Hot Shot: A Bad Boy Romance

by Sophie Brooks

  “No offense, but you’re rather sticky.”

  I laughed. “I wonder why?”

  “We’re going to have to get you cleaned up. But first, let’s revisit the ground rules. Do you still remember what they are?”

  “Yes, Chef Bryant,” I said, trying to clear my head—not easy to do with shivers of excitement rippling up and down my body.

  “What’s the first rule?” he demanded.

  “That I keep my legs spread at all times.”

  “Exactly,” he said and raised an eyebrow.

  Oh! Quickly, I parted my legs, feeling the cloth that had been covering my center fall between my legs.

  “Oops … lost your modesty towel, love.” He was staring directly at my center now, his expression hungry.

  I squirmed a little under his strong gaze. He turned his attention back to my face and said, “You know, I’m feeling a little overdressed.”

  I held my breath. Please, please, please …

  He grasped the edge of his dark t-shirt, and in one smooth move, lifted it over his head and tossed it aside.

  … thank you, thank you, thank you!

  God, he looked incredible. A six pack of abs that made him look like he’d never had a single Redback in his life. Strong, tight pecs with hard little nipples. And those arms—no wonder he could spend all day in the kitchen, creating masterpiece after masterpiece without tiring.

  I reached out without thinking, running my hand along his smooth chest. Wait, why was it so smooth? “You shave?” I asked. I’d never met a guy who shaved his chest.

  “Gotta keep up with all the Hollywood hardbodies,” he said.

  I nearly snorted at that. He was one of the Hollywood hardbodies. I stroked my hand lower, feeling his hard abs. My fingers encountered the waistband of his jeans, and I wondered what else he shaved. “Umm … do you …?”

  “Do I shave anything else? Is that what Little Cheyenne is too shy to ask? Guess you’ll just have to find out. Remember what the second rule was?”

  Uh-oh. What was it? I racked my brain.

  He clicked his tongue in a disapproving way. “Better pay attention when the executive chef gives you an order.” Quicker than I could follow, his hands darted out and captured my nipples, pinching them.

  Ouch. I squirmed, trying to twist out of his grasp. After another moment or two, he let go, and I sank down onto the countertop, panting. It was like he had forged a direct connection between my nipples and my clit when he did that. “I’m sorry, Chef Bryant. I don’t remember.”

  “It was to always be professional in the kitchen.”

  I gaped at him, and then he laughed. “But I think we can relax that rule for now. Remember the biggie? The cardinal rule?”

  “Your kitchen, your way.”

  “Exactly,” he said. “Stay put.”

  He walked over to the refrigerator. Moments later, he returned holding a small bowl. “Now, let’s see if we can get you cleaned up a bit,” he said, and my pulse quickened.

  He set the bowl between my knees, which I’d obediently kept parted for him. He plunged his hand in the bowl and then dragged his cold fingers up my body. Water droplets hit my sizzling skin. When he reached my chest, I saw that he was holding a wedge-shaped ice cube. Oh. My. God.

  Holding the flat side against my skin, he rubbed it along my collarbones and shoulders. It melted quickly, sending rivers of icy water in all directions. I squirmed as the cold ice kissed my throat.

  “Hold still,” he said, delivering a sharp slap to my thigh with his other hand.

  “Yes, Chef Bryant,” I moaned.

  He grinned at the need in my voice. Looking me in the eye, he popped the wedge of ice into his mouth, moving it around until it stuck out between his lips. Then he bent down and circled my nipple with the tip of the ice.

  His free hand groped down my waist, tickling lightly over my pelvic bone. He reached into the bowl between my legs and emerged with another piece of ice which he trailed up my body until he found my other nipple.

  Wow … and I thought my nipples had been hard before. This felt so decadent. The rest of my body was so hot, but my nipples were frozen peaks of pleasure.

  When the ice in his mouth was just a sliver, he raised up, titled his head back, and swallowed it down. I could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did so. He was so damn sexy. All those times I’d seen him on TV, I’d had no clue about his true animal magnetism.

  He took my breast into his hand, squeezing it, jiggling it slightly. “Still sticky, love. So you’ll need to help out.” He plucked two more ice wedges out of the bowl and circled them around my nipples. “Come on. Your turn. I’ve got other parts I need to clean.”

  Oh god. I felt blood rush to the the body parts I thought—I hoped—he was referring to. I brought my hands to my breasts, replacing his.

  “Circle the ice around your nipples. Don’t stop until I say so.”

  “Yes, Chef Bryant,” I said, barely recognizing my lust-filled voice. The ice rounding my nipples felt wicked and naughty, almost as if he was still wielding it instead of me. I supposed that was because I was doing it on his orders.

  His hand plunged into the bowl again, splashing some icy drops on my legs, making me yelp. He looked up at me. “Keep that ice moving.”

  I did so, but my eyes were glued to him and what he was doing. He maintained eye contact with me as he trailed an ice cube over my belly, making lazy circles. The combination of his large, hot hand plus the cool ice on my skin was making a tornado form in my mind. I couldn’t think straight. My entire focus was on what he would do next, where he would touch next.

  With each circle, he made the ice dip lower, and lower, until it was right above my mound. “Spread your legs wider,” he commanded, and I did, no longer able to feel the bowl between my knees.

  Chef Bryant trailed the ice over to the crease where my torso met my leg and then moved it downward. Oh my god. I groaned and unconsciously spread my legs farther, making him chuckle.

  “So the little China doll does have a wicked side, is that it, love?”

  I said nothing, every inch of me concentrating on his fingers and that ice. I may have been focusing on it too much, because in the next moment, he said sternly, “Keep circling your nipples.” He handed me two more ice cubes to replace the old ones which were mere slivers.

  Winking at me, he moved his ice cube farther down the crease of my leg. It was a very ticklish spot, and when I squirmed, he chuckled.

  He got a fresh cube and pressed it against my other leg now, moving teasingly past my slit and up to my pelvis. “Keep those nipples hard for me,” he ordered, and then he put the ice cube in his mouth.

  Oh my god. In his mouth.

  I gasped. Was he really going to—? But he did. He pushed the tip of the cube out between his full lips and then lowered his head. He grabbed my left leg and folded it up toward my chest, bending my knee and completely exposing me. He held it there and used his free hand to hold my other leg in place. And then he dove in.

  The cold ice and his warm mouth hit my folds at the same time, and I cried out with pleasure. He pushed the tip of the ice into my slit and moved it up and down. I moaned and squirmed but didn’t stop running the ice around my nipples.

  He managed to wedge the ice between my folds and left it there for a few moments while he licked up and down my slit, occasionally sucking one side of me and then the other into his mouth.

  His skillful lips reclaimed the rapidly melting ice cube, and he dragged it through my slit again until he found my center. Then he pushed it inside me, following it with his tongue, and I nearly rose off the table, my back arching and every cell in my body rejoicing.

  Warm breath tickled me as he chuckled against my skin, apparently pleased with the reaction he was getting from me. Without letting go of my legs, he straightened up and then stuck his whole face into the small bowl of ice as if he was bobbing for apples. He emerged with another cube and buried his face in me again.

/>   A moment later, I felt another ice cube entering me. It was so cold going in, but as soon as it settled inside me, I couldn’t feel it anymore. But I did feel the cool trickle of ice water dribbling out of me. To my surprise, another ice cube pushed past my tight opening. Then another. I groaned. He must have really gotten a big mouthful of cubes out of the bowl.

  He licked his way up my slit, his cold lips parting my moist heat. When he found my clit, I arched my back off the counter again. I couldn’t help it. It took only a few seconds for his chilly tongue to start feeling warm as it flicked back and forth across my clit, then circled it.

  The way he moved his mouth on my clit showed me that he truly was a master at anything he did in the kitchen, this included. He swirled his tongue, he sucked my clit into his mouth, he pleasured me until he had me moaning and writhing on the table. Abandoning the ice, I plunged my fingers into his hair, trying to direct him to where I needed him, but it was a wasted effort because he clearly knew.

  My breathing sped up, and my panting and groans filled the kitchen. “Don’t stop,” I whimpered breathlessly, and he didn’t. His tongue flicked back and forth, over and over again. And my brain could only hold onto one fact, that this was Bryant the Tyrant giving me this much pleasure. Doing this to me. Doing this for me. Making me come.

  I cried out, bucking so hard that I almost dislodged him. He held my hips down firmly as I rode the orgasm out, screaming, moaning, panting. I didn’t think I’d ever come that hard and wasn’t sure if I ever would again. It was the most incredible orgasm I’d ever had. And I was pretty damn sure it wouldn’t be the last one I’d have tonight.

  Chapter Eight

  AT LONG LAST, Chef Bryant backed off, lifting his head. I was still trembling under his hands, aftershocks hitting me every few seconds. My god, that’d felt good. He straightened up and let go of my legs, placing his hand on my stomach as if enjoying feeling my body vibrate underneath him.

  After a long moment, he picked up the discarded tea towel and wiped his mouth. “You taste as good as your cooking,” he said, making me blush.

  It felt like every muscle in my body was relaxed, and loose, and completely out of my control—but I somehow managed to twist over and prop myself up on my elbow. I reached out and trailed a finger down his hard, smooth abs. With a shy smile, I slipped my index finger under the waistband of his jeans, my thumb brushing lightly over the bulge in his jeans. “Can I see how you taste now?”

  He smiled and closed his hand over mine. “That sounds wonderful, love, especially after watching you suck off that asparagus spear before. But after four hours of foreplay, I’m ready for the main course.”

  He squeezed my hand and let go. Turning, he grabbed his leather jacket off a nearby stool and rummaged in the pocket. A moment later, he returned to my side, holding a condom. He raised an eyebrow at me, and I nodded at his implied question. He was definitely right about all the hours of foreplay making me want to feel him inside me. For me, it had been more like years of foreplay since I’d wanted him long before I’d even met him. “The main course sounds delicious.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said as he unbuttoned his jeans. Finally!

  He kicked off his shoes and stripped. I watched eagerly, shamelessly. And when at last he pushed his black boxer-briefs down, his hard cock sprang free and I gasped both at his substantial size and because he was shaved down there. Now I really wished I could take him into my mouth.

  With an athletic spring, he hopped up onto the counter, arranging himself over me in a push-up position over me. I instantly wrapped my arms and legs around him, pulling him close.

  His mouth met mine—his warm body hard on top of me, his lips smashing against mine. This was the most heat I’d ever felt in a kitchen and I loved it.

  His lips curved into a grin against mine. “What?” I murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth.

  He chuckled. “Just thinking of the headlines if we fall off and knock ourselves out.”

  I laughed, too, and held him tighter. He was such a big guy—I loved feeling his weight on top of me.

  After another long kiss, he shifted to his side, lying close against me. I took that opportunity to snake my hand between our bodies and grasp his hot, hard cock. It was the biggest one I’d ever seen, and the lack of hair made it seem even larger.

  Stroking my hand up and down his shaft, I looked into his hazel eyes. Close up, they were even more mesmerizing. I could see flecks of gold as well as brown in them from this close distance.

  He opened the condom deftly, and I let go of him, watching in fascination as he smoothed it on with one hand. Hard to believe that such a small piece of rubber could encircle such a huge cock.

  “Are you ready for this, Shy Little Cheyenne?”

  “Yes, Chef Bryant,” I whispered, spreading my legs, eager to feel him fill me.

  But he teased me first, pushing the tip of his cock against my folds. It slid around easily—I was quite wet, plus there’d been the ice before.

  I squirmed underneath him, trying to position my opening over the head of his cock. But he just grinned down at me, still making featherlight strokes up and down my slit. “My kitchen, my way, love.”

  He pressed my knee up against my chest, opening me further, but he still didn’t push in. Instead, he attacked my neck with his mouth, kissing, licking, teasing.

  “Please,” I moaned, needing so badly to feel him inside me.

  He continued his assault on my neck, his warm lips caressing every inch. “Please what?” he murmured. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Please fill me,” I moaned, my eyes closed, my fingers running through his hair.

  “You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” he said, and he took my breast in his hand, kneading it, squeezing the nipple. It felt so damn good.

  “Please, I need you to fuck me,” I said, with a groan.

  That seemed to get his attention. He turned his face up toward me, his eyebrow raised. “Better,” he said, rolling my nipple back and forth with the pad of his thumb. He pushed himself higher, pressing his tip against my clit. Jolts of electricity flashed through my body.

  “Please,” I moaned, breathlessly. “Please fuck me.”

  And he did. In one sudden movement, he plunged his hard cock into me, filling me completely as I had never been filled before. I screamed out. The feeling was incredible. I’d never felt that full in my entire life. My former boyfriends had been boys. Chef Bryant was all man.

  He held himself inside me, enjoying the expression on my face. “That what you wanted?”

  “Oh god yes,” I moaned.

  “Good,” he said. “There’s a lot more where that came from.” He pulled back, slipping out of me, then thrust all the way in again. I cried out again—it felt every bit as good as the first time.

  He began thrusting in earnest, each stroke making my body shake, my breasts bounce, my eyes roll back in my head. Within seconds, I was panting, trying to keep up, trying to survive the onslaught of delicious sensations.

  It felt so damn good. I supposed that it would have felt good with any man as well-endowed and as obviously skillful as he was. But a big part of the reason it felt so amazing was because of who he was—a man I’d admired for years, a man I’d wanted for years. And now he was here, inside me, filling me, wanting me too.

  He changed his rhythm every time I got used to it, sometimes making slow, long strokes, other times thrusting hard and fast. Now, he bent his head and bit my neck, making me cry out with pleasure again. “Grab onto me, love,” he whispered.

  I did as ordered, and he shifted, pulling me off the counter. For a scary moment, I felt like I was going to fall, but he held me tight and twisted underneath me. Seconds later, I was on top of him staring down at his ripped arms and chest. He really was strong. Seems like most men would have accidentally dumped us over the side trying that move.

  His cock was still inside me, but it had slipped out a few inches as I’d ended up
further up on his chest. Now he pushed at my shoulders, clearly wanting me to sit up and set the pace. But I hesitated, still hugging his chest.

  “Come on, love. Ride my cock.”

  I hesitated. “I’ve—I’ve never …”

  “Shy Little Cheyenne’s never been on top?” he said, with a chuckle. “Just follow your instincts. I trust you with any piece of meat in this kitchen.” He punctuated this thought with a thrust of his hips that made me moan. But I was still apprehensive.

  Cautiously, I pushed myself upright, his cock feeling even bigger in this position. I carefully shifted my legs, trying to get my knees in a comfortable position around his hips. I gave an experimental wiggle and felt him twitch deep inside me.

  “That’s it, love. You’re not nearly as shy as you think you are.”

  I looked at him in surprise, and he winked. “Look around you,” he said, and I did, my eyes scanning the stove, the gleaming countertops, the spices, the ingredients. “This room, the kitchen … you’re in your element. This is where you can make magic. You’ve got the talent, the skill, and the creativity. All you lack is the confidence to trust your instincts.”

  I stared down at him, hanging on every word he said.

  “But I trust your instincts. I’ve seen them in action, tonight and before. I trust them, and you should too.” He grasped my waist, squeezing me, his fingers digging into my ass. He lifted me up a few inches and set me down again. “So get going. You know what you need to do, so do it.”

  I started to move. I was cautious at first, trying to get a feel for the angle, for my range of motion. The last thing I wanted to do was twist the wrong way and hurt him. His hands stayed on my hips, but they were only there for the ride. I was the one in control.

  By the time I got into a rhythm that felt comfortable, I’d relaxed enough to enjoy the sensation of how completely he filled me this way. I moaned and closed my eyes, letting my head fall back.

  “No,” he said, accenting the word with a sharp pinch of my nipple. “Keep your eyes open. Look around you. This is where you belong. This is where you are most alive. This is where you can be all that you were meant to be.”