Page 22 of Say Yes to the Chef

How did I end up in this position?

Luck of the draw, quite literally. I drew the shortest straw at the last staff meeting. I’d say it was rigged, some sort of hazing experience for the new chef, but I saw the straw with my own eyes, held it in my fingers.

At least the Santa suit has been drycleaned. I throw the plastic-wrapped costume over my shoulder and leave the staff corridors, heading for the other side of the resort.

When the coast is clear of all staff, I knock on her door and wait, scanning side to side down the hallway until she opens the door. When she does, I slip inside, close the door behind me and drop the costume, then pull her into my arms.

Adrienne gasps and I claim that open mouth with a desperation that I don’t recognize in myself but cannot ignore.

After a moment, I pull back to look at her beautiful face. “Feliz Navidad.”

She grins, lips wet and plump from my kiss and her eyes heavily lidded. “Feliz Navidad to you too.”

I search her gaze. “Habla español?” It seems like such a simple question, one I should have already asked, but I have been a bit distracted by her body—and that heaven that awaits me between her thighs—to think of much else.

Adrienne blushes, shaking her head as she bites down on that bottom lip. “I was raised in the states, with parents who hadn’t been taught the language of their ancestors. My grandparents had tried to…” She frowns and I tilt my head, trying to fill in the blanks. “Anyway, no. I can only speak a few of the basics. Beer, bathroom…” She giggles, but I find myself frowning as I consider what she’s just said.

What would my household have been like if my parents hadn’t raised me in a bilingual household? What would my childhood have been without the influence of my heritage, the presence of the ancestors who came before me? Without the influence of my Oaxacan heritage, who would I be today? Would I be a chef at all?

“Te voy a enseñar español,” I finally say. “I’m going to teach you Spanish.”

Adrienne grins. “That’s a hefty task in just a few days.”

My gaze drops to her mouth and I realize that I don’t intend to say goodbye to her at the end of the week. I push that aside and focus on the task at hand. I’ll figure out what happens at the end of her vacation when that moment comes.

For now… “I have thirty minutes until I have to pull that silly costume on and perform for the guests.”

Adrienne’s eyes widen slightly and she reaches up to wrap her arms around my neck, stretching her body along the length of mine. I nearly growl at the feel of her pressing against my cock.

“How will we entertain ourselves?” she murmurs, rubbing her nose along my jawline. She breathes deeply, then says, “Did you bring more condoms?”

With a grunt, I lift her up and carry her to the bed, then toss her onto it.

I tug an accordion of foil packets from my pocket and grin as I toss it onto the bed beside her.

Her eyes widen and she shivers with anticipation.

She’s dressed in a pair of loose shorts today and a bathing suit that looks like it’s all one-piece and is definitely going to be an inconvenience, a barrier between me and that pussy I so want to devour.

“Naked.”

She lifts her brow. “I’m sorry?”

“I want you naked.” I begin undressing, pulling off my chef’s coat and tossing it onto a nearby chair. “And I want you naked by the time I am.”

Her nostrils flare and she licks her lips, then quickly pushes her shorts down, kicking them off.

The bathing suit is in fact one piece, and I pause as she climbs off the bed and stands, my breath momentarily pulled from my lungs.

“Adrienne,” I growl, “stop.”

She pauses with her left hand on the right shoulder strap and looks up at me.

“Let me look at you.”

She drops her hand and I shake my head. “Magnificent.” The suit rises high on her hips, so high I can see the tan line left there by a different bathing suit entirely. I lift my hand in the air and twirl my finger. She spins slowly and I bite down on the knuckle of my first finger. The back is… “Fuck me,” I murmur. The back is a work of art, high cut and exposing the fullness of her cheeks, not quite a thong, but cut to emphasize the roundness of her ass—not hide it.

When she faces me again, she has a coy smile on those pretty lips. “I’m thinking you like the bathing suit.”

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