All I can do is moan. He’s so hard, and it’s unfair that he’s not inside of me. Patrick rubs his cock over my pussy before lifting me onto the countertop. He grinds against me, his manhood pressing against my clit through my pants.
“Stop teasing me,” I say, my fingers working through his hair as he plants kisses along my collarbone. “Just take me.”
“Just take me what?” he asks, pulling my shirt over my head.
“Just take me, please, Chef.”
He grins, and I know I’ve given the right answer.
With that, he removes my pants and underwear, and I feel the cool stainless-steel countertop cool against my bare ass. I return the favor, yanking down his pants, his cock leaping out into my hand. He feels perfect to the touch.
“You’re so hard,” I say, stroking his length.
“Hard for you,” he replies, leaning in and nibbling my earlobe, “so fucking hard for you.”
I take him by the base and place his cock at the entrance to my slit. But when I attempt to guide him inside, he pauses.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
He backs slowly from me.
“Where are we right now?”
I’m confused. “In your kitchen?”
He nods slowly, a sexy-as-fuck, wolfish grin on his lips.
“That’s right. My kitchen. And in my kitchen, we obey my rules.”
I swallow. He’s back to being the boss.
“And what rules might those be?”
“Rule one.” He raises a single finger. “You do what I say. Understood?”
“Understood, Chef.”
Another grin.
“Hop off the counter.”
I do as he asks and stand in front of him. He looks up and down at my naked body with an appraising glance as if I’m the kitchen’s daily meat delivery and he’s checking its quality.
“God, you’re fucking sexy.”
The pressure between my legs is so intense that I can hardly focus on his words.
“Turn around.”
I do as he asks.
“Bend over and grab the counter.”
Again, I do as he asks. I start to turn to look at him but only manage a quick glance before he orders, “Keep your eyes forward.”
Again, I obey.
“Do you see the spatula on the wall ahead? The one with the red rubber end?”