“That much, huh?” I whisper breathlessly.
His teeth scrape over my earlobe and I whimper, the sound making the bulge in his pants twitch. “More than you can possibly imagine,” he growls softly. “I want to do things to your body no respectful gentleman should ever do to a woman.”
“Please tell me you’re not a respectful gentleman,” I beg.
He laughs as he kisses his way back to my mouth. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
The serious implication behind his words takes me by surprise. He must sense my shock, as he quickly corrects himself.
“In here. I’ll be whatever you want me to be in here.”
My stomach drops as I turn my face away from his and my hands drop to my sides.
He leans his head back to get a better look at my face, and he immediately recognizes his mistake. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
I nod as searing disappointment burns inside me. “Sure.”
He lets go of me and takes a step back, running his fingers through his hair as he tries to think of something to say. “I’m not using you, Alice.”
I remember the words Minka spoke to me a few weeks ago, when she was trying to persuade me to take the job at Forked: That little creep was using you to compensate for his shortcomings.
She was speaking of Edward at the time.
But Ethan and Edward are twins.
“I should get to work,” I mutter, straightening the wrinkles in my T-shirt left by Ethan’s hands.
I turn to face the door and his chest presses against my back as I begin to turn the lock. “What are you doing?”
His breath tickles my ear as he leans in and whispers, “I promise I won’t hurt you the way he did.”
My shoulders relax as I let out the breath I was holding. “Forgive me if I’ll have to see that before I believe it.”
Before I can turn the door handle, he spins me around and fixes me with an intense glare. “Let’s start now,” he says, and my mind conjures up filthy images of whatever it is he wants to start. “I promised you if things went well on opening night, we’d put you in the kitchen. And I’m hearing a lot of great feedback.”
“Really?” I say.
I don’t add that I’ve been purposely avoiding social media. I don’t want to know what people are saying about Ethan tossing Edward out on his ass.
He looks confused. “You haven’t looked at the reviews yet?”
I wince at his words. “I’m not much of a googler.”
“You’re not the least bit curious to see what people are saying about what happened with Edward on opening night?”
I let out a sigh. “I saw it happen. I don’t really care what anyone thinks.”
“You saw that?”
I smile sheepishly. “I may have peeked through the staff door.”
“Did you hear what we were saying?” he asks, a note of dread in his voice.
“Only when Edward got all loud and huffy. That brought back pleasant memories,” I remark.
He definitely appears relieved by my response.
“Why? Is there something you didn’t want me to hear?”
“No. He was just being himself. You know Edward, always whinging about nonsense,” he says, taking a step back, his gaze sliding down the length of my body as he seems to ponder other more appealing topics. “Back to what I was saying. I’ll need a few days to rearrange schedules, but we can switch you to half-time hostess, half-time sous chef trainee next week.”
I swallow hard as I suddenly remember I haven’t cooked in a professional setting in roughly seven months. “Already?”
He looks confused. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“I do!” I reply hastily. “It’s just, I thought you might start me on the line or something. I didn’t expect to go straight to sous chef.”
“Sous chef trainee,” he corrects me.
I bristle at the clarification. “Are you implying I won’t be paid while I’m being trained?”
He smiles at my question. “Why? Would you rather be paid in something other than money?”
I roll my eyes. “If you’d rather pay me in diamonds and pearls, I won’t complain.”
He steps forward, closing the gap between us as he reaches up to run the tip of his finger along my collar bone. “Pearls? Like a pearl necklace?”
“Actually,” I say, my mouth going dry as his finger traces a line down the middle of my chest, stopping at the button of my jeans, “a paycheck is…fine.”
His hand lingers on my waist as his lips hover over mine. “Paycheck it is,” he murmurs as he hooks his finger in my waistband and yanks me toward him so I can feel the hard ridge in his pants. “We can negotiate your perks package later,” he says with a strong emphasis on the word package.
I draw in a stuttered breath. “Be prepared to capitulate to my demands, because you’d better believe I’ll be bringing the heat.”
He chuckles and his breath tickles the hairs near my ears. “Is that so?” he says, his palm sweeping across my skin as he slides his hand into my jeans. “Well, I’m packing some pretty serious heat myself.” He watches me hungrily as his finger finds my sensitive spot and I let out a soft whimper. “I have a feeling you’ll be the one submitting to my demands.”
I grab onto his shoulders for support as he gently massages my swollen clit. “Okay,” I whisper, my resolve melting into a puddle in my panties.
“Okay?” he says, pausing the movement of his finger.
I nod desperately. “Yes. Yes, we can do it your way,” I reply, eager to say whatever it takes to get him to keep going.
“Yes? Yes…what?”
My eyes widen as his finger slides inside me. “Yes…please?”
He smiles as he uses my slick arousal to stroke my hard pearl. “Close.”
I moan softly, then I gasp with frustration as his finger pauses again. “Yes, please…” I mutter almost to myself a few times before it finally dawns on me. “Yes, Chef!”
He lets out a sexy laugh at my enthusiasm. “That’s better,” he says as his finger resumes gliding in slow circles over my flesh.
“Oh, my God,” I gasp as the muscles in my legs and my core begin to twitch.
“Not God,” he reminds me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as his finger strokes my tender bud. “Yes, Chef!” I cry out, the intensity of the orgasm rendering me incapable of caring about the volume of my exultations. “Yes! Yes! Ye-eeeesssss, Chef!”
He chuckles softly and wraps his arms around my waist to catch me as I collapse into him. I allow him to pull me onto his lap as he takes a seat in the chair by his desk. Resting my head on his shoulder, I mold my body to his as he presses his lips to my damp forehead.
I inhale the calming scent of his skin for a few minutes until my breathing has slowed. “I should get to work,” I say, though I have no desire to leave the comfort of Ethan’s arms. And, oddly, I also have no fears about whether he wants me to get up.
What is this man doing to me?
He makes me feel like a completely different person. In the few weeks we’ve known each other, he’s helped me stop apologizing for who I am while also teaching me to let go of my rigidity. I’m unsure if I should be grateful for this or if I should be afraid I’m molding myself into someone I’m not.