Page 3 of Stuffed

We continue to work, the tension simmering between us like a pot ready to boil over. Every accidental touch, every heated glance, only serves to stoke the flames of desire. I find myself getting lost in the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, the sizzle of meat in a hot pan, the dance of flavors as Jax expertly crafts each dish.

As the day wears on and the menu takes shape, I realize that I've never felt so inspired, so alive, in my entire culinary career. Jax's passion for food is contagious, his innovative ideassparking my own creativity. We bounce ideas off each other, our excitement growing with each new twist on a classic recipe.

"I have to say, Claire," Jax murmurs as we stand side by side, surveying the fruits of our labor. "You're even more impressive in person than you are on your blog. I could get used to having you around my kitchen."

I glance up at him through my lashes, my heart skipping a beat at the heat in his gaze. "Is that so? Well, maybe we should make this a regular thing. For the sake of our culinary growth, of course."

"Of course," he agrees, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Purely professional."

But the way his eyes rake over my body, the way his hand lingers on the small of my back as he guides me to the sink to wash up, tells a different story. I can feel the promise of something more, the tantalizing possibility of exploring this connection between us beyond the confines of the kitchen.

As we say our goodbyes, Jax's fingers brush against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through me. "Until next time, Claire," he murmurs, his voice a caress. "I look forward to tasting more."

Of you. It hangs in the air between us even though he doesn’t complete the sentence.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.

I don’t speak. Hell, I can’t.

With one last smoldering look, he steps back, allowing me to exit the kitchen on slightly unsteady legs. As I make my way out of the inn, I can still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin, the heat of his gaze burning into my memory.

Good lord, what have I gotten myself into?

two

. . .

Jax

I closethe door behind Claire, her floral scent still lingering in the air. My pulse races as I picture her captivating eyes, the curve of her lips as she smiled at me. I lean back against the door, desire coursing through my veins. I can't stop thinking about her—the way she moved with such confidence in the kitchen, the passion in her voice as she spoke about flavors and techniques. My body responds to the mere thought of her.

I make my way to the bedroom, images of Claire dancing through my mind. Settling onto the bed, I recall the first time I saw her. It was one of her blog videos, where she was demonstrating a decadent chocolate soufflé. I was transfixed by her charisma, the way she commanded the screen. I must have watched that video a dozen times, studying every nuance of her expressions, every graceful gesture of her hands.

My fingers tremble slightly as I unbutton my jeans, freeing my hardened cock. I wrap my hand around the shaft, stroking slowly as I lose myself in fantasies of Claire. I imagine her herewith me, her soft skin pressed against mine, her breath hot against my neck. I picture her hands exploring my body, teasing and arousing me until I'm aching for her touch.

The truth is, she's the reason I uprooted my life and moved to this small town. When I learned my uncle had left me the inn, it felt like fate—a chance to finally meet Claire in person, to find a way into her world. Some might call it obsession, the way I've followed her career, the way I've dreamed of her late at night. But to me, it's an irresistible pull, a need to know her, to unravel the mysteries that lie beneath her vibrant surface.

My hand moves faster now, urgency building as I lose myself in the fantasy. I imagine tasting her, savoring her essence like a gourmet meal. I picture her writhing beneath me, her lips parted in ecstasy as I bring her to the brink of pleasure again and again. The bed creaks softly as my hips rock in rhythm with my strokes, chasing the release that hovers just out of reach.

Claire's name falls from my lips like a prayer as I reach my climax, spilling over my fist with a shuddering groan. For a moment, I simply lie there, chest heaving, lost in the afterglow of my desire. But even as the physical urgency fades, the longing remains—a hunger that can only be sated by the real thing. One way or another, I vow to myself, I'll find a way to make Claire mine.

No matter what it takes.

The next day, I wake early, the memory of my steamy dreams still lingering in the back of my mind.

Claire laying underneath, her hair splayed out around her as I claimed her as mine…

The taste of her pussy…

The way her eyes looked up at me as she had my cock between her swollen lips…

My cock is rock hard, but I ignore it. Instead, I shower and dress, my movements efficient but preoccupied. She’s coming over again today, and I can hardly wait.

My cock is leaking just thinking about it. The fucking girl has me in a current state of arousal.

I'm in the kitchen when I hear the sound of her heels clacking confidently down the hallway. My heartbeat quickens as I picture her, a vision in her trademark apron, hair falling in loose waves around her flushed face. The kitchen door swings open, and there she is, every bit as breathtaking as always. "Morning, Jax," she greets me prettily. “What tricks have you got up your sleeve today?”

"Oh, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve," I say, allowing my voice to drop into a lower register. We share a charged moment, both of us aware of the electricity crackling between us. "But first," I add, clearing my throat, "I thought we could start with a Thanksgiving classic. Turkey and stuffing."

---