Sinfully shameless chef, p.16
Sinfully Shameless Chef, page 16
Crap.
Without anything cooking in the kitchen, I smell him before I hear him or see him—that spicy, rich scent hitting me almost instantly.
I need to put bells on that front door. Because it sure as hell isn't safe to have Jameson Fury sneaking in here unannounced.
It would be so much easier if I had time to prepare myself, to steel myself against his bourbon eyes that I just want to drink down. To tell my body no when it yearns for him to reach out and touch me.
Be strong, Iz.
I look up to find him approaching me slowly. Almost like he doesn't want to startle me despite the fact he’s intentionally made no noise coming in.
For the first time since I first met him, Jameson looks uncertain. Disheveled. Like something is weighing on him. And he’s sporting a pretty good black eye that looks painful. “Hey.”
“Hey, what the hell happened? Are you okay?
My first thought is an angry ex got to him, but he said he hadn’t been with anyone in a while. So, unless he lied to me, it’s something else.
“I’m fine.” His lips press together into a hard line, and he shoves a hand back through his hair almost violently, glancing away from me to try to hide the wince and grinding of his teeth. “Shit.”
While the word was mumbled, barely audible, the frustration and evident pain he’s in pulls at my heartstrings more than it should.
“What's wrong?”
He shakes his head and sighs, returning his gaze to mine. “I'm not sure, just feeling very…” He waves his hand in front of him like he’s searching for the right word.
Only one comes to mind to describe his demeanor. “Anxious?”
“Yes.”
It takes a lot for a man like Jameson to admit that. He doesn’t like to admit any kind of weakness. He always wants to be the one in control and to convince everyone that his control is unwavering.
He shifts on his feet and scans the kitchen, avoiding making eye contact with me again. “I just had a very frustrating phone call with Grant earlier this morning, and I tried to forget about it and get on with my day, get shit done, but some things he said are just driving me a little crazy.”
“Things like what?”
Jameson finally levels his gaze on me. “Things he said about you.”
I fully stand and turn to face him. “What about me?”
“He wanted to know if you were going to be a problem for us…for me.”
“What did you say?”
He watches me for a moment, then closes the distance between us until all he has to do is reach out an inch to touch me, but he holds back. “I told him you wouldn't be.”
The words hurt more than anything I’ve been through in my life, and that’s saying a lot. They slam into me like wrecking balls—one by one. He’s definitely a problem for me, but apparently, he can blow me off without a second thought.
Why come here to tell me that? To reiterate how little I mean to him?
I clear my throat and try to tamp down the tears. “That's good? I guess?”
“But that was a lie…”
Wait. What?
I drop my pen onto the counter. “What does that even mean—”
His lips descending on mine steal my words before I can voice them. I groan and sag against him, everything else forgotten for a tiny moment in time. Even though I have no fucking idea what’s going on, I let him lead me down the same road that got us into this position in the first place.
Soft and demanding at the same time, the kiss asks a question and demands an answer, though I’m not sure what either is.
He drags his head away and captures my face between his palms. His warm amber eyes ripple with need and another emotion I haven’t seen there before, one I can’t quite identify. “You are most definitely going to be a problem for me.” He brushes his thumb over my cheek. “Come to my place tonight.”
It isn't really a question. More of a statement. Almost a command.
I never wanted Jameson to have control over me, but with his body pressed against mine, my lips tingling from his kiss, his scent enveloping every breath I take, I'm helpless to resist him.
“Yes.”
16
JAMESON
The yes that fell from Isabella’s kiss-swollen lips had to have been the single sweetest word I've ever heard in my entire life. I hadn't even realized how badly I needed to hear it, to have that confirmation that what I’ve been feeling isn’t all one-sided. That I’m not completely insane like I’ve been thinking was a true possibility.
After spending the day stewing about what Grant said about her, I found myself drawn to her place despite all the reasons to stay away. Maybe to prove to myself that I was right about her and he was wrong. Maybe to convince myself I could look at her and not care. Or maybe just because I can’t get her out of my head.
I never thought I had an addictive personality. I’ve never done drugs or drank heavily. I've never been the type to get obsessed with things or people—other than putting everything I have into cooking and being the best of the best—especially things that could be very bad for me.
But Isabella is quickly becoming a major weakness. An unexpected fork on what I thought was a pretty straight road to achieving what I’ve worked my entire life for.
She'll walk in my door in mere seconds, and the drive back to my place alone gave me plenty of time to think. Plenty of time to reconsider what we’re about to do and end it. Go back to how things were before we ever touched each other with anything other than disdain.
It would make things a lot easier—professionally and personally, especially with Grant. If he finds out, it could be the end of this partnership and my chance at success, but I can’t bring myself to care when the tentative knock on the door makes my heart leap into my throat.
She came.
If she is second-guessing this in any way, it didn’t stop her. She could have changed course at any point on the way here, driven home, and given me the ultimate fuck you by leaving me here hard and waiting. But nothing stopped her, just like my reservations about whether this is a good idea or not don't stop me from yanking open the door and dragging her inside to devour her soft lips.
So fucking sweet…
She moans into my mouth, looping her arms around my neck and pushing her hips forward to rub against my hardening cock.
Hell, who am I kidding?
The truth is, I've been rock hard since the moment I walked into her kitchen, and it made for a very uncomfortable drive. Maybe I should've jerked off before she got here. Given myself a little bit of relief and ensured that I could go all night with her. But it seems that when it comes to Isabella, I want all my pleasure from her body. From her soft hands and this mouth that I can’t bear to pull away from. From the tongue tangling with mine…
Fuck.
My dick aches to be inside her, to be cocooned in her hot cunt, feeling her come apart in my arms and screaming my name. Almost as if in answer to my silent prayer, she reaches down with one hand and rubs against me. I grunt into her mouth and thrust my hips into her hand, backing her against the door she just came through.
I drag my mouth from hers, and her tongue darts out across her lips like the taste there is something she can't get enough of.
God, that’s hot.
Placing one hand against the door to the side of her head, I capture her face in my other palm; the pain that’s been plaguing me all day suddenly eases with the rush of hormones and determination flooding my body. “I wanted you here so I could have you all night. So I could do every depraved thing I have fantasized about over and over again without any threat of interruption. But Christ, Izzy, the bedroom seems so far away right now.”
She squeezes my cock harder and nods. “It sure does.” Her words come out breathless and full of the same need I feel building inside me. “I feel like I've been waiting a long time to see what you taste like, Jameson. And I don’t want to wait any longer.”
“Oh, fuck…”
Isabella slides down the door to her knees on the hardwood floor and deftly unbuttons and unzips to free me from the confines of my jeans. The brief moment of relief quickly becomes another form of sweet agony when she takes me in her hand and squeezes. I release a groan, burying my fingers into her hair as she leans forward and lets out a hot breath across my most sensitive flesh.
She peers up at me from under long, dark lashes. “Everything I've ever tasted from you has been incredible, Mr. Fury.”
I stare down at her glittering green eyes, sparkling with humor. “I sure hope I can live up to your expectations.”
A tiny laugh falls from her lips, and she swirls her tongue around the head of my cock. I jerk and tighten my hold on her hair.
“I'm sure you will.” She sucks me into her mouth slowly, like she wants to either torture me or experience every bit of it.
My bet is on the torture.
The way she slides her tongue along the bottom of my shaft, then up across that place right under the head of my cock is clearly designed to torment me. To make my hips rock forward in an attempt to drive deeper. To push me to the brink of self-control.
She moans around me and changes the angle of her assault so that she can take me even farther down.
Oh, fuck. I won't last. No fucking way.
If I want any chance of coming inside her, I need to end this before she does it for me. I tug on her hair and drag my hips back to free my cock from her mouth’s vise-like grip.
She gazes up at me, her lips wet and swollen, her hand still wrapped around the base of my shaft. “What?”
I tug her up and against me, pressing a brutal kiss to her lips before making my way to her ear. “As much as I would love to see you swallow my cum, I want to be inside you more right now.”
The hand wrapped around me strokes, and she gives a tiny nod. It's the only confirmation I need that’s she’s fully on board with this plan.
That control I’m barely clinging to finally snaps, and I push her back against the door and fumble to find the waistband of her pants. She releases her grip on me long enough to shove them down along with her thong and kicks them off to the side along with the flip-flops she was wearing.
The urge to drop to my knees to worship her again and get the warm taste of her release on my tongue wars against the need to feel her clamping around me, but she brushes her thumb over the head of my dick and urges me back toward her, making the decision for me.
Thank fuck, I don’t have to make that choice.
I grasp her hips and lift her to wrap her legs around my waist, then pin her to the door. The bruises on my side issue a little scream of objection, but there isn’t any time to worry about how sore this might make me. Aligning my cock with her wet heat, I lock eyes with Izzy and drive into absolute bliss.
It isn't what I had in mind when I invited her over tonight. I pictured something a little more romantic, or at least a soft mattress beneath us. Romance isn't a word I've ever really associated with how I am with women, and most would consider this a little barbaric. But this feels right with her, right here in the damn living room against the front door barely inside my apartment. Everything else between us has been fast.
Immediate hatred.
Immediate frustration.
Immediate tension.
Immediate attraction—at least from my end.
Why should this be any different?
Izzy deserves to be worshipped. To be shown how beautiful and irresistible she is to me. She needs to know just how she drives me fucking crazy in a way no other woman in my life ever has.
And I'll do all those things…once I get some fucking relief.
My hips mimic the push and pull of the relationship we’ve always had. Every retreat feels like losing a little something, while every drive in is like coming home to a place I hadn’t known I needed.
She groans and drops her head against the wood, digging her heels into my lower back to push me even deeper.
I still for a moment and put my forehead against hers. A huge part of me wants to stay like this forever, buried inside Izzy, but the need to move makes me drag my hips back and slam into her again.
Her nails score my nape, and I lean forward to suck the breath right from her lips.
And good God… she seems more than willing to let me.
IZZY
I wasn't hallucinating. It wasn't just a fantasy I had built up in my head, some exaggerated remembrance of a moment in time made to be something that it wasn’t. No…I wasn’t wrong about what happened in my kitchen the other night. Jameson really is that good.
The first time, I thought it was just the tension build-up that made it so perfect. The typical hate-fuck everyone talks about being so incredibly hot. But I don’t hate Jameson anymore—if I ever truly did. And given what he said earlier, I don’t think he hates me, either.
You are most definitely going to be a problem for me.
The statement could have been taken a lot of ways, but it only said one thing to me—he wants me. Truly wants me, even with all the bullshit between us.
While I would love to convince myself that it's just the fact that it's been so long, that I'm lonely and need this connection and affection from someone, I can't deny the reality of what’s happening with Jameson.
And apparently, neither can he.
Because even now, as he slams into me, I see the struggle deep in his bourbon eyes. He knows all the reasons why this is wrong. All the complications it brings. Yet, we're doing it anyway.
What does that say about us? That we’re both weak? Or is it just that our connection is that strong? Something undeniable that no one could ever fight?
Either way, it doesn’t matter right now. Because it feels good. And I haven't felt truly good in such a long time that it feels like I deserve this. One more night of reckless abandon, of throwing caution to the wind and letting natural need take over before I have to face reality and decide how to handle telling him what he needs to know.
I should be at home right now doing all the things I need to in order to keep myself healthy and sane, but instead, I'm in the arms of the one man I shouldn't be. I’m losing myself in the competition who can ruin everything I’ve ever dreamed about and worked for if I really let him. And in this moment, I just might.
Just might give him everything…
Especially if he keeps doing that thing with his hips that makes the head of his cock drag against my G-spot.
“God, yes!” The words tumble from my lips, and I roll my hips to meet his, harder and faster, reaching for that one moment of sheer bliss I know is just on the horizon.
It’s raw and rough and all Jameson.
He isn't the type of man who ever makes love. I doubt he even understands the meaning of the word, but with the pleasure coursing through my veins like heroin right now, I can't care about that missing fantasy.
I can momentarily brush aside the fact that he looked like he’d been in a fight when he arrived—banged up and battered the way I feel, even though it might not be as visible. He’s hiding something from me just like I am him, something that can wait for another day. Until his hand shifts from my thigh to the hem of my shirt, and I quickly reach down and plaster my hand over his to still his progress.
Oh, God. Not now…
I am so not having this conversation with him right now, not in the middle of feeling like this. I’m not ready to expose any more weaknesses to Jameson when he already has me torn open and practically naked in front of him. When he’s already worked his way under my skin and into my heart.
He stalls the movement of his hips and drags his head back to look at me. “What's wrong? Why won't you let me touch you?”
I answer him with a kiss and by squeezing my pussy around him.
Distraction always works.
His eyes snap shut, and he groans, his chest rumbling against mine in a strange mixture of need and frustration. He pulls his hand out from under mine and takes my chin in his palm. His eyes flutter open and meet mine. “We’re going to have to talk about this.” He claims me with a kiss, one that takes my breath again and promises he means business. “But first, let me finish fucking you and make you come on my cock.”
Oh, God.
A shiver rolls through me, and I clench around him again.
I've never been one for dirty talk. Maybe it's just because no one has ever really done it with me before, but the growly tone in his voice and the fact that he has absolute command of me at this moment makes me nod. “I am in one hundred percent agreement with that plan.”
The coming on his cock part, at least.
Not the talking later thing. All the other stuff will have to be addressed at some point I don’t even want to think about right now. But if I’m coming clean, so is he. It’s only fair. The two of us need to lay everything out on the table…somewhere down the road.
He resumes his movements and kisses his way up my neck to my ear to suck behind it at that spot that sends a jolt straight to my clit. That, combined with the roll and crush of his hips, the friction of his pelvis against my throbbing bud, is enough to finally send me over the edge.
I jerk against the door, my pussy rippling and clutching at him inside me as my orgasm obliterates any sense of reality. Only one thing exists in this brilliant moment of ecstasy that’s only broken by a guttural growl as Jameson pushes in one final time and comes—my complete surrender.
He presses me into the door, keeping us both up with the weight of his body. His face buried against my neck brings hot pants of breath across my skin. As much as I’d love to bask in this for a few moments, my entire body tenses at what’s coming.
Jameson told me we were going to talk. And he always follows through on his promises. He pulls back his head, and his lips find mine again in a slow, languid kiss, one that sends a little aftershock through me.
When he finally drags his mouth from mine, he grins and grasps my thighs in a bruising grip. “Hold on tight. We’re going to the bedroom.”
