Page 82 of Go Cook Yourself

My pulse climbs, and I ache for his body against mine. My wetness covers the toy, and I moan as I press the toy deeper. Occasionally, my eyes flutter closed, but I force them open again. I don’t want to miss how hard I make him. I pull my lip into my mouth and suck on it as his tongue pushes out of his mouth, and his dark eyes track my thrusts.

He stares at my breasts as they heave up and down, bouncing with each press of the toy as I start to ride it into me. He murmurs his praise and growls his arousal for me. I’ve never felt so desired.

“You’re so fucking sexy. Every day, your sexiness and beauty overwhelm me. I can barely think straight most of the time. All I want is to be around you, smelling that passion fruit scent that fills my dreams, touching you, and hearing you laugh.” He’s rebuilt everything others tried to demolish, and he’s doing it with awareness ofmyneeds. “And now you’re in my bedroom, your scent on my blankets in those sexy heels and hold ups, doing what I ask. I don’t deserve to be in your presence. You’re the whole fucking package, beautiful, sexy, sassy, and painfully intelligent with a skill that blasts everyone else’s out of the water. You’re everything.”

My whole body burns as if fuel has been poured directly onto my skin. “You’re thrusting that vibrator in deeper and harder. Did I say you could do that?”

I shake my head. I didn’t realise.

“I love how desperate you are to come.” He’s right, I am, but his words demand these actions. He’s sped up, too. I don’t know how, but I’m already on the edge. “Do you want to come as I watch, baby?”

I nod.

“Use your words.”

I glare at him, and his laugh is strained. His need is as obvious as mine.

“Then be my good girl and come hard and just for me. Come for me, Rubes.”

I whimper as my orgasm explodes. I can barely grip the vibrator as my body shakes like I’m in a violent storm. He walks over to me, holds the vibrator inside me, and kisses me hard on the mouth as the orgasm rolls again and again across my body. I’m gasping and writhing on the bed, sweat beading my skin, but he’s with me every step. My pleasure is everything to him. My heart bangs in my chest. Sparks catapult around my head as I finally close my eyes and let everything he’s offered me own my body.

“That’s my good girl,” he says, eventually easing the vibrator from inside me. He lifts me and eases me further up the bed, so I’m lying against his pillows. My heart starts to slow, and I can finally take a deep breath. His kisses cover my skin, and he lies beside me, stroking my hair. “Fucking hell, Rubes. I wasn’t expecting that. I was trying to be a domineering fucker, but you took my breath away. You’re so fucking sexy.”

The vulnerability is back. It’s obvious even through my blurred climax vision. “You were amazing,” I rasp. “You know my body so well.”

His smile makes every part of me that his words didn’t ache. “Are you okay?”

I want to tell him that I’m scared because of our future. I won’t find anyone who makes me feel like he does again. But instead, I say, “Yes, completely. It’s your turn next.”

“If I died right now and your climax was the last thing I saw, I’d die happy. I feel like I already had my turn. But I did promise slow and sensual. Let me know when you’re ready for that.”

“Ready,” I say instantly.

He shakes his head before grinning back at me, and he slowly starts to undress.

Chapter Forty-One

Garett

The following week at the cookery school is like a perfect dream.

“We’ve had another query for something in the new year,” Ruby calls out. Her smiles are infectious, and there’s joy among the team. Maybe it’s because Christmas is coming or that the business is doing well. We’re working twelve-hour days with groups and then kept busy with the prep and cleaning for the subsequent sessions, and laughter fills the room all the time.

“That’s brilliant. Amber’s smashing it,” Wicksy replies as he tidies up from the last session. It’s nearly nine at night, and we’ve got another group coming in early for sunrise Christmas. It’s for people with dementia who struggle with sleep and the people who care for them.

Kath winks. “The only thing Amber is smashing is her husban—”

“Kath,” I gasp, but she only shrugs. Ruby giggles.

“Have you bought a lifetime supply of earplugs?” Wicksy asks as he dances to the first bars of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas.” “How do you get any sleep?”

“That’s not a problem for Ruby, is it, hun?” Kath says with a cheeky smile as she grabs Wicksy into something that resembles a clumsy waltz.

Ruby’s smirk betrays her as she shakes her head. “I don’t know what you mean.” But she does because, since the surprise party, Ruby’s spent every night in my bed. And every morning, she’s at my breakfast table gorging on whatever she’s demanded I prepare for her.

When we’re at the cookery school, we act professionally, but at night, we explore and learn about each other’s bodies and lives. I know so much about her past and dreams; she also knows mine. Wicksy has no idea what’s going on after the debacle of Ruby getting jealous with the hen party, and we want to keep it that way.

“Of course you don’t, Ruby. Now dance with your number one chef.”

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