Happily Ever After Collection - Melanie Moreland Page 0,25

but he never lost his temper with me, even when I burned something or destroyed one of his expensive pots. I had to admit, the day I snapped his knife in half trying to get a drawer open I had overstuffed, his face had frightened me. Then he calmly removed the handle from my hand and suggested perhaps next time I use a screwdriver instead of a seven-hundred-dollar kitchen implement to unstick something. I had gasped at the price, but he shrugged and grinned, then told me he’d had his eye on a newly designed one anyway, and now he had the perfect excuse to buy it. I hadn’t touched it to this day.

He had almost laughed himself sick when he found a small set of knives I’d bought at the dollar store in the drawer. I’d seen them advertised on TV years ago—they were supposed to be the sharpest knives around. I decided they were good enough for me, so if I broke them, it was only a dollar to buy another set. But once again, he surprised me, only smirking when I would pull one out of the drawer to slice strawberries or whatever other chore he would assign me.

“Are the pancakes ready?”

He shook his head, still leaning on the counter, watching me.

“Oh.”

I peeked over his shoulder. “Byron, you forgot to put the griddle on.”

“I didn’t forget.”

I frowned. “Do you want me to cook them?”

“No. I want you to sit right there.”

“Okay. I’m kinda hungry, though.”

“Are you?”

I grinned up at him. “You’ve kept me busy since we woke up.”

He pressed closer. “Is that right?” He ran his nose up my neck, his lips on the lobe of my ear, tugging gently. “Busy doing what?”

I whimpered as he ran his hands ran up and down my bare thighs, his fingers tracing my skin, while his lips and tongue were moving on my neck. “Well…um…we made love.” I gasped as his teeth bit down at the juncture of my neck.

“Twice,” he agreed, his voice low and husky. “What else?”

“The…the whipping cream,” I mumbled, having trouble concentrating on forming any words as he slipped his hands under the shirt I had on, pushing my legs apart and standing between them.

“This cream?” he asked huskily, gathering a large mound of the sweet substance on his fingers and smearing it across my collarbone.

“Yes!” I moaned as he drew his tongue over my skin, swirling and licking.

“Hmmm…so good,” he replied. “But I know how it would taste better.”

Cold air hit my skin as he grasped the two sides of the shirt I was wearing and pulled. Small white disks hit the floor, scattering and rolling in every direction as the buttons met the ceramic tile. Byron growled as he tugged the shirt off my shoulders, leaving it hanging from my arms. “You look so fucking hot in my clothes, Julia, but you look especially good when they’re off.”

He pushed me back so I was leaning on my elbows, and he grinned, arching an eyebrow at me. “No panties in the kitchen?” He shook his head. “I don’t think I can let that infraction slip.”

My chest heaved at his words, my breath coming out in sharp exhales.

He arched one eyebrow. “I think maybe you need to be punished.”

He was sin incarnate when it came to sex. Cool, calm, in control Chef Lord became hot, sexy, foul-mouthed, dirty-talking, I’m-gonna-fuck-you-hard Byron.

And then he fed me later. It was the best of both worlds.

Never breaking eye contact, he smirked. A long, lazy, up-to-no-good smirk. He traced his fingers over my torso, barely grazing my hardened nipples. Once, twice, and again. I groaned—each time his fingers dipped lower, touched harder, lingered longer. But it still wasn’t enough. I whimpered and he grinned, his eyes darkening to the point they were almost black. I shut my own, tilting back my head as I arched into his touch.

“Please,” I breathed. “I’ve been bad, Byron.”

He chuckled, a low, deep sound in his throat. “Yes, you have. I think a tongue-lashing is in order.”

I felt the flow of smooth cream trail across my breasts, gasping at the cold followed by the heat of Byron’s mouth lapping at the whipped cream swirling over my nipples and down my stomach. I cried out as he dropped a huge mound of cream over the top of my pussy, letting his tongue gather it up. “Now that—” he groaned “—that is the best creation I’ve ever made. Julia a la mode.” He nudged my legs farther apart,