The crinkle of a condom wrapper pulls my attention from Dylan’s midsection.
He rips it open and passes the rubber to me.
“I can see that you want to suck my cock, Emily. It’s all over your face. But I told you I’d make you come then fuck you, and I meant it. We have all night to play. First, I’m going to fuck you hard. And rough.”
It’s going to hurt, I’m sure. And somewhere in that pain, I’ll find pleasure. I know that because it’s with Dylan, the guy I barely know who’s set off a five-alarm fire in every cell of my being.
I nod, feeling an explosive heat between my legs and a tightening of my core as I slowly roll the condom onto him. When he’s all wrapped up, he grips my waist and flips me onto my back, pulling my legs around him at his hips. Shock and awe take hold of me as I hear my own voice murmur the words, “Fuck me the way you want to. I’m going to love every second of this…my first time... because it’s with you.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, but it’s too late. He heard every word.
Sixteen
Dylan
My cock throbs between her legs when she tells me she’s a virgin.
I’ve never taken someone’s innocence before, but knowing that she’s never been fucked before makes me want her more. I pull back slightly and look down her body, processing the new information. She’s soaking wet, primed and ready, and my dick is wrapped up nicely thanks to Emily. I’m about to be the first man to breach her.
Cupping her chin, I meet her eyes with a piercing stare. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I have to ask, even though it comes out sounding awkward as fuck.
Her eyes remain on mine, never wavering. She nods without speaking, cheeks pink, tensing her inner thighs and tightening her grip around me. She opens for me. It’s a subtle sensation at the tip, a slight relaxing of her core that sends more blood pumping into my already engorged cock. I lower myself onto her body and smash my mouth to hers, thrusting my tongue past her lips, curving our tongues together, invading her the way my dick is also about to do.
I find her hands and twine our fingers together pushing the back of hers into the bed. Her back arched up, and she increases the pressure between her opening and my tip. All it’ll take is one small motion, one jerk of my hips, one thrust and I’ll be inside of her.
Still, I wait.
I’m going to fuck her hard. But I’ll ease my way in first.
As her hips lift off the bed, the head of my cock slips past her folds. Fuck, she’s so tight. So hot. I see her head raise off the pillow and fall back again. Desperate to have more of her around me, I look down at her face and drive into her—all the way in.
The moan she lets out makes me giddy with need, hungry.
“You okay?” I ask without making another move.
Her fingers tense against mine. She bites down on her lips again, eyes snapped shut. “Yes. Don’t stop.”
I grunt out a groan when her hips start to roll. She inches down my shaft, her core as tight as a fist around it. That move tears down the last of my control. I take her just as I promised. Hard and deep. In and out. Slowly, then faster. Feeding off of the small movements of her hips, legs, hands, chest, compounding them as I piston into her. A soft cry from her throat pulls my attention to her face again.
“Yes,” she whimpers. “It feels… so good.”
The sounds turn into little sighs of pleasure that cause my balls to tighten. Fuck. She’s a virgin. Was a virgin. And as her tone of voice betrays how close she is to coming, my head is swimming. My cock is on the brink of exploding.
Lowering my head to her breasts, I suck one nipple into my mouth. My tongue swirls around the peak at the same pace that my cock moves in and out of her. That movement takes her closer. She moans out a cry and starts to come, her inner walls clenching around me like a vice.
“Yes, Emily,” I murmur at her nipple. “Come for me. Don’t hold back.”
As I say the words, I let it all go, allowing the intense waves of pleasure overtake me and I come too, with the sound of her voice echoing at the edges of my brain.
Emily. Emily.
I plan to keep my word tonight. As long as she’s wet for me, willing and ready, I’ll fuck her again. And again.
Seventeen
Dylan
My mother’s second visit to my place of business confirms that if I want to have a fighting chance with Emily, I’ll need to draw a line in the sand.
For a second time, she neglects to announce herself to my secretary before striding into my office without shutting the door. She’s in her red power suit. Red means war and domination in Diane’s legal bubble. I take it to mean that if she intended to see me today, I’ll need to keep my guard up. Way up.
“Hello, darling,” she chimes. “I missed you at the party last night.”
“Things came up.”
“And how about afterward?”
“Last night? How late are you looking for me to account for my time, Diane? Or is one of your clients looking for an alibi?”
Her relaxed disposition changes. Tension and a hint of anger flash across her face. “Did I not make myself clear a few weeks ago?”
“About what exactly?”
“I saw her van still parked in my underground guest spot when I left my apartment this morning.”
“You know her name. It’s Emily. Beyond that, what she does for you in her day job or business is no concern of mine. And I’m sure you can deduce that the converse also applies. Let me put it this way.” I lift my palms to chest height and spread my arms apart. I wave one arm and add, “Your business dealings with her is over here.” Then I wave the other arm. “My association with her is all the way over here.” It’s the closest I can come to politely telling my mother not to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.
“We’ve had a similar chat years ago, son. Never sleep with the help.”
“That time was different. Emily is not your employee. She’s a college educated professional and a service provider.”
“You know what I mean, dear.”
“I do. And honestly, I wish I didn’t have to bear witness to your gender bias. You wouldn’t show up and scold Vanessa for dating a chef.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“By the way, if I hear you’ve approached her about this at any time, you and I are gonna have a problem.” I get up from behind my desk and level my eyes with hers. “Is business over at the firm so slow that you feel the need to occupy your time with my personal life, Diane? Because I’ll tell you right now, you’re about twelve years too late.”
“Don’t you dare—” she starts, but there’s a knock on my open door. She shuts her mouth real fast.
Jackson and Caleb are standing there. “Hi, Mrs. Worthington,” Caleb says to her.
“How are you both doing?” she replies sweetly, as though she wasn’t just bent out of shape a few seconds ago. I’m sure they saw a lot and know she was pretty upset.
“Great. Uh, sorry to interrupt, Mrs. W., but we need to borrow Dylan for about an hour. One of our clients will be here soon.”
They’re not wrong about a client coming by, but in my schedule, the meeting doesn’t start for at least half an hour.
She turns to me. “I see. We’ll finish this conversation soon, son.”
Not if I can help it.
“Nice seeing you both,” she adds for Jackson and Caleb’s benefit as she leaves, head high.
As the clicking sound of her designer pumps diminishes down the hall, they walk in and make themselves comfortable on the sofa.
“What the fuck’s got Diane’s panties in a bunch?” Caleb asks.
“No fucking clue.” I’m not ready to raise the topic of Emily so early in the game. Especially not after last night went so well.
“Yeah? Because I’m sure I heard her mention something about sleeping with, what was that, you heard, Jackson? Sleeping with a chef, or with the maid?”
“I didn’t hear shit,�
�� Jackson tells him, backing me up. He’s had his share of office gossip about him and the pet sitter, so he’s not about to engage in shit about anyone else.
Caleb however, doesn’t let it go. “So… you and that chef from the gala, huh?”
Our other friend, Foster, walks by and sees the three of us. “What’s the word? Was that Diane I just saw at the elevator bays?”
“It’s no big deal,” I tell him. “Jackson and Caleb were just leaving.”
Caleb waves me off. “His old lady was just giving him shit about some chef…or was that a maid?”
“For fuck’s sake, you two, don’t you have enough shit to handle around here? It ain’t your concern.”
“Then why do you sound so guilty?” Caleb pushes.
“Stay out of my shit. And get the fuck out of my office while you’re at it.”
I’m probably being defensive, which isn’t advisable with Caleb around. He lives for stirring up shit, and Foster has a way of jumping on the bandwagon whenever that happens.
“Which chef are we talking about?” Foster asks.
“That blonde one from the gala, I think.” Caleb folds his arms and leans back on my sofa. “You know what they say about dating a female chef, right?”
“What do they say?” Foster joins in with a broad, devious smile on his fucking face.
Caleb starts with, “They aren’t afraid to get down and dirty.”
Foster answers back with, “I hear they’re creative and love trying new things.”
It’s clear to me that the more I object, the worse they’ll get. The easiest way to shut them up is to let them say whatever the fuck they want to. Eventually, they’ll run out of shit to joke about. But they’re just getting started, so Jackson and I sit there and wait.
“They’re experts at rolling balls in the palms of their hands.”
“They’ll work day and night to please you. Or was that night and day?”
“There’s no such thing as too big for a chef.”
“They’re ready and willing to beat it until it’s stiff.”
“They know how to handle meat.”
I shake my head when they pause to get control of their laughter. “Are you done yet? Or do you want me to move the topic onto you and Rose? Or to you and your handjobs, as you fucked things up with Rose and still can’t get over it.”
“Fuck no,” Caleb says, still jovial, but the mention of Rose’s name brings out a slight flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. “Not by a longshot. Want to know why? Because anything female chefs lick in the kitchen, they own.”
“They have a love for playing with fire. And they aren’t afraid of the heat.”
Thank fuck that Jace shows up with his father.
“Guys, we need to have a talk before the client gets here,” Jace announces. “It’s about this Mont Blanc deal.”
Caleb and Foster cut it out real fucking fast when they catch the humorless expressions on their faces.
“Let’s use the boardroom,” I tell them.
They’re more likely to forget all about my dating Emily with a change of scenery. I sure as shit won’t encourage them any further.
Even if I happen to agree that every fucking innuendo they’ve laid on me is probably right.
Eighteen
Emily
At my part-time job this week, it’s been hard to focus.
Straightening out my back, I tilt my head from side to side, working out the tenseness in my sore muscles. I love being a chef. I adore everything about this career. Everything but one. Neck pain. Someone needs to come up with a forward neck rest or something. Anyone working in the food preparation industry must be hoping for the same thing, a way to minimize soreness as we keep looking down at food bowls, to chop ingredients, to knead, mix and stir all manner of food.
But all that internal ranting is just a distraction. There’s another reason I can’t keep my thoughts from straying.
By the end of my shift, after all the wait staff and most of the cooks have wrapped up the night, I’m flustered. Did I wipe down and sterilize my prep station? Unsure if I did, I start over, then remove the dozen Cornish hens from Blair’s sub-zero fridge.
Joy is on my mind.
The anniversary of her disappearance is around the corner and the closer it gets, the more unhinged and anxious I feel.
Where are you, sister?
This year, I hoped it’d be a little easier. Different somehow. But it’s worse. Guilt is killing me, drowning me little by little, choking the passion out of me bit by bit. Things have no fucking right to be going this well.
My life should be in shambles.
My bank account shouldn’t be in the black by tens of thousands of dollars.
My business, this fantastic part-time job, even having Dylan in my life.
Their presence all mock the gravity of my loss.
They mock her memory.
I have no one to share this paradox with. It’s the reason I smile and show my bubbly side. The couple of times it has come up with friends, the pity and sympathy reflecting in their eyes are hard to witness. It’s not much different with my best friend, Dahlia. She comes from a place of pure friendship and love. She means well. Her heart is so kind, but seeing my pain spread to her causes me to shut down.
And Dylan. I’ve been seeing him for months. We’re so close now, and know each other intimately in every sense of the word. Fixing things is his specialty. He wants to take my pain away, to resolve the situation, to turn things around so it’ll be over and I’ll have closure one way or another. But even his eyes fill with sadness when mine glaze over with overwhelming sorrow.
The last thing I want is to be the one to suck the life out of a room.
I tuck it away, tamp it down, push it so far from the light of day that when this time of year comes around, the dam bursts its confines and takes over every part of me.
It won’t be pleasant this year.
I’ve been spending a lot of time at Dylan’s place. Maybe my best course of action is to leave it all behind for a day or two. A drive to the suburb where I grew up, perhaps, or a quiet stay in a hotel somewhere.
My hands move from memory as I marinate the hens in Blair’s signature rub. They’re set to be on the menu every Sunday for brunch, and Blair likes the marinate to naturally infuse into the meat.
I wrap them to protect their skin while in the freezer and give my station another thorough cleaning before packing up and leaving for the night.
Dylan is in the habit of picking me up after my shift. Tonight’s no different.
“How did the day go?”
“Great,” I tell him, keeping my tone even as I fasten my seatbelt.
“You’ve been working a lot the last few weeks.”
“Have I? I guess I have. What they say about time flying definitely applies.”
“That’s a given for you. What do you think of skipping town for a few days?”
I look over at him. Can he read my mind now?
“At any other time, the idea of just you and I sneaking away would be amazing. But... I’m not sure about the timing.”
“Isn’t your schedule pretty open for the next week and a half?”
“It is...right now really isn’t a good time.”
“Why not?”
I run my palms down my work slacks, weighing whether or not to tell him.
He beats me to the punch. “It happened around this time, wasn’t it?”
“Sorry?”
“You heard me.”
My response is a simple, slight head nod.
How I wish he didn’t bring it up. The topic has been playing at the corners of my mind for days, and now that he’s said it out loud, I feel worse.
“Do you mind if we maybe talk about it another time?”
“Sure, but let’s not drop it altogether, all right? I’m here for you, no matter how impossibly low things might start to feel.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it.”
/>
“Trust me, I know.”
He’s silent for a while, giving me space for the rest of the drive home. He parks his baby in his underground spot. His arm wraps around my shoulder as we take the elevator up. When we step into his place, he asks, “Have you ever spoken to anyone about what happened?”
“Sure. You, Dahlia, one or two more old friends.”
“No, I mean with a professional.”
A tiny scoff of a laugh escaped my throat. It’s absurd that he’d ask. “We don’t do shrinks.”
“It might help.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why do you feel that way?”
“They can’t change the fact that for some of us, life is shrouded in death and heartbreak.”
“That’s...dark.” His voice is low, hardly a whisper. “You sound like you’re stuck somewhere in the process of grieving.”
“You’re exactly right. I am stuck. Ask anyone whose family member disappears. They’ll tell you they’re in limbo. Waiting for closure. Wishing for answers. Hoping for the best but bracing for the worst. Life doesn’t get unstuck until there’s closure.”
Taking my hand, Dylan leads me to the living room and takes a seat beside me. “If she’s out there, I’m going to find her.”
“No. The cops tried. If Joy’s alive. She doesn’t want to be found.”
“There are other ways to track her down. Other resources.”
“I think I need to get some sleep,” I say, hoping he’ll leave it alone. Reaching over, I kiss his cheek. “Thanks for caring so much about me, about her.”
“Sure,” he answers. “And don’t thank me. You’re my girl. This is what I do. I want to.”
“You’re coming to bed?”
“In a bit. You go on ahead.”
I give him a short hug and leave the room, painfully aware that his eyes are on me and they’re overflowing with pity.
The Billionaire and the Virgin Chef: Seduction and Sin, Book 4 Page 7
