“Yes? Yes…what?”
My eyes widen as his finger slides inside me. “Yes…please?”
He smiles as he uses my slick arousal to stroke my hard pearl. “Close.”
I moan softly, then I gasp with frustration as his finger pauses again. “Yes, please…” I mutter almost to myself a few times before it finally dawns on me. “Yes, Chef!”
He lets out a sexy laugh at my enthusiasm. “That’s better,” he says as his finger resumes gliding in slow circles over my flesh.
“Oh, my God,” I gasp as the muscles in my legs and my core begin to twitch.
“Not God,” he reminds me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as his finger strokes my tender bud. “Yes, Chef!” I cry out, the intensity of the orgasm rendering me incapable of caring about the volume of my exultations. “Yes! Yes! Ye-eeeesssss, Chef!”
He chuckles softly and wraps his arms around my waist to catch me as I collapse into him. I allow him to pull me onto his lap as he takes a seat in the chair by his desk. Resting my head on his shoulder, I mold my body to his as he presses his lips to my damp forehead.
I inhale the calming scent of his skin for a few minutes until my breathing has slowed. “I should get to work,” I say, though I have no desire to leave the comfort of Ethan’s arms. And, oddly, I also have no fears about whether he wants me to get up.
What is this man doing to me?
He makes me feel like a completely different person. In the few weeks we’ve known each other, he’s helped me stop apologizing for who I am while also teaching me to let go of my rigidity. I’m unsure if I should be grateful for this or if I should be afraid I’m molding myself into someone I’m not.
He loosens his hold on me, so I can stand up, and the expression in his eyes appears as conflicted as the thoughts in my mind. “I’ll leave first, then you can come out in a few minutes.”
I nod in agreement as I rise to my feet on slightly wobbly legs. “Ethan?”
He turns to me as his hand reaches for the door handle. “Yes?”
I point at the hand sanitizer dispenser affixed to the wall next to the door frame.
He dispenses a few foamy pumps into his palm. “I knew that thing would come in handy.”
I shake my head at the awful pun as he exits the office, then I collapse into the chair Ethan just vacated. It’s still warm and smells of him. Pulling my feet onto the seat, I hug my knees to my chest and smile as I wait for my turn to leave the office.
After I’ve replayed the feeling of Ethan’s touch in my mind at least a dozen times, I open the door slowly and peek out into the corridor. It’s empty.
Slipping out into the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hallway, I quietly close the office door behind me. But when I turn around to head to the front of the house, Ollie is standing outside the break room, watching me.
She looks confused as she glances between me and the staff door. “I thought I saw Ethan head toward the bar. Were you alone in his office?”
I shake my head adamantly. “No, I was just…checking to see if he was in there,” I say, both impressed and ashamed by my ability to lie so readily. “Nope. Not there.”
Ollie nods and, still looking a bit skeptical, heads for the staff door. “Ethan just informed me you’re starting in the kitchen next week.”
I follow her into the dining room. “Yeah, he said it’ll be part-time, while I’m training.”
“Training for what?”
I turn my head at the sound of Sandro’s voice on my right. I want to answer his question, but the sight of Mario—and Ethan standing next to him—makes the words catch in my throat.
Mario’s shoulder-length hair is pulled back in the usual low ponytail, and he’s wearing a customary scowl on his long, angular face.
Ethan doesn’t hesitate. “She’s doubling with you starting next week,” he says to Mario, his tone uncharacteristically leaving no room for negotiation.
The rigidity in Ethan’s words is not lost on Mario. “So, I don’t have any say in this?”
Ethan’s face is impassive, almost bored, as he replies, “You can say whatever you’d like, but it won’t change anything. This is the condition I agreed to when I hired Alice. If you have a problem with it, I’m sure Shanice would be happy to double with her instead.” He and Mario engage in a brief staring contest before Ethan speaks again. “We good?”
Mario glances in my direction, then he nods. “Yes, Chef.”
They resume their discussion about a new bourbon cocktail to compliment the wood-fired Tomahawk steak, which has become a fast favorite of Forked’s clientele. I’m tempted to join them, to soak up as much knowledge as I can before I start training next week. But Ollie wants to discuss the day’s specials and wine selections.
As Ollie talks about the various preparations we’ll be offering for today’s monkfish, I steal occasional glances in Ethan’s direction. His arms are crossed over his chest as he chats with Sandro and Mario. I wonder if he’s thinking about what we did in his office.
As if he can read my mind, he glances in my direction as he dips his middle finger into a shot glass of bourbon, which Sandro has just offered to him. Ethan slips the finger inside his mouth, and his eyes close as he savors the fiery liquid.
Suddenly, the world is moving in slow motion.
My face flushes with heat at the look of pure pleasure as a grin spreads across his face. He nods slowly as he opens his eyes and licks his lips. Sandro and Mario appear pleased with Ethan’s reaction to the bourbon. My eyes widen as Sandro reaches for the shot.
And, suddenly, time is now moving way too fast as I realize Sandro is going to
