Don’t Touch

by Wylder, Penny

  “Very good, Arisa, it looks amazing,” Monroe says as we finish off the pasta dish with a dash of shredded cheese. “You're a quick learner.”

  “I like to think so.”

  He gives me a sexy smirk, then exhales a slow breath. “Well, I guess this is a good time to bring up something, then. Cheryl, can you come here for a second.”

  Her tune changes the instant he says her name as she shoves her hatred toward me out of the way and puts on her flirty ass-kissing voice. “Sure, Monroe, what do you need me to do? I'll do anything. All you need to do is ask.”

  Desperate much?

  Our eyes connect and even though she's smiling, I know deep down inside she's screaming at me. She doesn't need to speak; her eyes speak for her.

  “I haven't told anyone yet, but next week, Dariel Gershon is coming.”

  My eyes grow wide and my jaw drops open. “Dariel Gershon from Flavor magazine? The Dariel Gershon, the number one food critic in the country?”

  He nods. “That's right.”

  “Holy shit,” I say.

  “Holy shit is right. Which is why I need both of you to create your top dish for me.”

  “Our top dish—for what?” Cheryl asks. “You have a great menu, what do our dishes have to do with anything?”

  “Well, to put it simply, I need to decide which one of you is going to be my sous chef for when he's here. I can't have you both, so I figured we could make a little competition out of it.”

  “You're joking, right?” Cheryl asks. She flaps her hand in the air and laughs. “I mean, I've been here forever, and she just started. I don't really see the point in this.”

  “It doesn't matter to me who's been here longer. What matters to me is who can cook better. I need to know, because when he's here, I can't afford to fail. This is either going to make or break this restaurant.”

  “I'm fine with it,” I say as I look at Cheryl. “But if you're not, if you're afraid—”

  “I'm not afraid,” she says sternly. “I can cook circles around you.”

  “Looks like the competition's already started,” Monroe says with a laugh. “How much time do we have left?” he asks out loud as he looks at his watch. “Two hours until we open. Think you guys can do it?”

  “I know I can,” Cheryl snaps as she veers her stare in my direction. “I don't need a lot of time at all.”

  “Yeah, I can do it.” I'm not nervous as I say it, I already know what I'm going to make.

  Monroe claps his hands together, sending a plume of flour into the air. “All right, let’s get cooking then. You both have thirty minutes to cook me something great.” Cheryl and I stand still. “Come on, go, time's wasting.”

  We both scatter, moving quickly through the kitchen to grab our ingredients. I don't pay any attention to her at all. I don't really care what she's cooking. If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's worry about what you can do, not what someone else can do.

  I grab an onion, a couple garlic cloves, dry white wine, a bunch of cavolo nero, pancetta, and the rest of what I need. The ingredients topple out of my arms as I drop them on the counter.

  I'm in the zone. I know this dish like the back of my hand, and it's always been a hit whenever I make it. My mother loves this recipe. She has me make it for family gatherings and holiday parties.

  My knife moves quickly up and down as I chop the pancetta and toss it into a frying pan with a tablespoon of olive oil. It sizzles as it hits the hot oil, popping and snapping. I cook it until it's caramelized, draining the fat and setting it to the side.

  I catch Cheryl tossing romaine in some vinaigrette she put together from the corner of my eye. I can smell the acidic tang of apple cider vinegar and the earthy scent of spices as she flips it.

  Salad? That's the best you have?

  I almost feel bad that she's taking the simple way out. Salad is something anyone can make, and it doesn't stand out. Monroe seems like the type of guy who wants bold, not expected.

  The chicken stock splashes into the pot as I pour it. I turn the flame on low to bring it to a simmer. Everything is coming together exactly as I want it to. The onion is sizzling, the stock is bubbling lightly.

  I spoon the risotto into a bowl, garnish with some fresh grated Parmesan cheese and set the bowl on the counter in front of Monroe.

  “Here you go,” I say. “Risotto with cavolo nero and crispy pancetta.”

  “Risotto, that's brave. It isn't easy to get the consistency right, and if the seasoning or flavors are off, it's dead in the water.” His eyes examine the bowl. “Good presentation though, and it does smell amazing.”

  “Her risotto has nothing on my dish,” Cheryl says as she sets her plate down next to mine. “I made a grilled romaine salad with glazed flank steak.”

  Monroe looks down at her food, then up at her under hooded eyes. He doesn't say anything about her presentation, he just picks up her fork and takes a bite. He chews silently, swallows, and then takes a sip of water.

  “The steak is over cooked, and you cut it wrong. You're supposed to go against the grain, not with it. That's something you should have learned in school.”

  “Oh, yeah, of course I did. I just thought it made for a better presentation.”

  “Well, you're wrong on that.” He turns his attention back to my dish. Lifting the spoon out of my bowl, he takes a bite. Again, he chews silently, not giving me any clue to if he likes it or not.

  Cheryl looks at me, I look at her, and we both glare at each other like rabid dogs. She kicks her hip out impatiently and clears her throat. “Well?” she asks.

  “It's perfect. The seasoning is spot on, the flavors are bold, the pancetta is crisp, and the rice is cooked beautifully. Very good, Arisa. I had my doubts when you told me what you made, but you hit it right.”

  “Thanks,” I say, blushing slightly as his eyes land on mine.

  “But which one is better? Which one of us gets to be your sous chef for the Flavor magazine guy?” Cheryl asks. She's annoyed and she isn't even trying to hide it at all. “Just say it already. Tell her it's me so we can move on, and finish getting ready to open.”

  “Arisa,” Monroe says, tapping the edge of the bowl with the spoon. “This really is good, I'm impressed. And Cheryl, your salad, well, it's not hitting the mark. Arisa, you're my chef.”

  “What?” Cheryl balks, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. “You can't be serious.”

  “I'm sorry, Cheryl, but Arisa wins. I know you've been here longer, but that doesn't give you an automatic edge. It's about taste, and hers is spot on.”

  “Oh wow, thank you,” I say. My smile is huge, and my heart is hammering inside my chest. “I won't let you down.”

  “I know you won't.” He gives me a light smile. “Okay ladies, back to it, let's finish getting ready,” he says, turning and walking away.

  Cheryl looks livid. Her eyes are slits, and her entire face is red as a chili pepper. Her lips thin into a tight frown as she growls under her breath and tosses the rest of her salad into the trash.

  I can't wipe the smile from my face. My entire goal is to become the best. The best employee. The best cook. The best chef. I want to own a restaurant one day. A place that people will talk about, with a waiting list so long you need to call months ahead.

  This opportunity is going to give me that. A renowned food critic will know my name and taste my cooking.

  Today just made up for every bad thing that happened yesterday.

  And I'm not going to let Cheryl ruin my day because she lost.

  5

  Arisa

  “Great service guys,” Monroe says. “Just finish cleaning up your stations and then you can go home for the night.”

  “Thanks,” Cheryl says. She sounds a little less pissed than earlier. I think she's finally letting go of the cooking competition this morning and knows Monroe doesn't mean to hurt her feelings. This is his business, and his reputation. That's what's important at the end of the day.


  I scrub down the counter and stove, then help put away the condiments. Cheryl's still staying as far away from me as she can. If I'm coming one way, she goes the opposite. It feels petty, but in all honesty, it's probably best for both of us.

  “I'm done, Monroe. I'll see you in the morning,” Cheryl says as she grabs her bag and throws it over her shoulder.

  “See you tomorrow,” he answers blindly, keeping his head down as he writes on a small white board.

  She doesn't say goodbye to me. I get an angry glare and then she's gone.

  “How you doing over there?” he asks me.

  “Almost done. I'm just finishing up this counter.”

  “You know,” he says, capping his marker and standing up straight. He turns to face me and leans back. “I was really impressed with your dish this morning. I didn't expect it.”

  “I'm full of surprises.” I look up at him and wink. “But really, thank you for giving me this opportunity. It means a lot.”

  He licks his lips slowly as he takes long sweeping steps across the kitchen. “I like surprises almost as much as I like cooking.”

  His toes hit mine. I have to crane my neck back as I look up at him. Monroe lifts his hand to my face and brushes loose pieces of hair away from my face. He smiles, his lids lowering to half-mast.

  “You know what else I really like?” he asks.

  “What?” I choke out.

  All my nerves are going wild. Goosebumps bristle my skin as the tips of his fingers tickle across my face.

  “Last night. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I haven't been able to get you off my mind.” His fingers work their way into my hair, softly pulling against the strands as he massages my scalp.

  “Me too.” I can barely get the words out as his fingers become more intense. They move deeper into my hair, caressing harder, and tugging lightly. “I—”

  He crushes his lips against mine, stealing my voice. His tongue spears through my lips, tangling around mine. I moan, unable to contain the desire that's been building inside me all day. I've wanted this so bad. To feel his lips on mine again. To taste his tongue and be in his arms, it's all I've been thinking about.

  Monroe frees his hand from my hair. His hands slip down my sides and around to my ass. With such strength, he easily lifts me off my feet and spins me around to sit me on the counter.

  His lips kiss their way down one side of my throat and over to the other side. They're warm and wet. Leaving heavy bruises in their wake. My head falls back and my hands rake through his hair.

  I tug and pull as he bites my neck and growls. This man is a beast. He's rough and gentle all in the same breath. I wrap my legs around his waist and dig my nails into his back as his kisses turn fierce.

  Creak. A noise catches my attention.

  “Wait,” I say, pushing against his shoulders.

  “What?”

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” he asks as he looks back over his shoulder.

  “I don't know, but I thought I heard something.”

  He pushes himself away and walks to the hall. “There's no one here.”

  “I thought I heard something.”

  “It's just your mind playing tricks on you.” Monroe walks back to me, slipping his hands under my jacket and starts to unbutton my pants. “You had a long day, let me make it better for you.”

  I lift myself up as he shimmies my pants down my legs. He pulls off my shoes, letting them drop to the floor, and tugs my pants down the rest of the way. The counter is cold on my skin, making me shiver.

  “Cold?” he asks.

  “No, it's just the countertop.”

  “Don't worry, I'm going to warm you up right now.” Monroe drops to his knees. His hands push my legs open and he groans. “Fuck, that's beautiful.” He blows warm air across my clit making me moan.

  “Mm,” I coo.

  He licks up my pussy, flicking my clit with the tip of his tongue. “You're soaking wet already and I haven't even started yet,” he says, his mouth buzzing against my heat.

  My hips rock forward, urging him to keep going. “I can't help it. You make me wet.”

  “I like that.” His tongue glides back down and dips into my entrance. “The wetter you are, the more I get to taste.”

  I drive my hand into his hair and pull his head closer. “Mm,” I groan, biting on my bottom lip as he flattens his tongue and licks up to my clit. He sucks the swollen bead into his mouth and lets it go with a pop.

  He exhales a greedy breath of air as he laps up my juice and drinks me down. Monroe swallows, driving his tongue back inside my pussy and fucking me with it. In and out, in and out, his tongue spears me faster and harder.

  My legs threaten to clamp shut around his head, but Monroe grabs them with his hands and pushes them open wider. My eyes snap shut and my head falls back as his finger circles my asshole.

  Monroe doesn't let up. His tongue flicks and glides against my clit. The tip of his finger slips inside my ass, and he pushes his thumb all the way into my pussy. He's fucking me two ways as he rapidly licks my clit.

  Colors fire off behind my lids and my hands slam down on the counter. My fingers curl up, nails attempting to grip the hard metal surface. I'm so close to coming. I can feel the orgasm building, making my stomach clench.

  Monroe pulls his face away, his mouth and cheeks glistening with my juice. “Not yet,” he says. “I'm not ready to let you come.”

  “Fuck, Monroe, don't stop.” I jerk my hips forward. “I'm so close.”

  “I know, and I said not yet. I want you to beg for it.” His finger softly rubs all around my clit, moving down through the folds, and back up. But he avoids the tender button, leaving me rocking and grinding for more.

  With painful slowness, he flutters kisses up the inside of my thigh and across the top of my pussy. His mouth moves down, tongue licking everywhere but where I want him to.

  “Please, don't stop,” I say, opening my eyes. “It feels so good.”

  “And it's going to feel even better when I finally let you come.” He smirks, a sultry, sexy little smile as he thins his lips and blows cool air over my pussy. “Just think how amazing it will feel when you come on my face. When I lick you to the point you explode, and the orgasm leaves you weak.”

  “You're killing me, Monroe. Lick me, please lick my pussy.”

  “I like watching you beg.” His voice is smooth and dark. His eyes veer as he gently runs the tip of his tongue up the center of my pussy.

  The second he hits my clit, my legs start to shake and my muscles tighten. I'm wriggling on the counter, bucking my hips against his face, attempting to end this ache. Driving his tongue up through my folds, his fingers start to move again, fucking me faster and faster.

  He licks my clit, flicking it over and over as his eyes watch me. I'm frozen on him. I can't look away. I can't close my eyes. I'm trapped in this net he's creating. My thighs start to shake, and I moan loudly.

  “Mm, yeah. Don't stop, don't stop.” I shift my hips up and down, fucking his face as he works my body.

  The thin thread that's holding me together snaps in half as the orgasm rushes through my body. I crumble in his hands. My legs fall open and my stomach is quivering as the pleasure pulses through every ounce of my being.

  My toes curl, my fingers flex, and my heart is beating like a drum. There's a light sweat on my forehead, and a numbness begins to fill my muscles.

  “Holy shit,” I say with an exhale. “Wow. That was—”

  “Delicious,” he says.

  “Amazing,” I say with a smile.

  Monroe rises to his feet and bends down to get my clothes. “It's my turn next time.” He hands me my stuff and helps me down off the counter. “Looks like we need to clean the counter again.”

  “Yeah, I'll take care of it.”

  “Don't worry about it. Go home, get some well-earned rest. I'll clean it up.”

  “Are you sure? I don't mind.”


  “But you cooked, I'm the one who ate.” He winks as he wipes away what's left of my pussy on his face, and licks his fingers clean. “Besides, tomorrow I need you to help me with something. So, I need you here a little earlier than usual. Can you do that?”

  “Sure. What do you need me for?”

  “It's a surprise.”

  “What kind of surprise?”

  “One that involves food.” He chuckles as he grabs the paper towels and the cleaning spray. “Go on, get out of here before I decide to fuck you again.”

  “That wouldn't be a bad thing.” I give him a playful smile.

  “It will be if we're here until the morning again. I need you well rested for tomorrow.”

  I grab my stuff and give him another smile before I leave. My face is still flushed, and the orgasm is still living and breathing inside me. My muscles are buzzing and my pussy is still throbbing.

  This man does things to me no man ever has. I've never been so willing to give myself to someone before.

  Monroe makes it easy. I don't even have to think about it.

  I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not. But for now, I'm just going to go with it.

  Who says work and play can't go hand in hand?

  Because it certainly does feel damn good.

  6

  Monroe

  I flip the tablecloth over the table and let it fall flawlessly into place. No wrinkle in sight and even all the way around, just how I like it. I still got it, I think to myself as I take a step back and smile. I haven't set a table in years because I have staff that do it for me.

  But it wasn't always this way. I didn't just wake up one day and become this man. I worked for it. I worked my ass off to get here. And I'll keep working my ass off because perfection doesn't exist. There's always room to grow. Room to learn. Room to do better.

  That's one of things I like about Arisa. Her willingness to learn, to listen, to try something new. I glance at my watch, it's seven thirty in the morning and Arisa will be here in a few minutes. I'm excited, even if it's hard to admit that to myself.