Page 18 of My Bloody Valentine

“This is...” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Adrian, this mole is incredible. The balance of sweetness and heat, the way the chocolate deepens everything without overwhelming... you could run a Michelin star restaurant if you ever tire of making chocolates.”

Pride swells in my chest. “The secret is toasting the chilies and nuts separately, then grinding them fresh.” Sipping the wine, I savor both the vintage and her praise. “But I prefer the precision of chocolate work. Restaurants are too... chaotic.”

“Best mole I’ve ever tasted, and I’ve had it in Oaxaca.” She takes another bite, dragging her fork through the sauce to capture every drop. “The depth of flavor is remarkable.”

I lean back, pleased by her genuine appreciation. Few people understand the artistry of balancing flavors and the patience required to build layers of taste. But Maya does. Her synesthesia makes her the perfect audience for my culinary experiments.

“You’re too kind.” I refill her wine glass. “Though I must admit, hearing such praise from someone with your unique palate is particularly gratifying.”

I can’t take my eyes off her. Every movement Maya makes should be a study in human sensuality—how her throat moves as she swallows the wine, how her tongue darts out to catch a drop of sauce from her lower lip. My hands tighten around my utensils as she closes her eyes to savor another bite.

“The spices...” She practically purrs the words. “There’s something almost forbidden in how they bloom on my tongue.”

Heat courses through my veins. I’ve never been this affected by anyone before. Usually, I maintain perfect control, but watching her experience my cooking with such abandon makes my pulse race.

“I want to understand how your mind translates this moment—tell me everything you sense.”

Maya takes another bite, and I track the movement of her fork from plate to mouth. “Darkness. Mystery.” She pauses, considering. “But also... passion. An urgency underneath all these layers makes my heart beat faster.”

The candlelight plays across her collarbone, casting shadows that beg to be traced with my tongue. I shift in my chair, acutely aware of every breath she takes, every subtle movement of her body.

“The chocolate especially...” She leans forward, and her perfume mingles with the rich aroma of the mole. “It’s different from your usual work. More... honest.”

The word strikes something deep within me. I’ve never wanted anyone to see me—truly see me—until now. Maya’s ability to taste emotions in food should terrify me and make me want to push her away. Instead, I’m craving more of her insights and presence.

“You’re different,” I point out.

Her eyes meet mine across the table, and electricity crackles between us. She takes another sip of wine, her lipstick leaving a perfect imprint on the crystal. “Different, how?”

I watch a drop of wine cling to her bottom lip, fighting the urge to lean across the table and taste it myself. The need to possess her, to consume her, burns through my carefully constructed control.

“You see beyond the surface.” My fingers trace the stem of my wine glass. “Most people are content with the facade—the pristine packaging, the perfect temper of the chocolate. But you...” I lean forward, drawn to how her chest rises with each breath. “You taste the void beneath that feeds my creations.”

“The way you made me feel during our tasting...” She sets down her fork, her eyes meeting mine. “No one has ever made me come like that. Just from taste, from the briefest of touch.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “From your voice alone.”

My grip tightens on the wine glass. “You bring out something in me, Maya. Something I usually keep locked away.”

“Show me.” The challenge in her voice makes my blood sing. “I want to see what’s beneath your perfect control.”

I rise from my chair, circling the table with measured steps. My hand finds her throat, tilting her head back to look up at me. Her pulse races beneath my fingers.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for.” My thumb traces her bottom lip, and she parts them on an exhale. “The things I want to do to you...”

“I’m not afraid.”

“You should be.”

“Kiss me.” Maya’s words ghost across my thumb as it traces her lower lip. “Please.”

The same request she made during our tasting. My body tenses at the memory of her blindfolded, begging. I drag my thumb down her chin, tilting her head further back.

“No.”

But God, how I want to. Her lips part, waiting. I can smell the wine on her breath, imagine how she’d taste—spices from the mole sauce mingling with the sweetness of her mouth. My grip on her throat tightens fractionally.

“Why not?” Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers. “I feel how much you want to.”

I lean forward until my lips hover just above hers, close enough to share her breath. Close enough that the slightest movement would bridge the gap. The scent of her perfume mixed with arousal makes my head spin.

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