Page 16 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Chef

She picked at her fingers nervously, then leaned in, as if sharing a secret. "Growing up, my mom and I didn't have much. But she always made sure we had good food on the table, even if it was just simple dishes. Cooking became our way of connecting, you know? It was more than just food. It was love, comfort, and creativity all rolled into one. That's what I wanted to share with the world"

Her words struck a chord, stirring something deep within me. "That's an admirable goal," I said, my voice softer than I intended. "You've come a long way since then," I said simply.

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I have. And I'm proud of that. But I know I couldn't have done it without the people who believed in me along the way."

The conversation flowed easily after that, with Ivy sharing stories of her culinary journey and the challenges she'd faced. Her honesty was refreshing, and I found myself opening up in ways I rarely did.

She tilted her head. "So, what's you're story, Cameron Fitzgerald?"

"My mother was a lot like yours," I said, surprising myself with the admission. "She was the one who taught me the importance of discipline and hard work. But she also believed in taking risks, in fighting for what you wanted."

Ivy's eyes softened. "What happened to her?"

"When my mom got sick, I was just a kid, but I knew I had to step up. Those were tough times, but they taught me resilience. She passed away when I was in college," I said, the words heavy on my tongue. "Her death changed everything. My father wasn't around much in my life, and I had to grow up quickly. That's when I learned that the only person I could rely on was myself."

"I'm so sorry," Ivy said, her voice filled with genuine compassion. "That must have been incredibly hard."

"It was," I admitted, though I wasn't used to acknowledging that pain. "But it also shaped me. It taught me to be self-reliant and to build something that no one could take away from me. I wanted to create a legacy that honored my mother's memory."

She nodded, her gaze steady. "It's inspiring, really. You've built an empire, and you've done it on your own terms."

I blinked, caught off guard by her words. No one had ever described my journey as inspiring. Most people saw the success, the money, the power, but they never saw the sacrifices or the loneliness that came with it.

"And what about you?" I asked, steering the conversation back to her. "What's next for Ivy St. Clair?"

She smiled, a spark of determination in her eyes. "I want to keep creating, keep innovating."

Her ambition was infectious, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she was exactly what I needed.

The meal passed in easy conversation, and before I knew it, the waiter arrived with dessert, a decadent chocolate lava cake. Ivy's eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands in delight.

"This looks amazing," she said, her excitement an amusing reprieve from the constant turmoil in my mind.

I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "It's one of the restaurant's specialties."

The waiter placed the cake between us, and Ivy immediately dug in, letting out a moan of satisfaction that went straight to my cock. Fuck. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. I would give up my empire to hear her make that sound as I pounded my dick into her.

"You have to try this," she said, her voice deep and husky as she gestured to the cake with her fork. This was doing nothing to help my rock hard bulge. The only thing I wanted to taste right now was the sweetness between her thighs. An image flashed in my mind of Ivy spread across the table, her skirt hitched up to her waist. Would the restaurant kick us out if I dropped to my knees and buried my face in her pussy?

I hesitated, then leaned forward, letting her feed me a bite. The rich, molten chocolate exploded on my tongue, and I couldn't suppress a soft hum of appreciation. Her fingers brushed against my mouth as she pulled the fork away, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

"Good, right?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. My eyes zoomed onto her mouth, everything else in the room disappearing in my tunnel vision. All I could see were those luscious pink lips that glistened in the candlelight and begged to be kissed and nipped and sucked.

I nodded, my gaze locked on hers. "Very."

The air between us grew thick with unspoken need. Her eyes dropped to my mouth and her tongue came out to wet her lips. The sudden heady aroma of her arousal surrounded us. My nostrils flared. Her body swayed closer to me, and I was helpless as I found myself leaning toward her, drawn in like a moth to a flame. Before I lost my courage, my hand landed on her thigh. Fuck the consequences. Under my palm, her skin burned through the thin fabric of her skirt.

Her breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly, but she didn't pull away. Worse. She leaned in. The scent of her desire was sweeter than the dessert we just finished.

"Ivy," I began, my voice a rough whisper, but I didn't know what to say. The words caught in my throat, drowned out by the pounding of my heart.

And then, my control snapped. I dragged her closer. "You're killing me, Ivy," I groaned against her lips. Then, I pressed my lips to hers and claimed her mouth like a starving man. Her lips were soft, yielding, and for a moment, everything else faded away, the noise of the restaurant, the weight of my responsibilities, even the rational part of my brain that screamed this was a terrible idea. She kissed me back, her mouth falling open to let me in. Encouraged by her invitation, I claimed her mouth with a ferocious hunger that bordered on violence. Burying my hand in her hair, I tugged her closer, taking what I wanted.

Ivy sighed into my mouth as we broke apart, each of us breathing hard.

"Cameron," she whispered, her voice trembling.

My heart pounded as she said my name for the first time. Not Mr. Fitzgerald. Cameron. We had crossed a line and there was no turning back from this moment.

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