The Good Twin's Baby

by Vivien Vale

  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 b
odies 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 toa
st 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.