Page 18 of Shades of Red

“You’re stalling,” I counter, my brow arched in judgment. In fact, it’s almost as if she’s leaning into my touch, begging for more. Her thighs are spread enough that I could slip my kneebetween them and let her grind her needy clit against me. If I had to guess, I’m offering her the twisted thrill she’s always wanted but never had enough courage to ask for.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she thinks over the consequences of saying yes. “You promise you’ll leave if I win?”

I smile, excitement rippling through my nerve endings like electricity. “Cross my heart and hope to die,” I vow, placing my right palm over my chest.

“If only youwouldand save us all the trouble of your existence,” Aurélie snaps, rolling her eyes.

“But then who would be there to torment you while making you come harder than you have in your entire life?” She scowls, a crease settling in between her brows. “What’s it going to be, golden girl? Brave enough to run from the devil?”

She pauses, and in that moment, I think I’ve lost her. But then she gets that hopeful gleam in her bright blue eyes, and I know she’ll be mine. And she will be the sweetest thing I’ve ever devoured.

“Fine. I agree. Ten minutes, and you’re gone for good. Yes?”

“So certain you’ll win,chérie? I’m wounded.”

“Shut the fuck up and start counting. How much time do I get?”

“Oh, I don’t think I said anything about giving you a head start, goldie.” Panic floods her eyes like ice water, turning them even bluer. “But since you’ve been such a good girl, I suppose I can let you have a small advantage. How about the good old ten second countdown?”

“Ten seconds?” she gasps, wondering how she’ll manage to escape me with such a short amount of time. Spoiler alert—she won’t.

“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts?” I taunt, my voice sharp as razors. “Might want to lose the shoes,” I suggest with a nod toward her red heels.

Simmering with attitude, she pulls away from me and kicks the pointed heels off her feet. They have red soles. I can’t remember theexact significance of that color on the bottom of shoes. I just know she’s probably never had to worry about going hungry.

“There, ready to play?” she asks in her usual, lemon curd tone. “Tellement immature,” she adds under her breath with a haughty roll of her eyes.

“Don’t get so excited,chérie. We aren’t quite ready yet.” I leave her in stunned silence, walk to Chef Matis’ office in the back of the restaurant, and take the keys from his desk. This probably isn’t what he expected when he left me in charge of his kitchen, but I’ve never been one to be bound by expectations. I use the keys to lock up the front doors; the rest of the doors are kept locked anyway unless we’re getting shipments or food deliveries. I tuck the keys into the back pocket of my pants, smiling with the knowledge that Aurélie hasn’t got a chance of making it out of here unscathed.

When I reenter the kitchen, she’s sitting on the counter, her bare feet dangling in the air. It makes me want to bite each of her delectable toes. I tuck away the image for later. “All done,” I announce, leaning against the kitchen doorway as I study her. She really is beautiful. It’s a shame she’s so venomous.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.” She hops off the counter, landing delicately on her feet. “Stand in the middle of the kitchen and close your eyes,” she demands with her hands on her hips.

A smile pulls at my lips as I shuffle toward the middle of the room. She thinks my eyes being closed will save her. Her naivety is so delicious I could gobble it up like a sundae with a cherry on top. Stifling a laugh, I close my eyes and wait for her next order. I’m happy to let her dominate for now knowing that she’ll be the one on her back with my cock between her legs and my knife at her neck in ten minutes.

“What next?” I ask, arching a brow as I await her order.

“Count,” she commands, her tone acrid.

I feel a smile crinkle at the edges of my closed eyes. She’s got a bossy side—I don’t hate it. It’s so much sweeter to overcome the strong rather than the weak. “One,” I start, my voice slow and lazy. “Two.” I hear footsteps scurry across the floor. My guess is that she’s running for the doors. She’s taking her chances running instead of hiding. Not that I blame her. She just doesn’t know that I’ve rigged the game. Yet.

“Three, four.” I hear the distinct sound of the doors rattling as she tries desperately to open them. “Five.” By this point, she knows I’ve locked her in with me. She’ll be panicking and looking for other options. “Six, seven,” I call out loudly, hoping to fuel her fear of being caught. Where will she hide? The coat check closet? “Eight.” The bathrooms? “Nine.” Under one of the tables in the reception area? “Ten.” It doesn’t matter. Because in exactly ten minutes, I will find her. “Ready or not, here I come.”

I grab one of the old-school twist timers from the kitchen supplies and set it to ten minutes. I don’t go looking for Aurélie. I don’t need to. Instead, I start to pull out the ingredients for the next batch of croquembouche she’ll be helping me make tonight after I capture her and ruin her a little. I take flour, eggs, vanilla beans, cornstarch, and sugar out of the pantry and set it on my prep station. From the walk-in, I get milk, butter, and cream.

I measure out the ingredients to save us time later. That will give me more time to play with my sweet little victim. When pouring the cream into a stainless steel bowl and measuring with a small kitchen scale, a wicked idea sparks in my mind. Checking the timer on the counter, I still have seven minutes left. Plenty of time to give this batch of crème légèrea personal touch. Thinking about my scared little French girl hiding in some dark corner, trembling with the fear that I will find her and make her scream, I unbuckle my belt, unzip my pants, and fist my cock. The thrill of chasing Aurélie already has my shaft hard as a blade.

I drag my hand over the tip of my cock, spreading pre-cum over my length. I’m already so slick at the thought of what I’ll do to Aurélie when I catch her that I don’t need lube. I pump my hand hard, squeezing my cock to the point of pain, imagining Aurélie’s tight cunt strangling me as I pound into her without mercy. The rush of knowing she’s offered me her body to hurt sends all of my blood heading straight for my erection. The head of my cock is thick and swollen, weeping for a chance to be buried in her lovely mouth or pussy.

My eyes flash to the timer as it continues to tick down loudly—the incessant sound almost deafening as it massacres the silence of the nearly deserted restaurant.

Five minutes.

I’m close. So fucking close. But I need something to take me over the edge. Catching the glint of my knives from the corner of my eye, I pluck my favorite chef’s knife from the collection and hold it in my hand. I’m more delicate with the steel than I am with my cock as I run my fingers over the handle, feeling the small divots etched into the metal. I fist my cock as I grip the knife, fantasizing about dragging the blade over Aurélie’s soft skin, painting her pale body in pretty streaks of red. I wouldn’t want to damage her or scar her, just split her open a bit and see how warm she is on the inside.

“Fuck,” I groan as I picture how her cherry red lips would beg me to stop even as her periwinkle eyes begged me to keep going.

The metal heats in my hand while I run the tip of the blade over my stomach, imagining that I am caressingherskin with the steel.She wants this, I tell myself as I fuck my hand. She wants to be taken to the edge and then pushed the fuck over it. She wants to suffer for me—her dripping wet cunt told me as much when she allowed me to degrade her in the middle of the bar. She wants to give me her pain—I know from the way she pressed against me in the alley, pleading for me to spank her more. She wants to bemine.

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