She groans, driving her hands into my hair and pulling me where she wants me. I let her have this. I let her guide me, sucking her tit into my mouth and flicking her nipple with the tip of my tongue.
Her fingers curl, grabbing and tearing as I drag my cock up and down between her folds while I lick her sensitive beads. Arisa tips her head back, letting out a moan that heats me to the core.
My cock throbs, and my heart skips a beat. This isn't just sex for me anymore. This is more than that. This is wet kisses and tornadoes spinning in my stomach. This is dirty touching and my blood running hot. This is me taking a piece of her and keeping it forever.
I slam my dick inside her pussy, and she screams with pleasure. Her body tenses, and her nails scrape down my shoulders, tracing my spine. My eyes are on her. Watching her. Her eyes roll back in her head as her mouth opens and she sings the prettiest song for me.
“Mm, Monroe.” Her thighs squeeze tight around my hips as her hips lift off the bed.
I grab her knees and push her legs wide open. Pulling my cock out, I slowly press back in, making sure every inch is felt. She wants me to move faster so damn bad. Her body is wriggling and her hips keep shifting as if this is in her control.
It isn't. This is me taking what's mine and giving her what she wants.
I throw my cock in and out of her body. She's trembling, her entire body violently shaking as her mouth drops open and she moans. Fuck, it's beautiful. I love the way she comes. I love how her cheeks grow even redder, and her lungs struggle to take even one complete breath of air.
Her walls grip my length, choking me down inch after inch. I don't want to stop. I could fuck her all day, every day, and still never feel like it's enough.
I need more. I want more. I want to bring her to the edge of insanity and hold her there, until she's begging me to let her go. Until she can't contain herself any longer and she screams out with delirious hunger.
Her mouth forms a perfect O as her moan goes silent, and her eyes pinch shut. I don't need to hear her voice to know that her body is rolling with tingles from head to toe. She's screaming from inside, from deep within her muscles and soul.
The tremble spreads from her fingertips and enters my body. My cock begins to pulse, throbbing with every thrust, pounding with every piston and jerk of my hips. Cum shoots from the tip, filling her entrance and dripping down my shaft.
My orgasm spurs another one for her. Arisa screams out, her nails piercing my skin as she throws her head forward and bites my shoulder. The tremble is now an earthquake of debilitating pleasure.
Our bodies are coated in a thin layer of sweat as we stare into each other's eyes. There are no words between us. What is there to say when words aren't needed?
I don't need to hear her tell me anything at all. All I have to do is look into those gorgeous eyes, and I can see everything I need to know.
I know this is special.
And I know I'm not going to let go of this girl ever.
10
Arisa
“Tonight's the night. Are you ready?” Monroe asks me as he comes up and hugs me from behind.
I lay my head back and smile. “Me? I should be asking you that question. Are you ready for this?” Straightening myself, I move the knife back and forth across the red pepper, slicing it thin. “This is your night, not mine.”
Monroe moves to my side and leans against the counter. “No, that's not true. This is your night too. He might be here for my restaurant, but your name is on this food, too.”
I smile softly and glance up for a second before looking back down at the pepper. “All right, so I might be a little nervous. It is one of the biggest magazines in the country when it comes to food.”
He chuckles. “Good, I'm glad it's not just me anymore.”
Monroe is all over the kitchen. He's running from one side to the other. He's in the fridge, he's in the back, he's at the stove checking and double checking. I grab him by the wrist as he passes by me for the twelfth time in ten minutes.
“Try to calm down, you got this.” I pop up on the tips of my toes and give him a kiss. “Your food is amazing.”
He rolls his eyes and lets out a frustrated breath. “I wish it were that easy. I'm going crazy. If I didn't have anxiety before, I do now.” Monroe rakes his hand through his hair and pulls it tight against his scalp. “I just want it all to be perfect.”
I'm trying to keep my own nerves in check and soothe him the best I can. “I promise you, it's going to be great.”
He tries to smile, but it's not believable. His nerves are more than visible in his wide eyes. “Yeah, we'll see. This is why I don't do these things, because of the pressure. It's so much easier to just be known for my food, and that's the reason people come. The second you get in a magazine, you have unfettered expectations.”
“I know you think that, but this doesn't have to be different. Think of it like this, Dariel is just another diner, that's all he is. Even if it doesn't go the way you want it to, people know your food is amazing, and one stupid little article isn't going to change that.”
His smile grows as he wraps his arm around my waist. Kissing me on the forehead, he says, “I know you're right, but I honestly don't think I'll be able to relax until it's over.”
Monroe releases me, and I hold onto him as long as I can. My hands slip down his arms, fingers lingering on his until he pulls himself free and goes back into panic mode.
I get it, I really do. This isn't a normal day. But I really wish he would just take a few breaths and realize he's got this. The man isn't going to leave here disappointed. I know that much.
The kitchen door busts open. “He's here,” Daniel says, her voice almost as nervous as Monroe looks.
I feel like most of the staff has the same nervous energy as Monroe. They're feeding off him, like he's blanketing the place in this crazed anxious frenzy that none of us can control.
“He's here,” Monroe repeats softly, and says it again louder. “He's here. All right, Arisa, I need you on the risotto and the lamb skewers. I've heard he's very specific on seasoning, so make it perfect.”
The heat off the stove is burning my face as I toss and stir the risotto and sear the lamb. I garnish both dishes, wiping the edges of the plate clean so they look sleek and perfect. Placing them in the window, I call out that the order is up.
Monroe is working on his main courses. He's making two different ones, a smoked brisket and a fish dish. His head is down as the appetizers go out. I know I've got a few minutes before he needs me, so I decide to peek on the food critic.
I walk to the door and slip out into the dining room. The man is at a table by himself, his hair is long, pulled back into a low ponytail. Dressed low key, he's in a black, button-up shirt with a bright blue bow tie and a pair of slacks. He doesn't stand out at all. The only defining thing on him are his bright, red rimmed glasses.
He spoons the risotto, lifting it up and examining it before he smells the food. He blows air across the top, then pushes the spoon into his mouth. He's chewing slow, methodically, making sure he tastes every aspect of the dish.
There's a commotion at the door. I look up to see Cheryl arguing with Daniel who's trying her best to get her to leave.
“No, I'm supposed to be the one here for this, not her. I'm not going anywhere. I want to see Monroe. Monroe!” she yells out, looking behind Daniel's back. “Monroe! Come out here!”
Dariel Gershon, the food critic, perks his ears and casually glances over his shoulder.
Shit. This isn't good. Cheryl's going to ruin this entire thing!
I feel a weight above me and look up to see Monroe glaring out the kitchen door from over my shoulder. “Fuck, what the hell is she doing?” he asks under his breath.
“I don't know,” I say. “I'll go get her to leave. I don't want you to worry about her.”
“No, I'll do it.” Monroe's jaw pulls tight, and his pupils turn to pinpricks. He pushes the door open and walks out into the
dining room.
I follow behind him. There isn't much I can do, but I can support him. I can be here by his side, just like I'm supposed to be. I won't let him feel like he's alone in this.
Cheryl sees him, and she instantly crooks her jaw with anger. “Yeah, there you are. I see you now. Who the hell do you think you are?” she asks.
“Cheryl, this isn't a good time for this, and you know it. Let’s talk outside.” He holds out his arm, trying to guide her back out the door. But she doesn't move.
She folds her arms across her chest and snarls, “Why? You afraid it's going to look bad that you screwed over your best employee? Are you scared that I'll say something that's going to destroy you? Because I will, Monroe. I'll fucking bury you alive.” Her eyes dart around the room, finally landing on Dariel. She smiles with attitude. “There he is. There's the man of the evening.”
“Cheryl, that's enough.” Monroe is trying to keep his voice down, but it's no use. Everyone is staring at us. Everyone.
“And you,” Cheryl snaps, ignoring Monroe completely, and putting her focus on me. “You ruined everything! You don't deserve this. I deserve this!” She points at herself, poking her chest hard with her finger. “This was supposed to be my moment!”
“All right, time to go,” a voice says. There's a man behind her, and he scoops her up under her arms and lifts her off the ground. As my eyes focus, I realize the voice is coming from my brother. “Come on,” Tom says sternly as she kicks her legs and tries to break free.
“Let me go! Put me down!”
“Nope, not until we're outside.” Tom spins her around, kicking the front door open with his foot and carrying her outside.
Monroe follows him, and I'm right there with him. My brother sets her down on the sidewalk and stands in her way so she can't come back inside.
“Get out of my way!”
“I don't think so.” Tom's arms are hanging at his sides, ready to catch her if she tries to dart past him. “You're not doing this to my friend or my sister.”
“Cheryl,” Monroe says, grabbing her attention. “You're fired. And if I catch you trying to come on this property again, I'll call the cops.”
“Screw you, Monroe! I don't want this stupid fucking job anyway. You're an asshole!”
“Then you'll have no problem leaving. No one wants to work for an asshole,” my brother says. “Go on, get out of here.” He flips his fingers a few times at her, encouraging her to walk away. “Unless you want a criminal record. I just hope you realize you're going to have a hard time getting hired if you do. No employer wants to hire some unhinged person.”
“Fuck you too, Tom. This has nothing to do with you.”
“I think it does,” Monroe says, “This is not only our liquor dealer, but he's also one of my customers. I won't let you harass him.”
“Harass? Are you fucking kidding me? You screwed me out of this opportunity! I'm supposed to be the one in there.”
Monroe holds out his hand. “No, you're not. Arisa earned this spot, she's a damn good chef.”
“Right. “Earned it.” She uses air quotes as she rolls her eyes. “So, if I fucked you too, would I have the chance? We all know that she's only here because you got bribed and she's easy.”
My teeth clamp down hard, jaw crooking to one side. I want to punch her in the face. My fists are clenched at my side and the adrenaline is building inside me. “Fuck you,” I bark.
I make a quick jump forward, but Monroe grabs me, and holds me back. “She's not worth it, Arisa. You're better than this.” His eyes beg me to calm down, to rise above, and not stoop to her level.
I'm barely holding myself together. The anger is boiling, bubbling so intensely under the surface it feels like my blood is on fire. But his eyes, his eyes call to me. I take a few deep breaths, and step away.
“Monroe, you really need to get back inside,” Tom says. Monroe flicks his eyes to my brother, then at the restaurant. Tom nods for him head in. “Go, I've got this. She won't bother you anymore tonight.”
“Fuck you!” Cheryl screams.
“Yeah, yeah, fuck me, I know,” my brother says back. “Either way, I'm not going anywhere.” Tom folds his arms, taking a stance in front of the door. He grabs the handle as Monroe and I step up. “Good luck, man,” he says.
“Thanks, I think I owe you another one.”
“Nah, we're good. Just don't let this ruin your night.” Tom smiles as he shuts the door behind us.
Monroe takes a deep breath, his chest puffing up and out. His fingers wiggle at his sides as he exhales. “All right, let’s cook our asses off.”
“That's why I'm here.” I braid my fingers in his, giving him an encouraging smile. “Let’s cook.”
He starts to move back to the kitchen, then stops in his tracks. “I need a second,” he says. “Go start the salmon, and the cherry reduction. I'll be right behind you.”
Monroe gives me a little push forward as he diverts and heads over to Dariel's table. I can't hear what he's saying, but he's smiling. A real smile. A friendly, welcoming smile. And Dariel, unfortunately, he's not as welcoming. His lips are taut as he chews. He's wearing a deadpan expression as he nods gently, then drops his eyes back to his food.
I'm not sure what that means exactly. After Cheryl's little intrusion and outburst, who knows if this man is going to give Monroe negative stars. Nothing is less satisfying than trying to enjoy a meal and have it derailed by a screaming match.
“Well?” I ask as Monroe comes back in the kitchen.
“Well what?”
“Does he seem angry? He certainly doesn't look happy. I mean, how can he enjoy your food when—”
“We need to keep going. How's the fish?” Monroe asks, changing the conversation completely. “Don't overcook it.”
“No problem, I'm on it.”
“I'm going to grab the brisket. I wasn't planning on using brisket, but now I'm not leaving any room for failure. Get that reduction going too.” He walks away from me, and I'm left with my thoughts.
They're running wild. Is it that bad? Did Dariel tell him to just get this over with so he can leave? Did he give him the cold shoulder? Damn Cheryl! She knows how important this is for Monroe!
My teeth clench as I start the reduction. I'm whisking angrily, stirring and stirring with forceful circles. If she sabotaged this for him, if she destroyed this opportunity for his restaurant to rise to a new level, I'll never forgive her.
Monroe is back, carrying a freshly smoked brisket. “Whoa, what's with the tornado style stirring?”
“I'm just ticked that Cheryl had the nerve to come here that way.”
“Arisa. . .” My name comes out of his mouth calm and smooth. “Don't worry about her. She's not ruining anything. If our food fails tonight, it's no one's fault but mine.”
“You mean ours.”
“No, I mean mine. I'm the owner, it's my restaurant, the only person this will hurt is me. A good review will elevate us both, a bad review only falls on me.”
“I'm not going to let you get a bad review,” I say as I turn the heat down on the sauce. “This man is going to leave here wanting more.”
“Kind of like how I leave you.” He grins and gives me a wink.
“You're so bad.”
“I know. I'm trying to lighten the mood a little.”
“Well, it's working.” I give him a flirty smile as I plate the fish and pour the sauce over the top.
“Beautiful,” he says.
“Thanks, I hope Dariel likes it.”
“Not the fish, I'm talking about you.”
My smile grows as I feel myself start to blush. “You need to stop, I'm trying to focus, and you're making it difficult. My head needs to be here, not somewhere else.”
“All right, I'll stop.” He chuckles as leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “But just so you know, I mean it. You really are so damn beautiful, and so is your cooking. Dariel is going to love it.”
“I hope so,” I say
as I clean the edge of the plate and garnish the dish. “Fingers crossed.”
We finish the service, cooking for the food critic and the rest of the diners. Monroe keeps peeking into the dining room, hoping to catch some sign that the man is enjoying the food.
He's got a great poker face, though. I can't tell if he loves it or hates it. There's nothing there I can decipher.
“What do you think?” I ask Monroe. “Think he likes it?”
“We won't know until the article comes out.”
“That sucks.”
“It is what it is, but we can't stress about it.” He rubs my back up and down as we watch Dariel wipe his mouth and push the dessert plates away. “I think he's done though. I'm going to go thank him again for coming.”
He heads out into the dining room, and I'm left trying to read lips. Dariel shakes his hand, saying a few silent words, and then he's gone. Monroe turns around, spotting me spying and lifts his shoulders in a shrug.
“Well, could you read him at all?” I ask as he comes back in the kitchen.
“Nope. He thanked me, said I'd hear from him soon, and then he was gone. So, that's it, I guess. Now we just wait.”
The rest of the week is a mix of anxiety and bliss as the days blend together. He steals kisses when he can while we're cooking, and we've christened almost every area in the place after closing.
We fall into a rhythm at the restaurant. Cheryl is gone, and now it's just us. It couldn't be better. Monroe and I work so well together, complimenting each other perfectly. He's taken the time to teach me little tricks he's learned over the years. And I think I've been able to loosen him up a little. He's not tense or stuffy like he was when I first met him. There's a twinkle in his eyes that's new, and I really enjoy seeing that sparkle there.
By Friday, I'm frantically scanning the racks at the drug store, looking for the magazine. Monroe is already at the restaurant, but I know he's highly aware that the article comes out today. A part of me wonders if he's too nervous to read it himself. When I brought it up this morning when we talked on the phone, he brushed it off as if it means nothing.
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