Page 4 of Bred and Butter

Ronnie

Working with Chef Carmichael, Dane is becoming more frazzling than I imagined. He is the literal definition of big dick energy. So, of course, that sends me running to the back to pretend I’m working on the menu, finding it too hard to concentrate. It’s unfair how I have to wrestle my anger with him and my attraction.

When I come out, it’s to a spotless kitchen, and everyone’s gone home for the day. The sterile smell is nostalgic to me after all these years. I take in the moment for what it is. After dreaming of this since I was a little girl, I’m finally here, standing in the scene of my happily ever after. I got my kitchen. Now is my time to make the food industry know who Veronica Ford is and what she can do.

This restaurant is already an established name that I love and trust, and best of all, I’m the equal partner in the location and head baker. I’m running the show. So why doesn’t this feel as great as I thought it would? I’ve sacrificed so much to get this moment I thought it would be more exciting.

Turning an overhead light on, I keep the room mostly dark. I don’t know what it is about the dim lighting, but it helps me focus. And that’s exactly what I need now that I have to create a fresh and inspiring menu while honoring Dominic’s style for Bake Love To Me. Smiling, I swipe open my jazz playlist and connect to the surround sound. Time to push up my sleeves and get to work.

I sway my hips low to the sultry beats, spinning on my heels as I grab mixing bowls, eggs, spices, and all the extra’s I’ll need for the fondant creations. Throwing everything from my recipe notebook into the bowl and mixing thoroughly, I tentatively take a bite. This batch is meant to be a festive pumpkin fall cupcake, but it tastes bland and boring. I take another bite hoping the missing ingredient will come to me when a deep voice from behind me startles me.

“You should know better than to double dip, Chef.”

Dane’s husky voice comes from the shadows, taking his time stepping closer. Almost afraid to be too close to me.

“The kitchens closed. You should go home.”

“This is my kitchen, Chef Carmichael.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry. Dane.”

Why do I feel so nervous around him? He is human same as me, a highly trained chef, same as me. Well way more experienced than me, but still, I’ve arrived at least close to his playing field. This is my kitchen. Technically he answers to me.

“I know this is your kitchen, and I respect you very much, Ronnie.”

The way he says respect falls over me like a warm blanket. The way he shortens my name has me biting my lip trying to calm down. The man knows how to sweet talk.

“But you still can’t double dip.”

His velvet-smooth words curdle on arrival, and my flirtatious demeanor changes instantly. Reminding me again how Dane isn’t a romantic option. I can’t help it. I get defensive at his command.

“I’m not serving anyone but myself. Double dipping was for my personal pleasure, at my own leisure. Because like I’ve said, Dane, this is my kitchen.”

Holy shit. My tone sounds a lot stronger than I feel as I stand toe to toe with a well-known beast. His temper is legendary, and I just sassed him. Or bossed him. I don’t even know, but it felt fucking awesome.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he purrs, stalking closer and forcing my back to the steel counter. I can’t control my gasp or my breathing. I’m a panting mess, staring up at him, wet between my legs and heaving with hormones. “Say it again.”

“This is my kitchen.”

He’s so close I can see the moment my words reach him. His dark green eyes widen and his nostrils flare. Dane’s sexy grin is the last thing I see before he presses into me, his lips soft but commanding as they take mine. I push my tongue into his mouth and relish the growl he hums against me. My body comes alive at his touch, like live wire, buzzing with pent-up energy. His touch sparks something inside me that’s been dormant for too long.

Large warm palms clutch my ass cheeks, and without missing a beat, Dane plucks me up onto the counter. I’m even more frantic with need. Hungry for more than food but taking in my surroundings, I pick up the spoon I double-dipped. His drunk eyes lock with mine, and I watch mesmerized as he licks the spoon.

“But I double-dipped.”

“I want to taste you. Your customers don’t get that honor.”

“Are you seriously still hounding me while you’re between my legs?”

“Tell me to stop, and I will. Don’t, and I’ll make this pussy come for me.” He doesn’t pause as he says it, reaching between my legs, finding my clit like a damn expert. Most men never truly find it. They fumble. Not Dane. He knows how to touch a woman, and he touches me with purpose. Strong and steady strokes that send a shudder up my spine. I’m jarred back as I try to find balance while keeping his hand against me. I don’t want him to stop. We fall into a rhythm like old lovers, not two people touching for the first time. The pleasure rocking me to the edge of orgasm just at his touch. His lips trail down my neck as I grind and moan his name.

“Dane!”

My pants are quickly removed, but he takes his time with the buttons on my chef’s jacket. Again, he looks down at my body with admiration that makes my temperature rise. I bite my lip and rock in place, too turned on to sit still. I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on in my life. He could probably order me to come right now, and I would do so all over this pristine countertop. I must have lost my mind. Who is this reckless woman putting her desire before her professional image?

“You are so fucking beautiful. The way you look when you work in this kitchen had me hard all fucking day. These baggy clothes can’t hide your beauty. Damn baby, you are a work of art.”

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