watch as the major food critics approach her table. Rachel Smith reaches her first.

"It's an honor," she says to Nicole. "I'd like to talk to you about a potential book deal. I think we could create a best-selling cook book together."

Nicole is speechless. She's beaming from ear to ear. Then Francis Ball and Joe March approach her, showering her with accolades, and I can tell this all feels so surreal to her.

It's as if she's trying to pinch herself, to make sure this isn't just a dream.

I walk to her table and reach my hand out toward her. She takes my hand in hers and I pull her to her feet. As soon as she's standing, I pull her into my arms, and embrace her in a tight hug.

God, it feels so good to hold her again.

It's been so long without her. Too long. And I never want that to happen again.

I don't think I could be without her.

I look directly into her eyes. "I love you," I say.

"I love you, too," she says, her lips curling into a smile.

There's a new sparkle in her eyes, and I realize that I'm happy. Truly happy. I'm happier than I've ever been in my life.

You know the feeling you get when you come home and your dog is excited to see you? He's so excited that his tail is wagging so hard it's knocking things off the coffee table and he's running up to you and licking you and making all sorts of excited puppy noises and so you pet him and smile and feel content?

Well, it's like that. The rest of the world dissolves and takes a backseat to Nicole… to my happiness.

Nicole drags one hand to my cheek, tenderly cupping it. "I have a secret for you too," she says.

"And what's that?"

"I went behind your back and saw your doctor."

"You did what?" I say, looking into her eyes.

Why would she do that? I told her about that in strict confidence. She knows I didn't want to get a second opinion.

"Before you get mad," she says, "you're an idiot."

"What?"

"You're an idiot because you were worried for nothing," she smiles. "The scans were wrong. You're not gonna die."

"Well, aren’t you full of surprises," I say.

She brings her lips to mine, and as soon as I taste her sweet lips, an electric current travels down my spine.

"I want you, Palmer," she says. "I want you… now."

Nicole

I’ve never been this happy in my entire life.

And I’m more than just happy—I’m also in-love.

For the first time in my life, I’m ready to share everything I have with another person. It doesn’t matter what—a recipe, my heart, my body… everything I have now belongs to Palmer, as well.

I can’t even hear anyone anymore. The whole place may be completely packed, and everyone may be cheering for us, but I just don’t care. I’m looking into his deep blue eyes, and everything I care about seems to live in that gaze of his.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispers, grabbing my hand and offering me one of his heart-melting smiles.

“Where to?” I ask him, even though I don’t care about the where; I just want to be alone with him.

“Have you ever ridden a bike before?” he asks me, that devious grin of his on his lips. I shake my head, biting down on my lip as I remember that roaring bike he drove to my restaurant that one night, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity to hesitate. “Come,” he tells me.

With his hand on mine, he drags me out of the dining room and into the kitchen.

“Brit, The Pearl on Park is yours for the night,” he tells one of the women in there. He grabs two helmets and his jacket, all of them sitting on a counter at the end of the room, and then guides me toward a corridor that leads to a service door. We’re in the building hall now, and we make our way toward the elevator at the end of it.

He presses the button on the wall, and a fraction of a second later the doors swing open to allow us in.

“I love you,” I tell him, my heart beating so fast it feels as if it’s about to explode. “I love you so much.”

“So do I,” he tells me, and then he’s on me. He pushes me back against the elevator door, crushing his mouth against mine, and I surrender to the most intense kiss of my life. My heart melts as I feel the tip of his tongue running between the crevice between my lips, and I allow my hands to rest on his waist.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I shouldn’t have doubted –”

“Shh,” he silences me, placing one finger over my lips. “No need for that,” he continues, and that’s when the doors slide open once more. We walk out into the lobby, and a few seconds later we’re on the street, the coldness of the night making my skin prickle.

“Here,” he says, handing me his leather jacket. I try to protest, but he just forces me to wear it. Then, gently, he places one of the helmets over my head.

“Ready?” he asks me, leading the way toward a bike parked around the corner. He swings one leg over it, and then fishes a key out of his pocket and revs up the engine, its roar cutting through the night.

Hesitantly, I climb on the back of the bike, and a few moments later we’re already cruising down the streets, my arms wrapped around his chest.

Right now, I hear nothing but the roar of the engine and the thumping of my own heart. I keep my arms tight around him, and not because I’m afraid of falling, but because I don’t want to let go.

We drive toward his apartment building, and the moment he parks his bike, it takes us only a few minutes to get inside his apartment. The moment I hear the door closing behind me, I simply push myself up against him and go on tiptoes, my lips looking for his.

“I need you,” I tell him, the words tumbling out from my lips like honey and silk.

“Not as much as I need you,” he replies, taking his hands to my shoulders and pushing off the jacket down my arms. “I need my girl,” he continues, sweeping me off my feet and carrying me toward the couch in the center of the living room.

I rest my hand on top of his and, looking into his eyes, I realize just how much I need him, really need him.

I need him now, and when I say now, I mean right now . I slide myself over to him, closing the gap between us, and I place my hand right on his crotch. In two heartbeats, I feel his cock hardening under my fingers, straining against the fabric of his pants. Smiling, I curl my fingers around his thick shape and press hard on it.

“You can’t wait, huh?” He says, smiling, echoing my own thoughts as he places one hand on my knee and slides it up until it meets the hem of my dress. I shiver softly at his touch, the sting of desire striking me point blank.

“No, I can’t," I tell him, squeezing his cock more harshly than I probably should. I just can’t help myself.

“That makes two of us…” He whispers at me, a wicked grin dawning on his lips, “I’m just like you...” With that, he slides his hand under my dress and only stops when he has his fingers pressed tight against my pussy. “Impatient.”

I grow wet in a fraction of a second, my thong dampening immediately. Biting on my lower lip, I let an expression of desire take over my face and lean into him, crushing my mouth against his.

Forcing his tongue past my lips, he pushes it inside of my mouth and runs it in soft gentle circles around my own. We start slow and tenderly, but our kiss quickly descends into wildness: we start to kiss as if we are possessed and, really, we are.

We are possessed by lust and love; and above all, we are possessed by happiness.

As we kiss, Palmer presses his hand harder against my pussy and, with a quick flick of his fingers, he pushes my thong to the side. I pant as I feel his index finger brushing against my pussy lips and, when he presses it over my clit, I go completely mad and nibble at his bottom lip, pulling it back with my teeth.

Taking one hand to my hair, he yanks on it and, at the same time, slides his finger all the way inside of my pussy. I press my legs together, trapping his hand in place, and he pushes his finger even deeper inside of me, his fingertip rubbing against my G-spot.

As he touches me there, the gentle flames of pleasure and desire start raging and raging, turning my mind into a furnace.

“I’m going to fuck you right here,” he says, hunger in his voice, “I can’t wait. I really can’t, Nicole.”

“That’s all I need to know,” I say, my voice quivering as he rubs his fingertip against my G-spot. Flicking his wrist, he starts to move his finger in and out of my pussy, always pushing it all the way in until it’s touching that sweet hidden spot in my body.

Anxiety rushing through my veins, I start to stroke him over his pants and then, not satisfied with that, I unbuckle his belt with trembling fingers. Tugging on his pants, I force the zipper to go down and, moving fast, I slide my hand under his boxer briefs and grab his thick mast.

My skin prickles as I feel his warmness, his shaft pulsing against my fingers, and I start to move my hand up and down at a furious pace.

Throwing my head back against the headrest, I grit my teeth and hiss furiously, my pussy clenching around his fingers. He feels me perched on the verge of an orgasm, and so he presses his fingertips tighter against my G-spot —and just like that, I come undone. I have to clench my teeth in order not to scream, all the muscles in my body twitching as if I’ve just been shocked.

“God!” I moan in a low tone, opening my eyes and looking at him with anticipation and pleasure flickering in my eyes.

“Shh,” he whispers, sliding his fingers out of me. “We’re just getting started,” he continues, taking his fingers to my mouth and brushing them over my lips. Without even knowing what I’m doing, I part my lips and allow him to slide his fingers inside of my mouth and, as he pulls them back, I suck them dry.

My own flavor and scent hits me at once, coating my tongue and making my head spin.

Moving like a wild animal, I lean into him and, pulling his boxer briefs down, I grab his cock and point it straight at my mouth. I place my lips against his tip, lapping at it with my tongue, and then push my mouth down until I feel my lips touching the skin around the base of his cock.

I hold my position there until my lungs are screaming for air, and only then do I move back. As my lips wrap around his glans once more, I start to bob my head up and down his cock, sucking him as fiercely as could be humanly possible.

I’m not sucking or blowing him—what I’m doing is devouring him. He likes to say that my pussy is delicious, but let me tell you this: if there’s anything delicious in this world, it’s his cock. Trust me, I’m a chef.

And I swear to God, I could suck on Palmer for hours and hours.

I suck on him hard and, if he didn’t grab me by the hair and forced me to stop, I would just keep going until he came in my mouth. As it is, he pushes my head back—but I simply can’t control myself. If I can’t have him in my mouth, then I need him in my pussy.

Moving with cat-like movements, I climb on top of him, spreading my legs and straddling him. Before he can even react, I grab at his cock and angle it upward; with my other hand, I flick my thong to the side and push his tip against my wetness.

He holds me by the hips as I try to ease myself down; then, grinning, he only allows me to rub my pussy with the tip of his cock. He’s torturing me, and is loving every single second of it.

“Please,” I moan, repeating the word over and over again until he finally surrenders to me. Easing up the pressure on my hips, he allows me to go down and, just like that, I impale myself on his cock, his shaft sliding easily inside of my pussy.

I start to sway my hips like a mad woman, placing my arms over his shoulders as I ride him. He places his hands on my ass, hiking my dress up to my waist.

As I keep on rocking my hips, he pushes the string of thong that covers my ass to the side, and starts to brush one fingertip along my crack. I go even faster, riding as if tomorrow will never come. I tremble and shiver, my skin prickling as I feel his touch, and a deep moan climbs up my throat.

“Oh, God…” I moan, and his fingers start digging into my ass cheeks. I close my eyes, enjoying the moment as the movement of my body matches his rhythm, electricity crackling inside my mind.

I’m moaning hard, and I don’t even care if everyone in the building can hear us. I’m no longer that same Nicole, the one that was always coy and shy around men. The Nicole that didn’t care about dating, and lived to work. That Nicole has… grown.

“I’m going to… I’m going to…” I start to say, but I don’t even manage to finish my sentence. Clenching my ass cheeks and gritting my teeth, I feel my pussy tightening around his shaft and I come. I take my hands to his chest and, completely out of control, I grab at the fabric of his shirt and pull as hard as I can.

His buttons pop out, and I even feel the fabric tearing under my hands, but I don’t care—all that I want is to feel is naked skin under the open palm of my hands. Ripping his shirt open, I press my hands on his firm pectorals and dig my fingernails into it, hard enough to draw blood, and just keep him riding as I come my brains out.

Instinct taking over me, I summon whatever energy still lives in my body and clench my legs, going up on the couch and placing my arms over his shoulders.

“Your mouth,” I pant, “I want it.” Knowing what I want, he places his hands on my ass cheeks and reels me in, placing my pussy against his face. I close my eyes as he jabs his tongue past my drenched folds, running it up and down, and then focusing on my clit, lapping at it harshly.

“Oh, God. It’s so… fucking good,” I moan loudly, swaying my hips and rubbing my pussy all over his face. Sucking and licking, he moves one hand around my waist and presses one finger against my pussy. He moves it in, pushing it all at once and drawing one loud scream out of my lips.

“Fuck, fuck…” I cry out and, the moment he touches my G-spot, I start to convulse as if I’m having a seizure. I go down, sitting on his lap and my body feels as if it’s on fire. I don’t think I’d feel this hot if I was standing right in the middle of a raging inferno.

“My turn,” he whispers against my ear, nibbling at my earlobe with his teeth. “I want your pussy again. But not in my mouth,” he grins at me, and I feel my pussy aching to have him in it again.

With a growl, Palmer takes his hands out of my ass and grabs me by the hips. He pushes me to the side, throwing me down on the couch, and I lay down. He spreads my legs open and lays on top of me, grabbing his cock and pressing it against my pussy in one single breath.

With a sigh, I cross my legs around his lower back and lace my arms on his neck, pulling him into me as the desperation to have his cock completely demolishing my pussy reaches the height of its intensity.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll forget your name,” he whispers before pressing his mouth against mine, kissing while he thrusts. My insides burn as his thickness pushes back against my inner walls, and I grip him hard with my legs around his waist.

He’s fucking me so hard that fireworks are going off behind my shut eyelids, and I already feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. He was right about what he said; if he keeps fucking me like this, I doubt I’ll remember anything at all.

He’s moving so fast that I no longer know when his cock is sliding out or sliding in and, to be honest, I couldn’t care less about it. All that matters is that I feel every single throb of his cock, the warmness of his shaft spreading through me and numbing every single one of my senses. Each thrust of his is like a pure blessing, and I’m already feeling the pressure mounting inside of me.

I open my mouth to tell him not to stop, but all I manage to produce is a weak croak. It doesn’t matter, though; he’s not thinking of stopping. Instead, he goes even faster, pushing me close to the edge and then forcing me to jump straight into a pool of pleasure.

“Oh, my, GOD!” I scream out, the sound of it crawling up my throat, clawing at my vocal chords and then exploding on my mouth like a bomb. My scream turns into a high-pitched scream, the flames of ecstasy licking at my skin from the inside out.

When my muscles finally stop twitching, Palmer lays one gentle kiss against my cheek and then whispers into my ear. “I hope you’re not tired already…” He says and, even though I’m already feeling as spent as I could be, I shake my head.

“More,” I simply say, running my tongue over my lips.

“Are you sure you can take more?” He teases me, pulling his cock out of me. “I won’t hold back.”

“I don’t want you to hold back… I want you to give me your all,” I tell him, the way the words roll over my tongue making the adrenaline race through my veins.

“That’s my girl,” he says, grabbing me by the hips again. He sits me up on the couch and then he lays down, looking at me with an expectant look.

“Come here,” he calls me with a grin. “I’m not done with devouring that pussy of yours.”

Grinning back, I climb on top of him and, placing my knees at the side of his head, I offer him my pussy.

He cranes his neck and, grabbing me by the hips, presses his mouth against my wetness once more. I sway my hips back and forth, thrusting against his face as he eats me out, all of his movements pregnant with a wild and insatiable hunger.

A deep certainty fills me and I can’t help but smile—somehow, I’m sure that when we are finally old and wrinkled, our joints and muscles a ghost of a time gone by, he’ll be as hungry as he is now.

And that fits me just right, if you ask me. I’ve been missing out for the last two decades; I have absolutely no intention of going without sex even one single day for the rest of my life.

What can I say? Now that I know how good sex is, there’s no way I can resist it. Plus, Palmer… he just makes me like this. I mean, I’m sure that he has this effect on pretty much every woman he comes across, but now he’s mine.

Just mine.

As I grind against his face, he moves his hands back to my navel and allows two fingers to fall over my clit. Pressing down on it, he starts rubbing it fast, his fingers tracing circles around it.

My body tenses up and relaxes, the orgasm washing over me with an ebb and flow. The tides of pleasure are lulling my mind, the high waves of this ocean of ecstasy lapping at my body and spending the few reserves of energy I still have inside of me. But I still want more…

And I want one last showdown before making him fuck me for the last time.

I lift my legs and turn around and, with my ass turned to him, I go on all fours on top of his body. I reach for his cock and, grabbing it, I point it straight at my mouth and lower my head.

At the same time, he hooks his fingers on my hips and forces me to ease my pussy down on his face. The moment I feel my wetness against his lips, I start to sway my body at a frantic pace, bobbing my head at the same rhythm.

We go like this for God knows how long, the whole concept of time becoming completely meaningless. With his mouth on my pussy, and my mouth on his cock, I can’t really focus on anything else. And, as he licks my clit with renewed ferocity, I feel my brain on the verge of shutting down.

Still, I manage to remain unconscious, only to have another orgasm explode inside of me, the shock waves of it rushing through my muscles and forcing me to take his cock out of my mouth.

Coming up for air, I scream as loud as I can.

Breathing so hard that I’m dizzy, I climb out of Palmer’s body and, without waiting to see what he wants me to do, I go on all fours on the couch. He gets up in a heartbeat, kneeling behind me, and smacks my ass harshly with the palm of his hand. He does it again and again, and only stops when the pain becomes so deliciously unbearable that I’m moaning in ecstasy and thrusting back at him.

I have my head bowed down, my hair cascading down my shoulders. And so while I can’t see him, I can imagine the wicked grin he has on his face as he presses his tip against my pussy.

With one simple thrust, he’s in me again, stretching me as wide as only he can do. I moan and scream, the sound of it blending into something almost inhuman. My voice caresses my eardrums and then claws at it, all while a firestorm rages inside of me, threatening to consume everything that I am.

Maybe I’ll die of pleasure now; maybe my final orgasm will be so intense that I’ll stop breathing, my heart will stop beating, and then my brain will shut down. My soul will float away into the afterlife and, if all this happens, I’m sure that I’ll be going with a grin on my face. I mean, to go out with Palmer’s thick cock ravaging me wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, would it?

No… no, it wouldn’t.

When I finally come, there’s no screaming or moaning; I throw my head back against the couch and just hiss like a rattlesnake, my throat too ruined to carry on. I almost think that Palmer’s done, but when he pulls his cock out of my pussy he keeps its tip pressed against my inner lips.

Oh, sweet God… I think I’m really going to OD on pleasure.

“Do it… Do it…” I beg him, and he starts to push his cock back inside me. It moves in at a slow pace, but it goes steadily all the same. Even though my throat has given up on me, I force myself to scream one more time, the pressure of Palmer’s cock on my insides too good for me to remain in silence.

“Hard… I want it hard,” I continue, and he doesn’t need any further instructions; he starts to thrust as if his life depended on it, ravaging me like he never did before.

He buries his cock so deep inside me that I have to scream again. At the same time, he slides one hand around my waist and presses down on my clit with two fingers, immediately stroking it at a furious and almost too violent pace.

It doesn’t take long for me to come undone — one more thrust of his cock and my mind snaps, my soul shattering into a thousand little pieces with it.

I thrust back, forcing him to push his cock deep into me, and then I hold that position as a violent convulsion takes over me. My muscles are burning, my skin is boiling, and both my heart and lungs are working overtime to keep me alive. It’s a wonder that I still haven’t passed out… I feel exhausted enough to fall unconscious, but I refuse to do it as pleasure still courses through my veins.

Even though Palmer and I have a lifetime ahead of us, I don’t want to waste one single second of what I’m experiencing now.

“I want you to come,” I find myself telling him, my brain seemingly having no say about what words leave my lips. As if my voice has a magical effect on his body, his cock starts to spasm and, half a heartbeat after that, it throbs violently and I feel the warmness of his seed filling me.

Instead of gushing all his load inside of me, Palmer pulls his cock out and, still on his knees, starts to stroke himself. I feel his thick ropes of cum cover my lower back, beads of it sprinkling my skin.

By the time he’s done, all I can do is roll around so that I’m lying on my back. I take a few deep breaths, and then I sit up. He’s sitting up as well, his head thrown back against the couch as he tries to catch his breath.

Slowly, I run my fingertips down his forearm and take them to his hand. I tangle my fingers on his, and then lean into him and press my lips on his face.

“I love you,” I whisper again, somehow knowing that I’ll never grow tired of these three words. As silly as it might sound, I feel like I’m the luckiest woman on Earth.

“I love you too,” he whispers back at me, his fingers tightening around my own. My body grows cold suddenly, and perhaps feeling it, Palmer reaches for his discarded shirt on the floor and makes me wear it. He dresses me as one would do to a small child, and I keep my eyes on his as he does it, just enjoying the delicate way he’s handling me.

For a man capable of such dominance and raw power, I can’t help but be surprised at how kind he truly is. I can’t believe I used to see him as someone cold and heartless, a total asshole even.

To say that I was wrong doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Standing up, his large shirt covering most of my body, I make my way toward the large windows of his living room.

“Where are you going?” He asks me, picking his boxer briefs from the floor and getting inside them. He goes up to his feet and then joins me by the window, his arm laced around my waist.

“The city… it looks so beautiful from up here,” I whisper, not even knowing why I’m saying. At ground level, from the windows of the Old Tale, the city is nothing but a blend of smog and dirty concrete. But from up here, there’s a certain magic about it all.

The streets have an orange glow at night, and the tall spires of office and apartment buildings rise up in the air like Christmas trees. And though I know that no one really sleeps in a big city, right now it feels so… calm.

It’s almost relaxing.

“It does,” Palmer agrees with me, and then he’s the one brushing his lips against my cheek. “But only because you’re here with me.”

I look into his eyes, but this time I don’t say anything.

Sometimes, words just get in the way.

Smiling, I go up on tiptoes and kiss him, closing my eyes as I let the memory of this moment be forever imprinted on my mind.

Love—sometimes it’s even better than what we imagine it to be.

Wanted: Big Bad Brother: A Billionaire Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance by Knight, Natalie, Vale, Vivien (34)

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