Page 49 of A Taste of Chardonnay

“Annoying, but apparently irresistible.” He smirked, leaning closer.

“Don’t push your luck,” I warned, though the heat rising to my cheeks betrayed me. “Eat your salad.”

“As long as you know that when it comes to the bedroom, I’m the boss.”

My thighs quivered, and heat rushed through my entire body. Control was the one thing I desired. It gave me stability in my life. It was a way to control the chaos and make sure I was never caught off guard. Having so many siblings, control was the one thing that kept me grounded in that chaos. It wasn’t a matter of relinquishing my control; it was a matter of trusting someone enough to let me submit.

My night with Brady, I surrendered. I became a subordinate to his domination, and I had never felt more alive or safer.

“If I knew that would have put you in your head, I wouldn’t have said it. What could you possibly be over-analyzing in that statement?” he asked, and the fact he knew that was exactly what I was doing proved I could trust him.

“It’s not easy for me to give up control.”

“I know.”

“But in the bedroom, with you, I’d like that.”

He stood up, the stool making a loud scrape against the floor. He rounded the counter and snaked his hand around my waist.

“No,” I said as his head dipped. “I have salad breath, and the pizza is almost done.”

His finger pressed into my chin, tilting my head until I was looking right at him. “I’m in control, remember?”

“You said in the bedroom. We’re in the kitchen.”

He bent toward me, mouth inches from mine. “Semantics,” he said, then captured my lips. His hands tugged down my pants, and I stood there for a moment as his eyes raked over my lack of undergarments.

His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. “Bare.” The word was a gruff grunt.

“You said you liked me bare.”

He grabbed my thighs and lifted me onto the counter. Before I could protest—I prepped food on this surface!—his mouth was on me. Electric heat shot through me, making any logical reasoning flee. A prisoner to his tongue, I placed my feet on the counter and pressed into his skilled mouth.

The timer for the pizza oven went off, and I flung my hand toward the power cord and jerked it free.

I felt Brady smile against my slick heat just before he slipped a finger inside. A cry tore from my lips, tremors of pleasure devouring me, turning the room black as my eyes slipped shut into sexy oblivion. His thumb found my swollen nub, and just when I thought I couldn’t possibly feel any more pleasure, my entire body exploded in a flash of ecstasy.

A tsunami of vibrations shook my body, and I thrust my hands into Brady’s hair, tugging at the knot at the back of his head.

He shot to his feet, sinking his hand into his pocket, retrieving his wallet, and slipping out a condom. He shoved his pants to the ground, sheathed his rock-solid erection, and dug his fingers into my thighs. Tugging me off the counter, he placed me on the floor, turned me around, and bent me over.

His tongue trailed up my neck, his foot urging my legs apart. “Here,” he said, taking my hands and planting them on the countertop. Heat expanded through my stomach as he gripped my sweatshirt and ripped it off me, leaving me completely nude.

A soft, tender kiss pressed to my shoulder blade just before he thrust into me. I cried out, and he did, too, but his teeth nipped into my shoulder, the noise muffled against my skin. His large hand gripped my waist, his other cupped my breast, kneading the plump mound.

My body curved, ass pressing into him, back bowing and head searching for him. His lips came down on mine, his tongue darting out and slashing violently against my own. Pain and pleasure collided as he pinched the hard tip of my nipple.

I’d never had sex in a kitchen before. Never had sex anywhere but a bedroom—tasting room not included. This was completely out of character for me, yet nothing had ever felt so right.

Brady shifted my left leg, lifting it and placing it on the counter, spreading me wider as he picked up speed. His thrusts became a brutal symphony of skin on skin. A sharp sting radiated from my ass cheek.

“Did you just slap me?” I asked, my words rough and uneven.

He palmed the spot and did it again. “You like it?” he asked against my ear, his breath caressing the sensitive curve just as his finger found my clit.

“Yes!” I cried out.

His grip on my waist tightened, his thrusts becoming harder but slower. His clever finger rubbed circles on my swollen nub. Sensations raced through me, the room a dizzying spiral of color that made it impossible to focus on anything. My eyelids snapped shut, my mind centering on the tingling flesh between my thighs, the slick heat between Brady’s body and mine, the heavy weight of my breast in his hand.

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