“Right.” I sigh as Heath sinks to his knees. “About no else,” I agree, watching as he spreads my knees. I lean my head back on a groan. “If it’s about the bride and groom, can’t this wait?”
I don’t want it to. God knows I don’t want it to. But I’m trying to be the sane one here… And it isn’t easy.
Heath glances up at me with a wicked smirk.
“Yes,” he says, savoring the sight of my nakedness under the skirt. “But it’s been a long day, gorgeous. And you know what they say about angry chefs?”
I exhale loudly, blowing out a ragged breath. “What do they say?”
“Even the best deserve a snack sometimes.”
And then he puts his mouth on me.
His tongue is slow this time—lovingly lazy. Tantalizingly tender and skilled, he sweeps the edge of it along my slit, circling me with its soft buds. His licks are twisted brushes, flying figure-eights under my dress, and as he lowers his lips, sucking hard, I almost see stars—veritable universes, until he stops suddenly, blowing over my pulsing pussy.
My moan is almost scarily loud, a tired sound of sexual frustration. I stare at Heath’s handsome face as he lifts his head, the expression there twisting into a small scowl. My eyes can’t help but widen.
I straighten where I sit. “What?”
“You know…” he comments off-handedly, “A chef has certain rules, Violet… Rules he doesn’t like broken.”
I nod. “I’m sure.”
He replaces his lips with his fingers, pumping me with his hand instead. “And when a cook in the kitchen interferes with a chef in his duties, she must be punished…shouldn’t she?”
Confusion contorts the expression on my face, I know, but the question on my lips dies under his touch, melts away under his motions. Heath continues talking.
“I mean, if the cook is making something without telling the chef, that should be a problem. Especially if that chef had a hand in creating that very thing…”
His voice sinks to a whisper—a sexy hiss. “Especially if the chef knows the cook is keeping a secret.”
But I can’t think. Can’t talk as Heath continues his confusing story.
With filthy fondles under my skirt, the man molding my body like dough makes me forget everything else. I can barely hear what he’s saying as he penetrates me with his fingertips, dipping and swirling into my swollen cavern. And when he lowers his mouth once again, gripping his hands into my hips, he is no longer loving me with his tongue.
He is fucking me with it.
His hold is relentless as he slides me back and forth. His fingertips squeeze into my skin and as my body sweeps across the counter, my pussy plunging around his tongue, it is all I can do not to scream, my senses scattering as Heath impales me with his soft pink tip, making me see heaven over and over again.
I come so many times I fear I might crash and burn.
I grip into my very own Greek god’s tousled hair, tangling my fingers. When I finally come back down to earth, Heath stands to his feet, fixing my skirt. His kiss is brutal as he crushes me towards him, his grip fierce.
He pulls back, gazing into my eyes, his voice and stare softer than I’ve ever seen both. His words almost break as he releases me, his glare saying everything his eyes don’t.
“Now, does the cook want to tell the chef about his little bun in her oven? Or not?”
Thank you so much for reading Heath and Violet’s story!
Read more now to find out what happens when Heath’s right-hand man, Jesse, takes on Heath and Violet’s case…and find himself sensually connected to the one woman he shouldn’t want…
Heath’s sister, Marilyn.
The Deal is live on all platforms now.
Read a SNEAK PEEK from THE DEAL on the next page!
SNEAK PEEK of The Deal
JESSE
“This is not just a party. This is one of my parties.” He returns my gaze. “Or were you that drunk all those times that you forgot the debauchery?”
My hands stop moving.
Like the sick fuck I’ve found myself becoming because of this case, I chuckle, thinking of the decadent fun we’d had just five years ago in one of the many lofts owned by New York City’s most dysfunctional tabloid fodder family.
It seemed their destiny that Heath and his family-led law firm were constantly battling the press. A curse of their multi-comma’ed trust fund. They couldn’t catch a break.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, the rumor mill had sucked Heath’s own sister, Marilyn, into another sordid story, releasing hacked nudes of the city’s infamous soap opera actress into the blog-o-sphere.
Scandal swirled around the Sparrow family like crushed cookies in an Oreo shake.
Decadent. Delicious. And seriously bad for your fucking health.
I glance up at Heath, wondering if I should risk touching the swirling soup of madness. I shake my head, tapping my knuckles at the corner of my desk. My mind soaks in his suggestion.
I exhale. “I don’t know, man. I just…”
“Just…think about it,” Heath holds up his hands. “And don’t forget to swing by after your deposition.” He shoots me a pointed look. “I’d like to get in on this if you don’t mind.”
I watch his back as he turns and leaves.
I glance out the wall-to-wall windows, only regretting one thing.
That I’m not stronger.
Not strong enough to not let the stress of my current court case drag me down in the dregs with it. The nightmares I’d had years ago are back with a vengeance. And as I look over the skyline of Manhattan—silver and black skyscrapers, dark and beautiful as ever—I can’t help but think of it as the site of so much joy, success…and sadness.
This city is a devastating swirl of all three. Designed to put your willpower in a fucking blender and your privacy on display. And there are none who now know that fact more than Marilyn Daniels, Heath’s baby sister, whose own beautifully nude body was now scattered all over the Internet, just a phone touch away.
Including on mine…
Find out what happens when Jesse hops behind the wheel of Heath’s court case on Chris Jackson…and takes Marilyn along for the ride.
Start reading THE DEAL right now!
About the Author
Natalie Wrye is a reader, writer and tequila lover best known for writing suspenseful big city romance and characters whose HEA's you'll love rooting for.
A notebook hoarder whose books have been featured on USA Today's HEA and PopSugar, when she's not watching Netflix re-runs or yelling at college basketball games on TV, she's usually crafting sexy suspenseful stories about hard-bodied, take-charge heroes and the strong-willed women who crave them.
She loves it when people get weird with her on IG, NatalieWrye.com or [email protected]