Colton: Wordsmith Chronicles Book 2 (The Wordsmith Chronicles)

by Christopher Harlan

  “You’re right,” Gray says. “Back to the love.”

  “You know what we should do?” I say, going juvenile. “In a show of solidarity we should just start banging each other right here at the table.”

  “Jesus, Colt.”

  “What? It would be more intimate than a handshake. What do you say? Chinese food and some anal sex after. What else could you ask for?” The lady at the next table hears me and looks at me like I’m the anti-christ. For a second I feel embarrassed. But only a second. “Okay, fine, not butt sex for dessert. How about a pledge then? Can you all handle that?”

  “What pledge?” Mike asks.

  “Here it is. Right here and now, over lunch with my brothers and best friends, I pledge this—we will all be bestselling authors by next year, and then we will create the Wordsmith Universe. Who’s with me?”

  “I’m in. I love it.”

  “Me too,” Gray says. “Let’s kill it, man.”

  “Then it’s settled. Nothing less than success and prosperity. Now, enough of all this touchy-feely shit. Pass those dumplings, will ya?”

  29

  Colton

  Time for my last meeting of the day. I guess calling it a meeting is kind of weird. It’s a date. A date with my girl, Harley. That feels great to say even though we still haven’t defined what we are. I’m okay with that for now, I suppose. I’m just happy to have her back in my life after we took our little break. She’s different. Unconventional. And, in keeping with the theme of Harley not being the kind of girl who loves conventional dates, I needed something original, again. It’s hard to keep coming up with new ideas, but I wasn’t about to just take her to a restaurant, so I asked Mike if he had any ideas as to what to do from when he was still dating Everleigh. As always, he came through.

  So here I am, pulling up to Harley’s place to pick her up. She walks from the doorway of her apartment looking smoking hot! Not a lot of women look as good dressed down as they do dressed up, but she pulls it off perfectly. “Hey there,” she says as she jumps in the passenger seat.

  “Hey, yourself.” I kiss her and get that feeling again. I think kissing her might be my favorite activity in this world—writing and selling books have to be second and third, but nothing holds a torch to the feeling of her amazing lips.

  “So, where are we going?”

  “You’ll see. Patience, grasshopper.” I smile and turn towards the road. We get to the local culinary institute early. It’s a huge, state of the art building that was built last year as a vocational school for aspiring chefs. Even if you’re not a full time culinary student, they offer classes on how to cook and bake for anyone in the community who wants to learn. I wasn’t about to take her to an ordinary class filled with thirty people. Nah. Only the best for her, so I spoke to the owner about arranging a private date and he obliged. I had to pay him everything I’m probably going to make on my next book, but so what? It’s worth it if it makes her happy and we have a great time.

  “What’s this?” she asks.

  “This is sexy chocolate time.”

  “Wait, did you bring me to some fetish sex club? Cause I’m not saying no, but. . .”

  “Yeah, Har,” I joke. “I brought you to a fetish club whose sign reads ‘School for the Culinary Arts’ on the outside. They like to keep what really goes on hidden from the public.”

  “Shut up.” She laughs, hitting me gently on the arm while staring at the outside of the massive building. “So what are we doing? Cooking?”

  “Better,” I tell her. “We’re baking. Sort of.”

  I park in the lot and walk around to open her door. Inside the place seems even bigger than it looks from the outside. We’re greeted at the entrance by the person who’s going to be our pastry chef for the lesson. He’s a huge guy—tall but not muscular, made all the taller by that goofy looking chef’s hat. Damn, the French may have some of the best food in the world but they sure know how to look silly while they’re cooking it. The chef’s name is Vance, and after he introduces himself and starts walking us towards the kitchen, Harley elbows me in the side and motions to his hat. “You would look good in one of those.”

  “You’re a terrible liar,” I joke. “But I guess we can test that hypothesis in a few minutes.”

  “Oh, we will.”

  The kitchen is larger than I thought it would be, with all sorts of huge industrial sized machines for mixing dough, washing dishes, and all manner of baking. I feel like a chef just being in there, even though I’m not the best cook in the world—my skills lie elsewhere. Vance hands us our chef jackets and silly hats, and we put them on.

  “You’re a vision in white,” I tell her.

  “And you,” she says, looking up as I put the hat on. “Eh, you were right, I was lying before.”

  “I’m offended.”

  “Don’t be. You still look hot in the jacket.”

  “Eh-hem!” Vance clears his throat to stop our little banter and get our attention. It works. I feel like a kid who’s messing around in the back of math class in high school. “Follow me to our station.”

  When Vance turns around Harley elbows me again. “I think we’re in trouble.”

  “It’s your fault if we are.”

  “Nuh-uh. You’re the one who’s talking too much.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You shut—”

  Vance turns around and we both shut up really fast. I don’t want to get culinary class detention. “Have either of you ever worked with chocolate before?” he asks. We both nod our head. “It’s more difficult than it looks on one of those cooking shows on Netflix. Chocolate work is all about controlling temperature. The hotter it is, the more gooey and messy it can become.”

  “That sounds like a line from one of your books, Colt.”

  “What?” Vance asks.

  “Nothing, chef,” I say. “Don’t listen to her. You were saying? Hot and gooey.”

  Harley chuckles and Vance shoots her a look of disapproval, then quickly turns back to me. “Yes, chocolate is all about temperature. The temperature when you’re melting it, the temperature of the room while you’re working with it, even the temperature of your hands when you’re handling it. If any of those things are too warm, chocolate can go from fun to. . .”

  “Gooey?”

  Vance shoots another teacher look at Harley. “Yes, exactly. Gooey. And we don’t want gooey, do we now?”

  “For our chocolate, chef?” Harley asks. “No. We’re firmly in the anti-gooey camp, chef. Can you teach us how to keep it firm?”

  This time I rib Harley with my elbow. “Stop it,” I whisper.

  “I’m not the one who took us on a date at military cooking school.”

  Vance didn’t hear the last part. He’s already got his back to us to help set up the kitchen. We both giggle as quietly as we can so as not to get thrown out of class and sent to the culinary principal’s office, and as soon as he turns around we’re back to our no-fun faces—we’re just two culinary school students learning all about how to not make chocolate gooey.

  “Did they tell you how this works?” Vance asks.

  “You mean the date?”

  “Yes,” he answers. “The date.”

  “Not exactly, no.”

  He rolls his eyes as if this has happened a bunch of times before. He seems really annoyed, and I start to find it funny how disgruntled the guy seems. “Your whole date is one hour in total. For thirty of those minutes I’ll be showing you techniques and instructing you on how to make three or four different things. The last thirty minutes you get to actually make them, and play around with your own recipes, if you choose. Sound good?”

  “Sounds great,” Harley jokes. “As long as we don’t get too gooey and keep things nice and firm, right Colton?”

  I shoot her the look of death, then blame myself for choosing the chocolate class for our date. We could be making bread, or learning how to prepare seafood right now with a chef who isn’t certifiable. Instead
we’re here trying to control the temperature of our hands, or else.

  “Alright then,” Vance says. “Let’s begin.”

  In my dumb head I’d envisioned that sexy scene from Ghost, where Patrick Swayze sits behind Demi Moore and they make the sexiest pottery ever. For some reason that’s what I imagined when I signed up for this damn class online. I pictured Harley sitting on a stool, stains of melted chocolate all over her chef’s coat and her face. Then, all of a sudden I’d appear behind her, while Unchained Melody echoed in the background for no particular reason other than it’s sexy as fuck, and then all sorts of gooey romance would ensue. That was my vision. My reality is a lot more like advanced calculus class. Not that I’d actually know what that was like—but it’s what I imagine it to have been like for those nerdy kids in high school.

  Despite his Gestapo-like demeanor, Vance knows his shit when it comes to all things chocolate. He gives us notes, and lectures us for a solid five minutes about the chemical makeup of different kinds of chocolate. Even though I think I’m going to fall asleep right there, it’s actually really interesting stuff. He shows us how to make a basic ganache, some easy truffles, and how to temper chocolate to make lollipops and dip fruit in. The half hour goes by pretty fast, all things considered, and when the clock strikes half past Vance says his goodbyes and leaves us to mess up everything he just taught us.

  The next half hour is what I’m really looking forward to. I don’t care how good we temper chocolate, I just want to have a good time. Vance leaves and shuts the doors behind him, so that we’re all alone in this giant kitchen. He left us a set up so that we can make all of the recipes over again that he just showed us, including some cool molds for the lollipops and other stuff.

  “Are you ready to show me a few things?”

  “I sure am,” I tell her. “I’m ready to show you the size of the balls I can make.”

  “I love big balls. Especially when they’re black.”

  “Well, if it’s big chocolate balls you like, get ready to see what I can do.”

  We spend the next ten minutes just having fun. I’m not sure what the hell we’re doing, and some of the chocolate is a little on the gooey side, but who cares? We make the ganache first, which is basically like a pourable chocolate sauce that you can dip truffles in, or pour over a cake, or a million other applications. When it’s done it glistens in a large silver bowl next to Harley.

  “Are you having fun?” I ask her.

  “A hoot,” she jokes. “No, I’m kidding, I am having fun. Why don’t you go get the molds ready? I love a good chocolate pop.”

  “Okay.” I have my back turned for maybe thirty seconds before I hear her make a throat-clearing sound meant to get my attention.

  “Hey Colt, can you help me with this?”

  “What’s that. . .”

  I freeze in place when I set my eyes on her. She’s standing there, naked except for a pair of panties, and the chocolate ganache that we just made is dripping down her nipples towards her flat stomach. “I seem to have made a mess,” she says. “I was hoping that you could help me clean up a little.”

  I’m too turned on to be shocked. I should be checking the door, or looking around for the security cameras that are definitely on us right now, but my rational brain isn’t working. Only my dumb male brain is working—that and my cock, which is already on its way to standing at attention. “You’re fast,” I tell her. “I didn’t even hear you.”

  “I am,” she tells me, giving me that look again. “Just make sure you take your time. Now come over here and clean me up.”

  This is going to be the best clean up ever! Her nipples are hidden behind walls of chocolate, and gooey isn’t the word to describe what’s happening. It’s dripping, slowly, from the redness of her erect nipples all the way down her stomach, hitting the top of her panties. There’s chocolate on her lips as well. I take a few steps towards her and bend my knees slightly to lick it off. My tongue brushes gently against her hard nipple, and she shudders when I rub against it, tasting her and the chocolate in my mouth at the time time. I lean over and lick the other one clean, until I can see the redness underneath, staring back at me.

  “You’re so beautiful, I can’t even take it.”

  “Shut up and come fuck me right now.”

  I stand up to full height and kiss the chocolate off of her lips. The mix of her smell, her taste, and the ganache creates this incredible mix of sensations and flavors that makes my cock even harder than it was a minute ago. I scoop her up under her arms and lift her onto the table that’s behind her.

  “Ooh,” she says when she hits.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The table is freezing.”

  “Well then let’s heat it up.”

  Her ass is right on the edge of the table, and I move in right between her legs, which are outstretched to let me inside. I reach over and dip my middle finger in the ganache and hold it up over the bowl. Still dripping, I move my finger towards her face, and once I’m close she knows just what to do. She opens her mouth, wide, and takes my whole finger deep inside, and starts sucking on it so hard that I start to really feel the ache in my pants. She won’t let go, she just keeps sucking it harder and harder, like the nozzle of a vacuum, until I’m so turned on that I grab her by the back of the head and pull her back. She lets go, grudgingly, little smears of chocolate sitting on the corner of her mouth and the outside of her lips. I lick it off for her, and she grabs my tongue in a passionate kiss that goes on forever.

  While we kiss she unzips my jeans and pulls my manhood out of its prison. While she’s stroking it between her legs I reach in between and slide inside her pussy, which is dripping wet. “Oh, fuck!” she screams as I plunge all the way inside her, sliding in and out, tickling her clit as I slip out. She’s ready for me, and both of our bodies want nothing but this moment.

  I waste no time because who knows when someone is coming back in this room. I hold onto her hips and ram my cock inside her, guided by the juices flowing out of her pussy. I push my hips forward as I pull her as close to the edge of the table as she can go without falling, until I’m as deep in her as our bodies will allow. I linger there, holding the position and kissing her while my hard cock lives inside her, and then I retract, but not all the way. I grab myself and start to rub my throbbing head on the inside of her lips, up towards her clit. She grabs onto me and starts clawing into the back of my neck and kissing me hard. “Fuck me, now.”

  I slide back inside, and this time I fuck her hard and fast. She’s scissoring her legs as I thrust in and out, over and over—her arms wrapped around my neck, and her legs wrapped around my waist. As I’m fucking her I’m savoring every inch. Her wet cunt feels so good that I slow down to feel every second of it, gliding in and out a few times slowly, then going so fast that I can hear the slapping of our thighs and feel the wetness that’s forming between our bodies. As I’m holding onto her ass, I lift her off the table and fuck her mid-air, slamming her little body against mine over and over again as she moans.

  I put her on the ground and turn her around. She grabs onto the table with both hands and sticks her ass up. I pull her soaked panties to the side and insert myself, fucking her mercilessly and shaking everything on the table. I fuck her so hard that the bowl of ganache, which had been creeping toward the edge this whole time, finally falls to the ground with a crash, spilling chocolate everywhere and making a huge banging sound. I don’t care. I’m not stoping now.

  I keep pumping into her as fast as I can, as she reaches down between her own legs and starts rubbing her clit. Less than a minute later she’s screaming and telling me that she’s about to come. So am I. But her first. Always her first. I feel her pussy constrict around my cock, and her body convulse and shake until almost everything is off the table. After she comes all over my hard dick I pull myself out, holding her in place by the small of her back and stroking myself with the other hand. Ten seconds later I’m shooting my hot, warm cum a
ll over her back, and I release an animal exhale as I let everything out, and all over her back.

  She turns her head to look at me while still bent over. “That was so fucking hot, Colt. God damn.”

  “Tell me about it. Fuck, you’re amazing.”

  We both hear some noises outside and frantically get our clothes back on and our stuff back where it should be. Vance comes in after we’re dressed, just in the nick of time, and looks at us. If I felt like a high school kid before, I really feel like one now.

  “How’s it going in here?”

  “Good,” I say. “Things got a little on the gooey side, but we’re having a good time, right Har?”

  “The best,” she agrees.

  “Good. We strive to offer people the best possible experience. You will make sure to rate us, won’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah. Five stars all the way, Vance.”

  We finish pretending that we’re cooking, clean up, and head out of there. We jump in my car, look at each other, and just start laughing.

  “I blame myself for this,” Harley says. “I asked you to be creative, and that led us to that maniac teacher.”

  “Vance? He wasn’t so bad.” She shoots me the ‘I call bullshit’ look and I snicker again. “Okay, fine, so he was a little. . .rigid.”

  “Colton I was surprised he didn’t speak to us in German.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, he was a lunatic. I wonder if he’s the guy they always use for dates? Maybe he was the sub or something.”

  “Do culinary instructors get subs?”

  “Yeah, they’d have to. They must get sick from time to time.”

  “Probably have skin issues from wearing that constrictive tower on their heads.”

  “And hell, why are we talking about culinary instructors when we just had some of the hottest sex, ever?”

  “It really was. We should try to have sex not in public from time to time.”

  “Eh, what kind of fun would that be?”

  “None at all, probably.”

  “So what do we do now?” she asks.