Page 12 of Shades of Red

“Matelote,” Javi says with a small look of distaste as he mentions the seafood stew cooked in a wine broth. “Not my favorite, but I still brought the flavor.”

“Duck confit,” Luukas adds. “It was delicious.” He says it simply, like he’s just being honest rather than bragging.

“Lobster à l’Américaine,” Guesto announces, his accent thickly French.

“You lucky bastard,” Javi quips. “You barely have to do anything to makelobsterdelicious. I call French favoritism.”

“Speaking of,” I add, looking at the beautifully annoyed girl beside me. “What did you have to cook, Aurélie?”

“Me?” she asks, her voice a gasp of surprise as if she hadn’t expected to join the conversation.

“Yeah, what did Chef Matis test you with to make sure you were fit to grace his kitchen? I’m assuming those pretty blue eyes weren’t quite enough to make the cut.” I let my eyes roam over her body,appreciating every perfect detail. “I bet they were enough for him to take it easy on you though,” I tease in a low voice.

“Oh, umm—tarte aux myrtilles,” she answers, sounding a bit unsure of herself.

I frown down at her. “You made a blueberry tart in spring?” I ask in surprise. “That’s a little out of season.”

“He wanted to see how I handled the unexpected,” she bites back, her tone sharp.

“Fair enough,” I concede, her words stirring at my devious desire to discover the same exact thing.

The conversation gets lively as people get drunker, and I sip my old fashioned slowly as I contemplate how best to torture my tart little cherry. I look over to see that Aurélie has finished her drink and is twirling the cocktail stick around the rim in boredom. I snatch the empty glass from her hand, swallow the cherry at the bottom from my own, and order us refills. The glasses are fresh and cold in my hands as I carry them back to the table. The other chefs aren’t even looking at us as they all argue over the best way to use truffles to enhance a dish without overpowering it.

I hand Aurélie her drink, not receiving a thank you and not expecting one. I don’t take her cold demeanor personally; she’ll be begging me soon enough. Looking over to make sure the guys are still fully invested in their own conversations, I lean down and brush my lips against Aurélie’s ear. “Spread your legs,” I whisper, my words smooth as bourbon.

Her periwinkle eyes jerk up to mine in shock. “Quoi?” she snaps, her red mouth gaping at my audacity. She should be careful tempting me with those lips. I might decide to fuck them.

“Spread your legs,chérie,” I command. “You said I could touch you if I won.” And now it’s time for her to pay for doubting that I could.

“I did not specifywhere,” she retorts, crossing her legs just to spiteme. I growl at her attitude; that kind of behavior is going to get her into trouble.

“Aurélie, spread those legsnow, or I will show the whole bar how much you enjoy being spanked when you’ve been naughty.”

She blanches, biting down hard on her lip before she slowly uncrosses her legs and spreads them. Slightly.

“Wider, Aurélie,” I order in a harsh whisper. “I want to feel how wet you are while you sit here with your hand on my thigh.” I give a pointed look at where her fingers rest lightly on my upper right thigh. Sure it’s crowded, but she could have put her hand anywhere. The fact that she put itthereshows that she might want me a little more than she cares to admit—even to herself.

She goes to snatch away her hand, but I capture her narrow fingers and hold them captive against me, a little higher than she was before. Swallowing hard, she spreads her legs wider, giving me access to her cunt should I choose to take it. Which I absolutely fucking do.

My hand slips under the edge of her dress, slowly sliding up her thigh. She’s wearing solid white today, the innocence of the color an illusion because I can see the slutty red of her panties peeking through the thin layers. Like an angel with the cunt of a whore. When my fingers reach the apex of her thighs, I have my answer. She’s seeping through her panties.

“Dirty girl,” I sigh, stroking my fingertips against her center. “Take these off,” I tell her, sliding a single finger along the edge of her panties, teasing her with the fear that I might go further.

Aurélie’s eyes flit anxiously to the chefs sitting across from us, scared that they might see our little game. I turn her head back toward me with a single finger, the glass of bourbon still in my hand. The condensation leaves a streak in her heavy makeup, and I can glimpse her perfect skin underneath.

“Don’t look at them,” I command. “Look at me. I’m the one that’sgoing to make you come in the middle of this bar, and I’m not going to do it while you stare at some other fucker.” I rub the edge of my damp glass along her jaw, smearing her makeup more. “Your beautiful eyes stay onme, do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” she mumbles, her eyes fluttering as she tries to obey while I slide my fingers between her folds over the material of her panties.

“Yes,chef,” I correct. My ego is coming out to play, but I don’t give a fuck. She can give me the respect I deserve, and it will make her suffer just a little bit more.

“Yes, chef,” she responds, the words flowing naturally from her red lips. When she doesn’t overthink it, she can submit quite easily.

“Good girl. Now get those panties down. I want to feel how warm you are on the inside.” I remove my hand and let her struggle to complete my task as discreetly as possible on her own.

With no hesitation this time, her hands slide up to her hips, grasping the edges of her panties and tugging them down. The act of removing her panties in public is easier than I expected; she must have practice. The thought darkens my mood as I think of a way to punish her for being a slut with someone other than me.

When she has the red silk down at her ankles, I hold out my hand to take them. She pauses for a moment before handing them over. I run my thumb over the wet spot, resisting the urge to bring them to my nose and inhale her scent. Our preoccupied colleges would probably notice if I started sniffing panties across from them. Instead, I slip them into my back pocket for later.

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