Page 15 of Say Yes to the Chef

A man who hasn’t loved me since my youth or watched my body change over the span of decades.

A man who has not witnessed what breastfeeding two children does to a pair of perfectly good breasts.

Shame heats my chest, creeps up into my cheeks. The desire to cover myself rears its ugly head, so I fist my hands into the down comforter to keep my arms from folding over my chest instinctively.

I have nothing to hide.

My body is worthy of touch and attention.

I’m doing nothing wrong.

These are points I need to remember. Very important, very valid points. They sound cliché even in my own head, but I repeat them anyway.

And I push away the slinking fingers of guilt that try to weasel their way around my heart while I’m at it. I am not cheating on my husband. I am not causing anyone harm by allowing myself to indulge in this night with a stranger.

People have one-night stands all the time.

Why can’t I?

Marco’s eyebrows furrow and he leans forward, cupping my cheek. His thumb brushes back and forth over my lips as he searches my gaze. “What just happened?”

I laugh but it morphs into a sigh. “Nothing. Sorry.”

He tilts his head as if he doubts my words.

“Really, it was nothing. Just old ghosts.”

His gaze flicks back and forth between mine a few seconds longer, then he dips his head and kisses me tenderly. My breasts press against his hard chest, teasing my nipples into peaks. He cups my face with both hands, tilting my head how he wants it and deepening the kiss with long, searching strokes.

Chasing away those old ghosts like it’s his job.

I whimper and he pulls back to smile at me, then his hands are on my breasts, and a split second later, he’s pulled one into his mouth, suckling the tip and sending a spark of lust down to my core. I arch into him, then release the bedding and throw my hands into his thick hair. He’s slicked it back but the product loosens beneath my fingertips and soon his hair is a thick curtain around his head. It’s sleek and black as the midnight sky.

He releases my breast and moves swiftly to the other one, repeating the motion and sending another shock between my legs as if his mouth has found a direct connection from my nipple to my clit.

He leans back, resting on his haunches, then reaches for the coconut massage oil. I watch in desperation as he warms the oil between his hands, then begins applying it to my breasts, massaging them in smooth, tantalizing circles. Each big sweep of his hands turns my loins into a mess of heated need. After a few moments of giving my breasts such focused attention, he guides his hands down, massaging my belly, then he scoots back, releasing his lock on my legs. His hands move down with his body until they’re between my legs, then he spreads my thighs and brings his mouth to my center once more.

He draws my arousal onto his tongue with firm strokes, massaging my breasts as he laps at my core and pulls me toward a second climax.

“Marco,” I say, though the word is a moan, a plea.

“Hmm,” he hums against my flesh.

“Please…” I’m not sure what I’m asking. I want him to take me, fill me, but I’ve never asked for such things before, never been wanton and hungry with anyone but Tom. And even then, it’s been years since we had this kind of intimacy.

Marco lifts his head to meet my gaze, a question in his eyes.Please what?they ask.

“I need you inside of me,” I finally say. Because nothing has ever felt truer than this statement. A truth that is felt in every cell of my body. A truth that hums in my veins, scorches my every thought. I want him inside of me. I want him stretching me, filling me.

I ache for that.

Ache.

He stands and walks back into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a gold foil packet. Maybe I should be affronted that he was so bold when he came here tonight, but there’s no room for that feeling when I’m so filled with relief.

So thankful he came prepared.

I push up onto my elbows to watch him pull the condom down over a truly beautiful penis, so thick and strong, as perfectly sculpted as the man it belongs to. A shadow of trepidation hovers at the edges of my psyche, but it’s quickly extinguished by wild anticipation.

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