Pure Iron

by Bargo, Holly

  “All right,” she agreed.

  Mick watched her rounded bottom sway enticingly as she walked into the bathroom and his damned insatiable dick swelled again. “Fuck,” he muttered and took himself in hand. Minutes later he ejaculated to the mental image of Sonia all wet and soapy and slick in the shower. He needed to clean up, too, especially now with his jizz spattered all over his stomach. He grabbed a pair of jeans and headed for the other bathroom.

  Sonia bit her lip as she soaped her body. Her sensitive tissues responded to her own casual touch as though Mick were in the shower with her. She shuddered and forced herself to continue to wash and rinse and then, after toweling dry, smooth lotion all over. The dry desert air was already taking its toll on his skin.

  She combed her wet hair and confined it in a simple braid. Once dressed, she decided that the sheets really needed to be changed. Well, she had time to wash a few loads of laundry, so she might as well get on with it. Five minutes later clean sheets covered the bed and soiled sheets smelling pungently of sex and sweat had been stuffed into the washer.

  The warm, homey smells of pancakes and bacon drew her to the kitchen just as Mick served up a plate for each of them. She took a seat and stuffed a forkful of fluffy pancake in her mouth.

  “Mm, if you keep cooking for me like this, I’ll have to marry you,” she complimented.

  “My wife might object,” he teased as he sat down opposite her at the table.

  “Nah. I know your wife. She won’t mind.”

  “So, she wouldn’t mind sharing?”

  Sonia’s eyes glinted and she answered in a suddenly steely tone, “She doesn’t share.”

  “Good to know,” he replied lightly. “Now, do you have anything in mind to do before we head off to work?”

  “Laundry,” she answered with a shrug. “I’m getting low on underwear.”

  “So don’t wear any.”

  She couldn’t repress a smile and shook her head. “You may not mind going commando, but I certainly do.”

  She couldn’t help but squirm a little as she spoke. Mick’s eyes gleamed, knowing that she was extra-sensitive and why. The knowledge made him want to drag her back to bed. Or the sofa. The kitchen counter would do just as well, too. But he relented. He liked the idea of her sensitivity, but sensitivity could easily turn to soreness and he did not wish to hurt her.

  Without complaint, he pitched in to help with the day’s housework. After all, he lived there, too, so the mess wasn’t all hers. His mother had ensured his education in shared domestic responsibility.

  Their combined efforts made quick work of cleaning, although laundry took its own sweet time as always. Sonia put together a quick lunch after which Mick picked up his guitar and reviewed the night’s set list and worked on the new song he hadn’t quite finished. Sonia tidied the kitchen and set out the crock pot. She dumped in a quartered onion, three tablespoons of paprika, and a small chuck roast, then poured in beef stock. She set the temperature on low, placed the lid on top, and nodded to herself. There’d be just enough time to add pasta and thicken the broth for a hearty plate of comfort food that night when they arrived home.

  She looked at the time. The washer and dry had at least another half hour to go before she needed to tend to laundry. With a shrug, she curled up on the sofa with a book she hadn’t yet cracked open. After a few pages, she drifted off to sleep.

  Mick glanced at the clock and realized that it was time to go. Walking into the living room, he saw Sonia napping and smiled with lazy satisfaction. He’d worn her out and she’d loved every second of it. But she had to go work, so he gently woke her.

  “Oh, shit,” she exclaimed and rushed to the bathroom. She quickly changed into more appropriate clothing and, grabbing her purse, met Mick at the door as he was tying the laces on his boots. He’s already carried his instruments to the truck.

  “Damn, I’m going to be late,” she muttered.

  “No, you won’t,” he promised as he backed out of the garage, ignored the paparazzi hovering outside their home in the hopes of catching something newsworthy, and proceeded to break the speed limits.

  Phone calls traveled faster than the truck, however, and more tabloid journalists and cameras met them at the restaurant. Mick pulled as close to the entrance as he could.

  “Can you run?” he asked gently.

  She took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Good girl,” he praised. With a quick kiss, he bade her go.

  “I’ll be here at eleven o’clock to pick you up,” he said as she opened the passenger side door.

  Clutching her purse, Sonia nodded, hopped down from the cab, and ran.

  How did they even know her work schedule, she wondered? And why were they so interested in her? She was a chef, not a celebrity! Her coworkers welcomed her with varying degrees of warmth and curiosity as she walked through the bustling kitchen to the employee break room to deposit her purse and pick up a jacket.

  Antonin entered the room and said, “You’re cutting it fine.”

  She flushed and stammered an apology for being almost late.

  “I’m putting you on a different station to start your shift. We’ll begin rotating you among the stations, find where you’re strongest.”

  She nodded and followed him back to the kitchen.

  “Juan’s shift ends at four o’clock,” Antonin said. “He’ll serve as your assistant until then.”

  Juan moved to stand beside her and gave her his usual cheery smile. She smiled back, glad to have the friendly young man helping out rather than sour-faced Glynnis.

  “Feel free to jump in and tell me whenever I do something that doesn’t seem right or confuses you,” she invited as the first order was shouted.

  She pulled out a skillet and drizzled oil onto its steel surface and set it on the burner. The oil heated quickly and Juan delicately placed two thick fish fillets into the pan. She seasoned the delicate flesh as it cooked, telling him what she used and why. When she was ready to plate the fish, Antonin nodded and directed her to make one more fillet. He called everyone over to watch her cook. A little surprised by the attention, Sonia shoved any uneasiness away and deftly cooked and seasoned another fillet.

  “Everyone taste,” Antonin ordered as he himself took a taste. “This is exactly how this fish should be cooked. The flesh is moist, yet thoroughly cooked. The seasoning is delicate and does not overpower the fish. Very good, Sonia.”

  The others retrieved forks and each took a taste of the fish.

  She worked the fish station for two hours, then Juan finished his shift and she was transferred to vegetable preparation. She spent two hours there and then was moved to meats where she again performed to good credit and Antonin’s mild praise. Two hours later he moved her to the dessert station where she found herself floundering. Antonin frowned at her.

  “Desserts really aren’t my thing,” she said weakly.

  “If you are a chef, then you learn to cook everything and masterfully,” he said haughtily as he demonstrated how to make a bombolone.

  Sonia wiped her forehead with her sleeve and watched and learned.

  “Now you do it,” he ordered.

  She meticulously repeated his every step. The resulting pastry was somewhat clumsy, but edible. Unfortunately, edible wasn’t good enough. He ordered her to make another and another until she got it right. As she concentrated, she did not notice the mild uproar that rose in the dining room, but the other cooks did.

  Finally, the restaurant closed for the night. She and sour-faced Glynnis scrubbed down the pastry station. Then they trudged to the break room to dispose of their soiled jackets and retrieve their belongings.

  “God, my feet hurt,” Sonia complained.

  Glynnis arched her back and rolled her shoulders, commiserating: “My back and shoulders are killing me.”

  There was a loud, feminine squeal as a sous chef shouted, “You wouldn’t believe who’s sitting in the dining area!”

  “That must
be what all that commotion was about,” Glynnis commented acidly.

  “Um, Rod Stewart?”

  “Who?”

  “He’s a rock star,” Sonia explained patiently.

  “No, not him. The whole band is here! Iron Falcon!”

  “Mick,” Sonia breathed, eyes shining.

  “Oh, yeah, he is so dreamy,” Glynnis sighed as she smoothed her hands over her curvy hips. “I wonder if he’d ever go for a girl like me?”

  “He better not,” Sonia muttered under her breath.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Glynnis demanded, stung by the perceived offense.

  “He’s married,” Sonia answered tersely as she slung her purse strap over her shoulder.

  Glynnis pouted. “Probably to some starlet or model.”

  “Nope,” Sonia grinned as she walked out the door. “To a chef.”

  Glynnis hurried after her, screeching, “Wait! What do you know?”

  But Sonia ignored her as she rushed through the swinging doors that led to the dining area.

  “Mick!” she exclaimed, her joy evident.

  The tall, muscular rock star rose from his seat and crossed the floor to gather her up in his arms and plaster a passionate kiss on her mouth. Chairs scooted back and the other four men of Iron Falcon rose to greet her, although somewhat less affectionately. Kitchen and wait staff watched, their expressions showing a mixture of bemusement, awe, excitement, and desire. Antonin merely looked annoyed. The few remaining diners watched with avid curiosity, a couple gathering the courage to approach and ask for autographs.

  Antonin approached and cleared his throat.

  “Sonia, this is most unseemly,” he chided in a cold tone, his volume kept low and discreet.

  Mick drew himself up to his full height, an inch shorter than Antonin, but obviously more muscular. “And who are you to tell me how to greet my wife?” he asked, his voice pitched low and throbbing with burgeoning violence.

  Sonia placed her hand on his upper arm and said gently, “Mick, this is Antonin, my supervisor.”

  Antonin looked down his nose at the young, aggressively postured man and said in his supercilious tone, “This is a respectable establishment, Mr. Hendriksen. We’ll thank you to avoid such public displays of affection here.”

  Mick narrowed his eyes as he wrapped an arm around Sonia’s waist and drew her close to his side. “The restaurant is closed for the night and Sonia’s shift is over. She’s off the clock and what she does is none of your business.”

  “She is an employee and, as such, represents the business at all times.”

  Mick glowered at the other man and opened his mouth to reply, probably something profane and inflammatory. Sonia squeezed his arm and said, “Mick, please don’t.”

  He leveled a fulminating glare at the other man, but subsided. A gleam of triumph lit Antonin’s eyes and Mick could practically hear him think “pussy whipped.” But the executive chef simply said, “Please conduct yourself appropriately, Mrs. Hendriksen. Mr. Hendriksen, see what you can do to dissuade the paparazzi. They block the entrance to the restaurant and disturb our customers.”

  He turned on his heel and walked away.

  “Well, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Glynnis demanded from behind Sonia.

  Sonia sighed and graciously made the introductions. Glynnis smiled charmingly and flirted outrageously. When she left, Jack followed her home.

  “That is not going to end well,” Sonia predicted sourly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Glynnis will assume that her proximity to me means a relationship with Jack and we both know that Jack only does one night stands.” She sighed, knowing that Jack’s love-em-and-leave-em practice could turn ugly for her.

  “They’re adults, Sonia. Let them make their own choices.”

  “I know,” she agreed and leaned against him.

  He walked her to the truck, averting their faces from the disorienting camera flashes. The paparazzi followed them to the condo. Once inside their home, Mick yanked blinds and curtains shut while Sonia pulled out the deliciously tender roast and dumped a package of noodles into the crock pot. The noodles quickly came to a boil and cooked as she shredded the meat, which was then returned to the crock pot and stirred in. She dipped a ladle into the simmering, richly fragrant stew and served up two bowls. She spooned some sour cream over the steaming meal.

  “This is good,” Mick complimented as he added salt and pepper.

  She smiled at him. “Thanks. It’s definitely easy enough.”

  They ate in companionable quiet for a few minutes, then Sonia spoke.

  “Thanks for not going after Antonin, Mick,” she said.

  “I hate not being there to protect you,” he said.

  She gave him a little smile and said, “I’m a big girl. I have to stand up for myself.”

  “Sometimes,” he admitted with a nod. “But not always. And you will let me know if that skinny prick harasses you.”

  “Yes, dear,” she sighed.

  They finished their late supper. Mick tidied the kitchen while Sonia took a shower. She slipped into bed and was asleep before Mick finished his shower and joined her. He wanted to do more than just hold her in his arms, but contented himself with her body cuddling next to his. She was tired. He saw it in her face, in the way she held herself and moved.

  Mick woke to the delicious sensation of wet warmth surrounding the top half of his penis. A groan gurgled from his throat as he opened his eyes and looked down to see Sonia’s tawny, sleep-mussed head bob up and down. Barely before he could focus on the blowjob, he felt that telltale tingle at the base of his spine, his balls drew up tightly against his body, and he hissed as release blasted through him. He wanted to whimper when Sonia let him slide from her mouth, but she merely began kissing a slow, zigzag path up his body. She traced the ridges of his abdominal muscles with her fingers and tongue. She lingered over each small, brick colored nipple. She caressed the strong sweep of his collarbones and bit down on his deltoids as she rubbed her body against him.

  With a growl, he flipped her onto her back and gave back as good as he got. He elicited three orgasms from her with hands and mouth before his erection had recovered sufficiently to drive into her body and thrust until she exploded in a fourth orgasm. But she didn’t lay there and submit; her hands roamed his body, she undulated against him, she mewled and gasped and made other incoherent sounds that spurred him to even greater effort until they both lay gasping, sweaty, and spent.

  “I think we missed breakfast,” she said finally.

  “Nah, I had you for breakfast,” he quipped, referring to the latest round of eating her out until she damned near wept for him to let her cum.

  Her flushed cheeks glowed more brightly with a tinge of embarrassment.

  “Baby, what with all we do to each other, there is nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said, stroking the back of one finger down her rosy cheek.

  She caught his hand and pulled it to her mouth and softly kissed the knuckles.

  “Is there anything you’d like to do today before you go into work?” he asked, watching her as she tenderly showered affections upon his hand. His exhausted dick twitched valiantly.

  “I need to get back in the habit of exercising,” she answered. One hand patted her flat belly. “I’m gaining weight.”

  “You’re beautiful. Perfect.”

  She smiled gratefully at his compliments. “I love you, too, but I still need to burn all those calories I’ve been eating.”

  Mick crawled over her and ran a finger down her perspiration-slick sternum. “This didn’t result from doing not burning calories, babe.”

  Her gaze flickered over him, taking in the ripple of hard muscle. “It’s harder for a woman to keep off the weight.”

  “This weight doesn’t want to be kept off,” he taunted as he slowly pushed his hardening penis into her still wet, warm, yielding pussy. He moved languidly, slowly, savoring the intimate slide o
f flesh against flesh, the heated melding of mouths, the heady vibrations of low moans. The pleasure that rolled over them was almost soft, almost gentle, and definitely bone deep.

  “This is absolutely my favorite place to be,” he murmured as his penis pulsed inside her.

  “I like you there,” she said with a satisfied smile as she stroked him from shoulder blade to buttock. She wriggled beneath him. “One of these days you’ll let me have control.”

  He grinned at her and replied, “Maybe for a little bit, but I like you spread beneath me like my own private banquet.”

  Her cheeks flamed.

  He chuckled and kissed the tip of her nose. “I actually do have some errands to run today and a meeting to attend.”

  She nodded and yawned.

  “Get some more rest. Take a nap. I’ll be back in time to take you to work.”

  “You don’t have to take me in,” she protested sleepily.

  “I know. But I want to.”

  “Okay.”

  He kissed her forehead and left the yielding warmth of her body. After drawing the covers back over her, he took a shower. She was sound asleep when he returned to the bedroom, so he dressed and left her in peace. After a quick breakfast, he left to run his errands.

  When Sonia woke again—alone in the big bed—she sighed at the delicious achiness of her body and the memory of how it happened. With a sigh, she finally heaved her body from the bed and headed for the bathroom. Fresh and clean twenty minutes later, she quickly ate a couple slices of toast and headed out. The lime green Beetle zipped along, its driver paying no attention to the cars following.

  Shouts and camera flashes accompanied her into the drug store.

  “Are you getting a pregnancy test?” came one shouted question.

  “Are you pregnant? Sick?” came another.

  “How often do you and Mick have sex?”

  “What size condom does he wear?”

  “Does he even wear a condom?”

  “Are you having sex with all five men of Iron Falcon?”

  Her cheeks blazed with mortification as she picked up birth control pills at the pharmacy counter and then feminine hygiene items, toothpaste, and other general items. The rude, intrusive questions continued as she went through checkout and then to her car. The next stop at the supermarket elicited questions as to her diet, Mick’s diet, her career, her relationship with the other band members. By the time she unloaded the grocery cart and sat in the driver’s seat, she was pale and trembling.