by Vivien Vale
I might be tired; I might be spent, but I’m not a quitter. I will see this through.
It doesn’t take long.
Before I know it, his cock starts to spasm and I feel a warmth inside of me. He starts to cum, his semen gushing inside of my pussy like a fountain, filling me to the brink and dripping down his cock. It goes on for what seems like forever, an endless torrent of thick cum inundating me as I finally ease myself down and stop moving, allowing myself to savor the sweet ecstasy that courses through us both.
Still coming, he hooks his fingers on my waist and thrusts upwards, I let out a surprised moan as the tip of his cock goes as deep as possible, yanking one final orgasm out of my system. I lean forward, grabbing his ankles as flames of indescribable pleasure crash against my body and turn my mind into ashes.
I roll to the side, completely spent, and smile as I feel thick strands of cum dripping out of my pussy and down my legs. I hear him moving, but I don’t even open my eyes—he kisses me then, his lips brushing against mine with a gentleness that contrasts with the way we fucked.
Because there was nothing gently about these last minutes—it was pure and unbridled fucking.
And God, I loved every single second of it.
I lie down next to him, my eyes closed as I try to catch my breath. After a while, I finally open my eyes and look up at the ceiling. How many times did I stay awake in this same bedroom, wondering about my future through the long hours of the night?
And now here I am, with a man by my side.
A man I’m falling in love with.
Nicole
I toss the tomato chunks into a bowl, and then I place a cucumber on the cutting board and slice it into thin medallions. Looking at this cucumber, I can't help but think about Palmer's huge, thick… no, stop that Nicole, get your head out of the gutter.
I need to focus on the restaurant... the food… my staff... staying afloat.
I can't get distracted. Not now.
Because, if I don’t focus, then I’ll end up thinking about him. Because if I'm being honest with myself, I'm falling for Palmer.
There, I said it. I'm falling for that man.
I can't go a single minute without him being in some corner of my mind—his smile, his touch, something funny he said, the way he makes me feel, or even the way he cooks his food.
It's ridiculous. Palmer's presence in this city might mean the end of my restaurant, but somehow, that doesn't stop me from falling for him.
He could literally put me out of business, and every day I see the signs—raising rents, fancy cars, a new clientele—but as each day goes by, I want him more.
How is that even possible?
The good seems to outweigh the bad.
I look up at the ceiling and give a silent apology to my grandmother. I'm sure she's rolling over in her grave right now.
I'm sorry, nana. I feel like I'm letting you down. You gave me my love for cooking and you believed in me. You envisioned me going far, and here I am, throwing it way for a man that I'm falling head over heels for.
But this man has so many positives.
He's incredible with my family, and they love him. He's charming, and funny, and gracious—and he had my mom and dad in tears with laughter. He even helped peel potatoes, of all things.
He completely won them over.
"OUCH!" I hiss, looking down at my finger. I sliced right into it, and a red bloom appears on the tip.
I run over to the sink and hold the cut under cold, running water. At least it's not deep enough to warrant stitches. I reach for a band aid and wrap it tightly around my finger. Then, for extra precaution, I place a latex glove over it.
"That looks deep," a voice says from behind me, and I jump. Literally, it feels like my feet have come five inches off the ground.
I swing round to see who it is, and find the pale face of Percy Whitman.
How long has he been standing there? Was he there long enough to hear me pour my heart out to my dead grandmother?
"You scared me," I say. "I didn't expect to see you back here."
"I have some great news," he says beaming. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet; he's so excited.
"I could use some good news today," I say, looking around the restaurant and still nursing my finger. "Some days, it feels like I'm drowning here."
"Remember The Pearl on Park restaurant that we talked about? And how you've been so worried about it?"
How could I not? But Percy doesn't know this. No one knows that Palmer and I have been spending time together.
He could never understand how much Palmer and his restaurant has been on my mind.
I shrug, trying to play it casual. I can't let Percy read my emotions. "Sure, what about it?"
"I've just learned that Chef Palmer's investors are backing out after all of the bad reviews he's received."
"Wait, what? You mean Palmer's restaurants are in trouble?" I say.
"You got it—exciting, right? Now you don't have to worry about your future in this city," Percy says, clapping his hands together.
My heart sinks, and my stomach spins the same somersaults I spun as an 8 year old in gymnastics class.
"You really think he's going to shut down?"
"It's a good possibility that he'll have to close The Pearl on Park, from what I can tell. That's the word on the street anyways."
"Wow, that's, uh—"
"That's big news, I know," Percy says, cutting me off. "I was so excited that I had to come over right away and let you know."
"I don't even know what to say."
"I know… you're too excited for words," Percy smiles, petting my arm. There's something about his touch that makes me recoil.
He thinks he's doing me a favor by writing all of these terrible reviews, and helping to shut Palmer down, but now I just feel sick.
"I have to run," he says, giving me another pat on the arm. "But we'll talk again soon."
I watch as he walks out of the restaurant and I feel dizzy; my entire body is churning with emotions.
I'm so conflicted about this whole thing. And now, I feel guilty.
I'm the reason why Percy went after Palmer in the first place. And this guilt feels like a shadow that's following me and pressing on my shoulders. Just knowing that I've hurt Palmer is a huge, black weight on my conscience.
This isn't who I am. I can't let this happen.
I'll never be able to live with myself if Palmer loses his restaurant. And the fact that he didn't tell me… must mean he's been carrying the weight of this knowledge and didn't want to burden me with it.
I have to fix this. I have to find Palmer and explain my guilt to him.
He may hate me, and he may never forgive me… but I have to do it, even if it means losing the best man I've ever had.
But maybe I can convince Percy to help me.
Love’s more important than business, right?
Palmer
"The Pearl on Park is more than just a restaurant," I say. "It's a destination. It's innovative.
“It elevates cuisine, and gives diners an experience that they can keep for a lifetime. This is a restaurant that elevates the culinary world of New York City."
"Some experience that's been," one investor says under his breath, rolling his eyes.
The restaurant is closed today, and my investors and I are sitting in the dining room. They called this meeting last minute, and I knew it wasn't going to be an easy conversation.
It's bad enough that I'm losing money by being closed today, but now I'm forced to listen to a group of skittish investors tell me that my food sucks and doesn't have a future. That's a tough pill to swallow.
"We just don't see it," one man says, shaking his head and scratching his short-cropped beard. "Nothing's adding up."
"The reviews of your food are some of the worst we've ever seen, and that's saying something," another man says. His mid-section is so large that he's using it as a shelf for his hands. "The critic goe
s so far as to say that an inexperienced child could do cuisine better than you can."
"I can explain," I say.
"There's no need," he says. "We've seen enough. The reviews make it crystal clear."
"Look, I have the money," I say. "I just don't have the liquidity to sustain this new venture without your backing."
"We understand where you're coming from. We really do. And we pride ourselves on taking risks," one man says.
He's trying to sound empathetic but instead it comes off feeling patronizing. "We root for the underdog and fund projects that many banks wouldn't touch within a 10-foot pole. But this is a risk we can't take. It would be suicide. If the food was any good—"
"The food is good," I say, cutting him off. "Those reviews are bullshit. A man who has a personal vendetta against me wrote them.
“I don't know why, or where that's stemming from, or what his issue is, but it's true. Let me prove it to you. I'll cook for you right now—you can taste the food I make here at the Pearl—here, I'll fire up the grill, and I'll share the menu with you and—"
"Mr. Palmer, I'm sorry, but this is non-negotiable," the bearded man says. "We've already made our decision. Save your cooking for another time."
I nod my head. I'm trying to keep my cool, but I'm so frustrated that I think I could flip over every table in this dining room, and Hulk every chair. I could rip down the curtains and smash every plate.
My frustration is boiling over, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to remain calm.
"Thank you for your time," I say, once I know this conversation is over. I did everything I could, but even that wasn't enough. "I'll show you men out."
I watch as each of them push their chairs away from the table, and shuffle their feet to the front door. I unlock the door, walk them step out into the afternoon sun, and walk as they disappear into a nameless sea of businessmen and cars and taxis.
I lock the door behind them and then turn to look at my restaurant.
The Pearl was supposed to be my crowning achievement in life. It was supposed to be my legacy. I've planned, dreamed, and prepared for this day my entire life.
But without investors, I'll have to close this flagship restaurant. There's no way around it.
How the fuck did things get this bad? How could I let this happen?
It feels like I've hit rock bottom.
I walk over to the bar and grab a bottle of Glendronach 18. People ask me what my favorite whiskey is—and that's a tough question to answer because it varies on my mood, but this bottle right here is always in my top five.
Happy, sad, mad, glad—whatever—you name it, and this whiskey works.
I grab a glass, and pour an amber ribbon of the liquid in. I take a sip and let the liquor burn a hot trail down my throat. And then the flavors hit me—sweet sherry, leather, tobacco, and even polished wood dance on my tongue.
I stare at the bottle's label. There's an idyllic sketch of what must presumably be the Scottish countryside. And as I stare at this label, it hits me.
At least I still have Nicole.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I remember her.
With her, I can get through this. I can get through anything.
In fact, I can picture sitting on a grassy hill, in the countryside with Nicole … just like the one on this whiskey bottle.
Just then, I hear a rapid knock on the door. I turn and realize my day just got better.
It's Nicole.
I can't believe she's here. She's wearing a cotton dress that is getting kicked up by the wind, and her hair is dancing about her shoulder.
I walk over and open the door.
"I'm so glad you're here," she says. "I saw you weren't open. I was worried. And I just wanted to—"
"Shh," I say, placing a finger on her lips. "Less talking." I wrap my arms around her delicate body in a full embrace and lift her off her feet. I pull her into the restaurant and lock the door behind us, and then, I lean down and bring my lips to hers.
Nicole
“Palmer,” I try to say, but I’m too weak to fight against his lips. When it comes to Palmer, I’m too weak to resist. And even if I were strong enough to do it… I doubt I’d want to.
“Hush,” he tells me, lacing one of his arms around my waist and pulling me in. He leans into me, my eyelids drooping as I press my lips against his. I feel his scent crawling into my mind then, creating a perfect lustful perfume.
My hands climb up the side of his body, and I run them up his neck and to his hair. I curl my fingers around locks of hair and force him to throw his head back. With a fiery smile, I hold him in place and kiss his neck, my lips savoring his skin.
With a growl, Palmer looks at me and, placing his hands on my hips, forces me back. I step backwards until my ass is pressed against the edge of one of the tables in the dining room, my hands against his muscular chest.
My fingers on his collar, I start unbuttoning his dress shirt, my knuckles brushing against his tanned skin. He grabs my hair hard and yanks on it; I throw myself back, sitting up on the table and supporting myself with my elbows on top of it.
I keep unbuttoning his shirt, baring his chest inch by inch as he lays his lips against my neck, nibbling at my tender skin. As I open the last button, I un-tuck his shirt, pulling it out from inside his pants. I immediately press my hands against his chest, running my fingers over the marble edges of his muscles.
Who sculpted this man? My God, the lines between his abs and around his pectorals… This is perfection.
He kisses me all over the neck, his lips traveling all the way to my shoulders.
He bites on the straps of my dress, grabbing the right one between his teeth and pulling it down. He lets it fall down my arm and then grabs the other strap with his hand and tugs on it as well.
The front of my dress droops over my chest, my breasts and black lace bra jumping into view. The moment he catches a glimpse of my breasts, he grabs my dress and pulls on it harshly, sending the fabric down to my waist.
With shaky hands, I run my fingers over his abs and up to his shoulders, sending his shirt down his arms and onto the floor. My eyes wander once again over his perfectly chiseled muscles
My brain hasn’t even given me time to figure out to do, but I find myself lunging forward, reaching with my tongue for his abs. I lick them with the tip of my tongue, sliding over the spaces between each block of abdominal granite.
While I’m leaning forward, Palmer uses this moment to slide his fingers up my back and unhook my bra. I feel the cups becoming looser over my breasts and, the moment I pull away from his torso, he curls his fingers around my bra and tugs on it hard. A shiver goes through me as my naked breasts come into contact with the air around me, my nipples hardening in an instant.
He reaches for my breasts then, his spread fingers gently squeezing my flesh. He starts squeezing harder and harder, my hard nipple pinned between his fingers.
Reaching for him, I grab his wrist and guide his free hand to my left breast. He lays his fingers there softly, pinching my rosy tip between his thumb and index finger. I look up at the ceiling, close my eyes and take a deep breath.
I came in here to tell him something, but oh, how could I resist something like this?
The moment I open my eyes, he’s already coming for me. He presses his mouth against my neck, laying gentle kisses on my skin as his hands caress my breasts.
Pressing my thighs together, I realize I’m soaking wet. My thong is completely drenched, and I already feel it dripping down my thighs.
Have I ever been this wet? I’m so damn horny I’d need a perfect man to satisfy my cravings, and what do you know? I do have the perfect man right here, and he’s ready to do my bidding.
I lace one arm around Palmer’s neck and, with the other, I reach for his crotch. I flatten the palm of my hand there, my fingers pushing against the tented fabric. He’s already hard, his cock almost vibrating with furious desire.
I close my h
and around it, grasping it tight, and give it a firm squeeze. As I do it, he stops kissing my neck, his mouth going straight down; he takes his hand off of my breast, opening space for his mouth, and immediately wraps his lips around my nipple.
Softly brushing his teeth against it, he teases me with pain but, in the end, he delivers only pleasure: he pinches the rosy burning tip with his lips, sucking eagerly on it as he traces quick circles with the tip of his tongue.
Curling my fingers around his thick member, he exhales sharply against my skin, sending goose bumps all over my body. I start to stroke him, my hand fighting against the fabric of his pants as I flick my wrist in a steady cadence.
Not letting go of his cock, I lean forward again, pressing my lips against Palmer’s naked chest. I let my tongue run between his abs, the warmth of his skin making me lose all control.
I need him now.
Right now.
My fingers trembling with anticipation, I start to unbuckle his belt, and it comes undone with a metallic clink. I go for his zipper then, pushing it down, his cock pushing back against my hand, stretching the fabric of his underwear to the limit. I feel his hard cock brushing against my knuckles, and that only reinforces the fact that I need to feel him, to have him, right now.
I'm actually surprised his throbbing member hasn't ripped its way out of the fabric that restrains it. Oh, well, I can help with that; with my fingers on his waistline, I slide his boxers down and over his cock, allowing it to jump straight into my hand.
Instead of immediately grabbing it, I lean back, my eyes flying down to his cock as I run my tongue between my lips.
Only then do I reach for him, curling my fingers around his long shape, feeling his warmth spread to my hands and up my arms. I start moving my hand, stroking him with back-and-forth and movements as I become wetter than ever. As I become possessed by desire, I start going faster, both my hands working themselves into a blur of movement as I stroke him.
