Summary: Luca is the chef of a Michelin-starred restaurant in Copenhagen. Every Friday, you walk through his doors and never finish your meal. Week after week, the two of you grow closer. The problem is that you were already pregnant the first time he saw you.
Characters: Soft Dom Chef Luca x Shy Pregnant Fem!Reader
Warnings: none for this chapter, at least I think.
Author: Blackcat-9696 / Do not copy, publish, translate my work or claim it as your own.
Author note: Comment and reblog please.🐈⬛
Tag list (open, just ask) : @1960memories @periandernyx @theredvelvetbitch @goth-detectives365 @littleall003 @lotusflower55-blog
MASTERLIST
Chapter 3: A Gentle Hand
The following Friday is much colder than the last. Winter is looming on the horizon, even though the rain has already made itself at home in the streets of Copenhagen. You walk through the double doors of Luca’s. Someone greets you and leads you to your favorite table by the bay window.
Outside, the rain is accompanied by a wind that sends dead leaves swirling through the air, and everyone is taking shelter wherever they can. You simply watch the scene, comfortably settled into your cushioned chair. You made a little more effort with your appearance today, for no particular reason. At least, that's what you keep telling yourself. A flowing blue dress with long sleeves hugs your curves, brown boots complete the outfit, and your makeup is light but noticeable. You're wearing a cotton perfume, if such a scent is even possible, but it's the only fragrance that doesn't make you throw your guts up, so that's what you went with.
You're smiling a lot more today. No melancholy, no tears waiting for the slightest excuse to fall, just a fleeting wave of happiness. One of those rare moments when all your problems don't come crashing down on you at once, when your hormones finally grant you a little peace.
Course after course arrives, each one more delicious than the last, and for once, you finish every plate. Far too happy, far too hungry to leave behind even a single bite. You're savoring your alcohol-free wine when a plate of tiramisu is placed in front of you. You smile as you admire the little work of art before your eyes. It looks like an egg, which is quite unusual for a classic tiramisu served in a bowl. It's a quenelle of mascarpone mousse, ladyfinger crumble, a chocolate gel instead of the usual coffee, a delicate dusting of cocoa powder, and a crisp tuile. A pregnancy-safe tiramisu, and it smells like heaven. You recognize the tattoos on the hand that set the plate down, and you look up as your heartbeat begins to quicken.
“Chef!” You smile far wider than necessary before sitting a little straighter and crossing your legs.
He looks at you with sparkling blue eyes and a satisfied smirk. His blond hair falls in soft waves over his elegant quiff. He leans against the back of the chair across from you, and his smile suddenly grows.
“Somehow, when I woke up this morning, I knew it would be a good day for me.”
“Why? Did you come up with new recipes?”
The same smile lingers on your lips, and his gaze stays there as he answers.
“No. It's Friday, you're smiling, you finished your plates, licked every last bit of them clean, so I'm satisfied. Very satisfied. Is there good news? Care to share it with me?”
“Yeah, actually-”
“Wait.”
Your hand hovers over your bag.
“I have to say it out loud or I won't be able to look at myself in the mirror. You look... stunning tonight. Not that you're not usually beautiful, you absolutely are, but today, with those little smiles... gosh, you're taking my breath away.”
“Chef, stop.”
You smile, flustered. Your hand immediately reaches your bun, patting it lightly before you place your bag on your lap.
“Thank you. That's sweet of you to say.”
“I'm just pointing out the obvious. Now tell me what I should be happy about.”
“I couldn't wait…”
You pull out a small photo: an ultrasound of your baby.
“I had the ultrasound, and I asked what the gender was, and... so... it's a girl.”
You place the sepia-toned picture on the pristine tablecloth and gently slide it toward Luca with your index finger. His smile fades, replaced by a serious furrow of his brow.
“Are you kidding me? A little girl?”
He walks around the table to stand beside you, picks up the picture, then crouches in front of you like he usually does whenever he wants to be close to you. You uncross your legs and turn toward him, while his free hand comes to rest along the side of your thigh. Your breath catches. He studies the picture as though it were a puzzle, while you're still recovering from the feeling of his palm sliding beneath your dress.
“She looks... tiny.”
“She’s eighteen weeks now, and she weighs 350 grams.”
“No way... Wow, it's real!” He laughs. “I use more flour than that for a cake. She really is...” His eyes drift to your belly. “In there.” Then he looks back up at you. “You're carrying a little girl, Friday. That's wonderful news. A little boy would've been lovely too, but a girl...”
He lets out a soft breath.
“That's every dad's dream, I think.”
“Dads usually want boys, Chef. To play sports with and all that.”
You tease him, but he shakes his head.
“That's such a cliché. I'd rather have a girl. They're stronger, kinder, and smarter.”
His eyes fall to the ultrasound again.
“Like this little one.”
He pauses. His hand slides a little farther beneath your dress as he thinks, and you wonder whether he's doing it on purpose or if touching you like this simply comes naturally to him. You can't really blame him, you'd given him permission last time, but this strange sensation spreading between your legs... you hadn't expected that.
“Do you have a name yet? Or is it too soon?”
“Hazel.”
You nod proudly.
“Like hazelnuts? Like the time you nearly choked on them?”
“It inspired me, yes.”
“It's a lovely name.”
“You really think so? Not too cheesy?”
“It suits her. And I'm officially telling you that your little girl is going to eat every hazelnut dessert imaginable. I'll make sure of it. Let's just hope she isn't allergic, or that'd be rather awkward.”
He laughs, then slowly rises to his full height. You have to tilt your head back to look at him. He's enormous like this.
“Don't tempt the universe's awful sense of humor.”
“Yes, let's definitely not do that.”
He hesitates before giving the ultrasound back, as though part of him wants to keep the memory. You gently take it from him and slip it back into your bag. For a moment, the two of you simply look at each other, and then he lifts a hand to stroke your cheek with the back of it.
“You're glowing.”
He smiles, completely captivated, before giving you a wink that makes you giggle.
“So…”
For the first time since you've been coming to his restaurant, he sits down across from you. Luca smooths the tablecloth before resting his elbows on the table.
“The tiramisu. Eat it. I want to watch.”
He motions to a waiter with a flick of his fingers. The waiter disappears into the kitchen, then returns carrying another plate of tiramisu along with silverware for Luca.
“Would it bother you if we shared the table?”
“No. It's nice.”
“It's a special night for my special girls.”
You burst out laughing.
“You want feedback too?”
“Always.”
You both begin eating in silence. You steal a few curious glances. He rotates the plate clockwise, assessing the height of the quenelle and its consistency before sliding his spoon inside. The center is velvety, while the ladyfinger crumble adds a satisfying crunch. He isn't eating, he's tasting every bite, judging himself with each mouthful, and you're certain he's far harsher on himself than any food critic in the world could ever be. You think it's delicious, so delicious that you close your eyes a little longer with every bite. His attention isn't on you but on the dessert. You press your lips together, a little disappointed that he isn't giving you more of his attention, and try to think about something else.
“Chef, why do you have a pepper tattoo on your hand? I like the mermaid tattoo, but a pepper? Tabasco? Someone climbing stairs? And...” You squint. “A cannonball?”
“You're going to be disappointed by the answer. It was completely random. I walked in, sat down with absolutely nothing in mind, and because I'd made a pepper pie that day, I got a pepper tattooed on me. Same story with the others. Every one of them represents a specific day and whatever happened to be on my mind.”
“Nothing meaningful?”
“The cannonball is Arsenal's logo. My favorite football club.”
“That's funny.”
You smile and keep eating your tiramisu.
“Do you like tattoos?”
He holds out his hand, and your gaze drifts up the muscles of his forearm.
“Yeah. I mean, I like them on you. I'd probably cry if I ever tried to get one.”
“The pain is temporary. The ink isn't. To me, they're reminders of who I was, who I am, and who I want to be.”
You nod, and he tilts his head, returning your smile. You take one last bite. The spoon is upside down in your mouth. The mascarpone melts on your tongue. It's delicious, soft with a slight sponge-like texture.
Then a familiar feeling rises. Your stomach tightens. You let go of the spoon, and it clinks against your empty plate. Luca goes on alert. He says your name with concern, but you can't appreciate it. A burning liquid surges up your throat in violent spasms.
“Hey, what's happening?”
You're unable to answer. If you open your mouth, you'll probably end up painting him with vomit, and that's the very last thing you want to do to end such a lovely evening. So you run. As fast as you can with your pregnant belly. One door after another. You collapse to your knees on the tiled floor, clutching the toilet as you throw up the entire meal Luca had prepared so carefully for you. Regret and shame wash over you. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes. One spasm follows another until there's nothing left but saliva coming up.
Then you hear a muffled voice behind the restroom door.
“Are you alright in there?”
“Don't- Argh!”
You gag on nothing but air, and somehow that's even more painful than throwing up actual food.
“Can I come in?”
“It's the women's restroom.” You answer in a small, exhausted voice.
“No other women inside, do you confirm?”
“Chef! Don't come.”
“Friday, answer my question.” His voice is firm.
“I think it's empty. I don't-” You suppress another spasm. “I didn't see anyone.”
You hear footsteps approaching your stall. The handle moves, and you wipe the vomit from your lips with tear-filled eyes before flushing the toilet. You're still kneeling in front of the bowl. Damp strands of hair cling to your sweaty temples. Your stomach hurts. Your throat hurts too.
Then a glass of water appears in your field of vision. Clear. Cool. Irresistible for your burning throat. You take it without a word, rinse your mouth, spit the awful taste into the toilet, repeat it several times, then drink the rest. He says your name again, worry filling his voice. You straighten up onto your knees. His large hand cups your cheek. You sniffle, feeling pathetic that he has to see you like this. His fingers slide to the base of your neck, brushing lightly against the hair gathered in your bun. He's trying to catch your eyes, but you're too ashamed to look at him. He sighs, then kneels beside you.
“Do you take anything for this? I can slip out for a few minutes and get you something from the pharmacy. Just tell me what you need.”
“I want to go home.”
“Let me drive you.”
“Chef, I can't let you do that... What about the restaurant?”
“We're closing in two hours. I'm fairly useless right now.”
You turn your face away. You have no idea what you look like, and you'd rather not find out. Luca leans in front of you. His other hand cups your left cheek. With quiet gentleness, he silently encourages you to look at him, and eventually you give in. His eyes are soft, though the faint lines between his brows betray his concern.
“Don't hide from me. I can see you at your worst and still think of you as the pretty pregnant lady who comes here every Friday.”
“I look awful.” You cry, your cheeks squished between his warm palms. He chuckles and pretends to think.
“Oh yeah... a little bit.” He laughs. “Perfectly reasonable after throwing your guts up. You should see me when I catch a cold. I become the ugliest sick man you've ever met.” You let out a small laugh. “There we go. That's better. Don't beat yourself up. Let yourself be vulnerable... around me, if you want.”
He presses your cheeks a little more and grins.
“You look like a cupcake.”
The two of you laugh together for a few seconds. Your tears dry. Your body relaxes. Your heartbeat finally slows. You feel understood, seen, supported, and for the first time, you let someone help you through this pregnancy. He takes your hand as you leave the restroom, guides you to the sinks, and watches while you wash your face. His hand rests against your back, moving slowly up and down. He doesn't press, his touch light but reassuringly present.
“Listen, I know we barely know each other, but... I'll simply drop you off at your apartment and disappear into the night. I won't even make small talk if you don't want me to. For my own peace of mind, please let me drive you home.”
“Okay...”
“That's the only answer I was hoping for.”
His hand never leaves you. Whether it's resting against your back, holding yours, or gently stroking your cheek, Luca is a catalyst for peace. He stays by your side every step of the way. His car keys are in his pocket. He helps you into your coat while he remains in nothing but his black shirt. He leaves his apron draped over the back of your chair, and the two of you step out into the light nighttime rain. He keeps you close beneath his umbrella, one arm wrapped around your shoulders. His chin hovers above your head while your arms wrap around him. You don't know why you're holding him so tightly, but you do it anyway. You'd needed someone's presence so badly, and his is so reassuring that you simply let him guide you to his black Porsche parked a short distance from the restaurant. He opens the passenger door for you before walking around and settling behind the wheel. He presses a button to warm your seat so you won't be cold.
“Wow, it's getting hot.”
“Want me to turn it down?”
“No, no. It feels comfy.”
“Doesn't surprise me.”
He starts the engine and pulls away, effortlessly guiding the steering wheel through the streets. His hand comes to rest on your bare thigh, your coat having slipped aside. You inhale sharply at the touch. He doesn't even look at you, keeping his eyes on the road.
“How do you feel now? Still nauseous?”
You don't answer. At a red light, he turns his head toward you and notices you're staring at his hand resting on your thigh. He pulls it away immediately.
“Sorry.”
“No, it's... I'm not against it. You can touch me. I mean, not touching like... but my legs, my face, that's okay... or my arm, or my hand, or my fingers, or-”
“I understand.” He nods. “Thank you for telling me. I won't cross any boundaries unless you give me permission first. Well... except for that thing I have with your thighs.” He laughs. “Actually, I'm rather bad with boundaries when it comes to you. Hope you're not upset about it.”
“Chef…” You let out a soft whimper as his hand returns to your thigh. His fingers slide farther beneath your dress.
“You said I could.”
His fingertips brush beneath your rounded belly before gliding over the curve of it.
“Rough night, Hazel? Your mummy's very brave.”
You hesitate for a moment before placing your hand over his.
He turns toward you with a smile, and you return it. Tired, but genuine.
You really don't live far away. Ten minutes later, he parks beneath your building in a quiet little side street. Silence settles between you as you stare at each other.
“I hope I don't smell like vomit.”
“Nah. You're perfect. Can't believe your ex was daft enough to leave you. I'm not the sort of man who'd make a mistake like that.”
“Uh... what?!”
His gaze drops to your lips before lifting back to your reddened eyes. Then he furrows his brows.
“Do you have enough food? You threw up the entire menu.”
How can he casually drop a bomb like that and start talking about food the very next second? You're still speechless over what he just said, while he seems completely oblivious to your surprise.
“Eat something when you get upstairs. I'm serious.”
“Alright.” You laugh a little shyly. “I think I have some leftovers.”
“You cook?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I microwave.” You shrug, and he bursts into laughter.
“That's quite a different skill set, but yes, I get it.”
He nods, his eyes still fixed on you as though you were his center of gravity.
“If there's ever a day you're too tired... or simply feeling lazy... ring my restaurant. I'll have an entire menu delivered straight to your door.”
“You deliver now?! Like Uber Eats?”
“Um...” He freezes for a second before exhaling a laugh. “No, we don't. But for you, Friday... we will.”
“Thank you, Chef. For tonight... for everything.”
“My pleasure. I'd do the same anytime you need me.” He rubs your thigh encouragingly. “Now go get yourself something warm. It's freezing out there.”
“Night, Chef.” You open the car door.
“Night, Friday... and night, Hazel.”
He puts on an adorable little voice when he speaks to your baby, and you can't help finding it endearing.
You walk into your apartment building and glance back one last time. Luca's car is still parked outside. He waits until you're safely inside and out of sight before finally driving away.
The days pass, and autumn begins behaving like early winter. The nights grow colder. Every morning, the cars are coated with a thin layer of frost.
The following Friday, you don't come. Luca spends the entire evening keeping one eye on the front door. Every now and then he asks the waitstaff bustling through the kitchen whether you've arrived yet, only to hear the same answer every time: no. He misses you more than he'd ever care to admit, but he doesn't have your number, and camping outside your apartment building because you skipped your Friday routine would be completely inappropriate. So he lets it go.
He tells himself you're busy with work, or perhaps simply exhausted. Anything that doesn't involve you being sick or something terrible happening to you, because he needs to function. You've become a new variable in his life, one that influences his mood... and sometimes even his ability to concentrate.
The following Friday, you're absent again. This time, he can't hide his concern. He isn't irritable, Chef Luca isn't the sort of man to take his frustration out on others like a child throwing a tantrum. He's simply... thoughtful. He listens, answers questions, cooks, but wrapped in a silence that isn't like him, because your thoughts occupy his mind, because he wants to hear you talk about the little girl growing inside you.
The Friday after that, he throws himself completely into work. No breaks. No opportunities to let worry get the better of him. He has a Michelin-starred restaurant to run, and he refuses to think about you. Or at least, he tries.
Luca is in the kitchen, bent over an elaborate dessert built like a tower with three layers of different colors. The fluorescent lights reflect off the spotless stainless-steel counter. He places each garnish with painstaking precision when a waiter pushes through the swinging doors and walks over to him.
“Tell me.” He doesn't even look up. His blue eyes scan the plated dessert in front of him as he slowly rotates it clockwise.
“Chef, your Friday regular called. She wanted to know if we'd deliver food. I took her address and told her I'd ask.”
“You've got the floor, the apartment number?”
“We wrote everything down, Chef.”
“Brilliant. Good job.”
He straightens before turning toward the waiter with a crooked smile.
Summary: Dex finds her in a crowded club, beautiful and shining like a star. Even when she disappears, he doesn’t let go. He follows every trace she leaves behind, determined to have her, whether she wants it or not.
Characters: Benjamin Poindexter "Dex" x Ballerina Original Female Character
Author: Blackcat-9696 / Do not copy, publish, translate my work or claim it as your own.
Author note: Hope you'll enjoy this chapter. Took me a long time to write but here we are.. Enjoy.🐈⬛
Tag list (open, ask or comment) : @muffinbrown @avidreader73 @boydholbrooksblog @beckyamidala81727 @crazydexling @isabellaswayer-blog
MASTERLIST
Chapter 16: Two Sides of One Knife
The water dripped slowly from the faucet that hadn’t been fully turned off behind Stella. It was the only sound breaking the silence that had swallowed the entire bathroom. Dex was breathing hard through his nose, almost on the verge of panicking while she cried silently. Their eyes never left each other as the tension kept building. Then one sharp, ragged breath escaped his lungs, and he frowned. His lower lip trembled at the thought of asking the question that had been burning on his tongue. Stella didn’t move either. He didn’t know if she was scared after what he had done or simply shaken by seeing him so rattled.
He took several steps backward until his back hit the wall. A difficult but necessary stop as he let his weight rest against it. He tried to speak again, to gather his thoughts tangled by fear and anger, an anger that wasn’t meant for her, yet one she had become the victim of. He looked down at her white tank top, now smudged from everything that had happened during the chase, scratches scattered here and there that he hadn’t even noticed, that he should have. And then there was the clean cut along the side of her neck, proof of his madness. Too many emotions crashed into him all at once, love, regret, fear, over and over again. He moved his lips once more, and this time, words came out.
“You don’t mean it.” He whispered more to himself than to Stella, but she shook her head.
“I do.” She answered softly before repeating it louder. “I do, Dex!”
“Starlight…” A tear rolled down his cheek. His breath caught, and she shook her head so hard that her curls followed the motion.
“No. I have to stop this.” She quickly slipped past him and left the bathroom. She didn’t need to look back to know Dex was following her. She walked briskly through the living room toward the couch, wiping away her own tears. They had slowed, but they were still falling.
“Wait a minute. Let us talk this through.”
“I said no!” She grabbed her crossbody bag. There wasn’t any money left inside, but her brain hadn’t even processed that fact. All she wanted was to get out before her heart got involved.
“Stella, come back here.” His voice came out hoarse. He swallowed hard before saying louder, “I love you!” It was one confession too many, and she turned around, her brows knitting together.
“You don’t love me, you need me! Those are two completely different things.” Dex took several steps toward her, and when she backed up toward the front door, he stopped and raised a hand as he spoke. Every word carried an unbearable weight.
“You think need is all I feel for you?”
His features tightened, and his dark eyes looked even deeper. Stella closed her mouth, her hand gripping the strap of her bag tightly as they stared at each other.
“I had been struggling long before you and… You represent so much more than some fucking crutch for my twisted mind. You’re not a psychiatrist, trust me, I know exactly what they look like. You’re not a voice on a cassette I play every time I go fucking crazy over killing. You’re not a support pillow or an antidepressant I take twice a day to keep my mind straight.”
He took a few more steps until he was standing in front of her, close enough to touch her, but he kept his arms at his sides and lowered his voice. The last thing he wanted was to scare her even more, to do more damage than he already had. So he carefully thought through what he wanted to say next.
“My mental health has nothing to do with my love for you. Don’t dismiss my feelings when you have absolutely no idea what you mean to me.”
“I’m Starlight.” She lowered her eyes before wiping away more tears. “I’m your obsession.”
“Yeah… You are. Does that make every other feeling trapped inside my head worthless? Hm?”
“It’s not healthy.” She said with a resigned sigh.
Dex’s voice, his pain, her own, everything hurt. To her, there was no other solution. It had to end. Being this close to him was beginning to tear down the walls she had forced herself to build just so she could finally make the decision to leave him. She wanted to be in his arms, to stop this emotional bloodbath, to let him cook her dinner, but nothing could ever go back to the way it was. Not after feeling the blade of his knife deliberately cut into her. She lowered her eyes, her heart ready to burst from her chest, and then he spoke again, making her look back up at him.
“Healthy?” He let out a bitter laugh. “You keep saying that.” He paused. “Nothing about us is healthy, but we keep loving each other. We keep finding each other. I’m Dex. Benjamin Poindexter… The guy whose name you said sounded like a porn star’s the first night we met.”
He took another step closer. The scent of her shampoo filled his lungs, and just like that, the sharp edge of his anxiety eased.
“We had sex that night, and even when I almost screwed it up, you were patient with me. It was the best night of my life. That’s when I knew I’d never let you go. I’d never let you leave me. We’re meant to be together.”
“I don’t remember…”
“Yet you fell in love with me all over again. What do you call that, Stella? Fate? Soulmates? I call it love. We’re two sides of the same knife.”
“I don’t-” She looked away. “I don’t love you.”
“Bullshit!” He leaned toward her, their ragged breaths mingling.
“You’re the one full of bullshit!”
“Jesus fucking Christ. You want to leave? Then leave.” He pointed toward the door behind her and growled, “Get out! Get out!”
“Gladly. I don’t want to be with you anymore. Throw my fucking gift away since you’re so pissed off you came to save me.” Stella burst into tears, and Dex froze. “It’s the end of us. Stop following me.”
The front door slammed shut behind her. Dex blinked several times. His brain finally caught up. The gift, the need for freedom, to get away for a while, that was why she had gone out. Not because she didn’t love him anymore. Not because she didn’t want him anymore. Why that thought had only crossed his mind now, he had no idea. Either he was fucking stupid or he was fucking dumb. Unfortunately, he felt like he was both. His head turned toward the couch. He crossed the living room in long strides. The midnight blue gift box sat between two cushions. He grabbed it and opened it without a second thought. Inside was a pair of crescent moon-shaped knives with holes at the end of each handle, and he read the engraving on each of them that said, I love you. He closed the box, slowly stood up, then took a deep breath.
His legs moved even faster because he was running, because he had a purpose. Stella was walking not far from his parked black Mustang. The ground lights illuminated the trees lining the driveway to the entrance. The gate was only a few yards away. Something told him she wasn’t really leaving and that her steps were more hesitant than she wanted to let on. Dex slowed to a jog behind her before falling into step beside her until she stopped abruptly.
“I have been clear with you, Dex. I don't want to fight anymore.” She wiped her forehead and closed her eyes for a few seconds.
“Do I look like I want to fight with you?” he answered in a calm, measured voice. A complete contrast to the chaos from five minutes ago. “Where do you want to go? I'll drive you.”
“What?” He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied her face beneath the colors of the night. A silence she couldn’t understand. “What are you doing?” she added, a little more quietly.
“I'm sorry. You’re tired, you’re hurt, all because of me. I acted like a fucking jerk to you.” A faint but genuine smile crossed his face. “Thank you for the gift.”
“Dex…”
“Thank you, even if we both know you bought it with my money.”
“I told you to throw it away.” The calmness in his voice soothed her own.
“It's alright. What's mine is yours.”
“I just broke up with you.”
“I know.” He nodded. He accepted it, and Stella’s heart started pounding even harder. “You shouldn't have to beg just to get out. Go shopping, get some fresh air, or whatever you feel like doing. I wronged you, Starlight. Give me another chance.”
“You…” Her voice failed her.
“I was a fool. I learned my lesson. I’m not promising I'll fix my dark side, but I do promise to keep you safe from it. I have to… trust you. Give you space to shine like the Starlight you are.”
“Why do you say things like that?”
“Because I love you. If I have to beg you for days, months, years, I'll do it in the blink of an eye. One thing I know for sure, wherever you go, we'll always find our way back to each other. Because that's what we are. You're the star my soul is doomed to follow… forever.”
Dex closed the distance between them. His hand came up to cradle her damp cheek, his thumb wiping away the last of her tears. She hit his chest with her fists, once, then a second time, but he didn’t move, and his smile only grew wider, making her even angrier.
“You cut me!”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s too easy.”
“I assure you it’s not.”
“Aaaaah!” She kept pounding against his chest again and again. Then the blows became weaker as she ran out of breath against him. “It’s supposed to be over.”
“Oh yeah?” He slipped his hands beneath the backs of her thighs. A small cry of protest escaped her before he lifted her onto the edge of the Mustang’s hood. His hand returned to her cheek. He leaned in, searching for her eyes. “Would you calm down for me?” She let out a tired breath. “You’re too fricking cute right now.”
“Don’t you dare say-”
Stella was silenced by a kiss. Dex’s hand slid to the back of her neck as she parted her lips for him. A soft moan escaped her before she could stop it. Their lips moved together. His eyes closed after hers did. He caught her leg and pulled her closer against him. Her curly hair danced behind her back. Her hands slipped beneath his black T-shirt. The skin marked by years of fighting felt warm beneath her palm. She spread her legs a little wider, and Dex’s hand on her thigh traveled higher to her boobs. Stella tugged at his shirt, and he broke the kiss long enough to pull it off. She looked at his chest, running her fingers over his pecs before looking back up at him. He licked his lower lip, his gaze drifting over her lips, her chest rising and falling quickly, and the denim shorts he was dying to rip apart. Then his filthy thoughts came to a halt when Stella traced the scar on his face with her fingertip. A small smile spread across her lips, and Dex smiled too.
"Do you forgive me?"
"Yes..." She said after taking a deep breath.
"Good." He nodded twice. “Marry me… Officially.”
“Like for real? Not just the rings?”
“Yeah. We argue or work to be better, but we stay together. I’m no player.”
“You’re serious.” She laughed in disbelief. “I'll always be drawn to you, Dex. If I’m Starlight, you’re definitely a black hole.”
“That’s a yes?”
“Yes. I’m already your wife. Making it official would just be a bonus.”
“Excellent.” He gathered a handful of her hair and gently tilted her head back. She closed her eyes, her lips parting slightly. “Can I fuck you now?”
He felt Stella’s hands unbuckling his belt, and his smile widened.
“I guess that’s a yes.”
Their lips crashed together again. The urgency of the kiss made it messy. Stella wrapped her legs around his waist, and he lifted her as he carried her toward the rear passenger door of the car. Her back hit the black leather seat, still riddled with bullet holes. Their lips only parted long enough to breathe. He pulled Stella’s white tank top over her head, her small breasts bouncing as she fell back onto the seat. He took part of her right boob into his mouth, saliva spreading across her skin as he bit lower against her chest. Her fingers scraped through his salt-and-pepper hair while his tongue circled her navel. Her body shivered at the sensation, and he drew increasingly vivid moans from Stella. He unbuttoned her denim shorts. She lifted her hips, and he pulled the garment, along with her panties, off her.
He crawled over her slowly, his eyes locked on hers. The lights outside didn’t cast enough brightness into the car. All she could see were his gleaming eyes in the darkness, like a predator about to devour its prey. All her attention was focused on touch and sound. Together, they worked his jeans down his legs, at least enough to free his already hard cock. He gripped her thighs around his waist and positioned his legs, one bent and the other almost straight, his foot serving as leverage for his movements. Then he lowered himself over her again, his length resting against her stomach. She cupped his face as she breathed quickly and smiled at him.
“Do you want me? Not with my fingers or my tongue but the whole thing?”
“Yes! I- I-”
“Breathe, kitten.”
“Yes, I want you. I really do.” She nodded quickly.
“Open your mouth.” Dex slid two fingers inside, and she immediately began to suck on them.
“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” She nodded and sucked faster. “You want daddy inside you, don’t you?”
“Yeahdhfh.” She nodded again, her mouth still full.
Dex withdrew his fingers, then used the saliva coating them to slick himself. He placed one hand on top of her head and the other against the car door by the window. His lips covered hers, kissing her gently, almost too gently for what he intended to do next. Then his hips snapped forward, driving into her cunt in one swift thrust, making her whole body bounce against the backseat. He swallowed her plaintive cry and the slightly pained moans that followed. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t patient. Everything was about desire and need. Because Dex needed to feel Stella's pussy wrapped tightly around his cock. He groaned against her neck, every thrust becoming smoother despite the punishing rhythm. His teeth sank into her skin without breaking it. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, lost somewhere between euphoria and submission. She took everything he gave her, and that surrender only deepened their pleasure into an explosion of exquisite sensations. Her feet struck against his backside, every movement inward tightening their muscles together.
“I missed being inside you. I missed fucking you, Starlight.”
“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
“Mmm, that’s good. All dripping wet for me.” He paused deep inside her, so close to losing control. He took a deep breath before resuming those fast, deep thrusts, hitting exactly the right place, exactly the right way. “Fuck, you’re tight. You’re driving me crazy!”
He stopped kissing her, their lips only inches apart, his eyes locked onto hers. Their mouths hung open. His forehead rested against hers. She murmured things that made no sense, lost in a haze of delight. He barely withdrew anymore, his hips moving in short, deliberate strokes to reach as deep as possible, feeling her walls quiver around every intentional friction. The windshield was shattered, yet their breathing was so hot and rapid that it fogged the remaining windows.
Dex’s fingers slid over the leather, his hands damp with sweat and something more. Stella closed her eyes for a moment, but his voice pulled her back. The tingling inside her spread farther and farther, through her stomach, her chest, the tips of her fingers, all the way to her toes. Her ears burned, and her heart raced wildly. Her breasts bounced beneath his bare chest, her nipples teased by his defined muscles. He began slowing down so that every thrust stole her breath away, hard and powerful enough that even he frowned at the force of it, but she didn’t seem to mind.
She grew quieter and quieter. Her back arched, and her body stiffened beneath him. She was seconds away from falling into a bottomless pit, and Dex was right behind her. Their noses brushed together, her wetness spreading across the leather beneath them. Their breaths mingled, and their eyes never left each other.
“I love-” Thrust. “You.”
“I love you.” She moaned the words in a breathless whisper.
“Mmh. Yeah, like that. Mmh... ah, kitten.”
“Dex, I will- I think I will-”
“Me too. Now, cum on daddy's cock.”
“Deeeeex!”
He closed his eyes, and so did she. A shared orgasm crashed through them. A violent tremor seized him as he spilled into her trembling walls. Ropes of sperm flooded deep inside her. She clung to him as the ground disappeared beneath her. It was stronger, more overwhelming than any climax he had ever given her with his tongue or fingers. It felt so good, so impossibly good, that a sound escaped her that almost resembled a sob. He groaned as he kept moving inside her, unwilling to waste a single drop. Minutes passed. Stella lay completely still beneath him while Dex slowed to sloppy thrusts before finally coming to a stop and collapsing against her. He stroked her cheek, brushing the damp strands of hair away from her forehead as she swallowed hard.
“You okay?” She nodded, and a smile spread across her lips. “Perfect.”
“We did this before. You’re really my first.”
“You remember?”
“Not everything. Your breathing, your voice, the overwhelming feeling inside me.”
“Hm… sex is a trigger. We’re gonna practice more from now on.”
“That’s not how it works.” She let out a soft giggle, her fingers tracing his scar. He leaned his face into her touch, a sound almost like a coo rumbling from his throat. She could still feel him inside her, half hard, his length still pulsing within her.
“We’re going somewhere for your birthday. The beach. And then we’re going to get married, toes in the sand. Does that sound appealing to you?”
“Yes, yes.” She tightened around him as she laughed, making Dex groan against her lips before kissing her passionately. He licked along her jawline up to her ear, and the words that followed came out like a low command.
“I’m going to carry you to the church in the back of the garden.” He hardened more and more, hissing as he rolled his hips forward between her parted legs. “And I’m going to fuck the hell out of you.”
Summary: Luca is the chef of a Michelin-starred restaurant in Copenhagen. Every Friday, you walk through his doors and never finish your meal. Week after week, the two of you grow closer. The problem is that you were already pregnant the first time he saw you.
Characters: Soft Dom Chef Luca x Shy Pregnant Fem!Reader
Warnings: cursing.
Author: Blackcat-9696 / Do not copy, publish, translate my work or claim it as your own.
Author note: I'm so late with my stories but I finished to write the chapter of this one first so enjoy.🐈⬛
Tag list (open, just ask) : @1960memories @periandernyx @theredvelvetbitch @goth-detectives365 @littleall003
MASTERLIST
Chapter 2: A Full Heart
Autumn moves steadily through Copenhagen. Narrow streets, colorful buildings, boats lining the canal, and people hurrying home. The following Friday, you go to eat at Luca's restaurant like you promised. Not that it hadn't already been the plan, but something feels different, you'd been invited. The evening is ordinary except for a wink from the chef hidden in your main course: an edible flower that isn't on anyone else's plate. It's a gesture. A small one, but a gesture nonetheless. Luca is tied up in the kitchen because of a birthday party booked earlier in the week, so he doesn't come over to ask for your feedback.
The restaurant is filled with laughter and chatter, and every now and then your eyes meet when he steps out of the kitchen, but someone always stops him before he reaches your table. You don't hold it against him, and you come back the following Friday as usual. You tell yourself he's simply kind to his regular customers, trying not to get your hopes up. A pregnant woman... what man would want you in a situation like this? You know he's generous, that he sometimes gives free desserts to children, so when you sit down at your table by the bay window, you expect nothing more than a little peace.
Today has been especially draining at work, and once again, your tears are waiting for the smallest trigger to spill down your face. You sigh as you set your phone on the table and stare through the glass. The streetlights shimmer softly in the cold. You tug the sleeves of your sweater dress over your hands before resting one palm on the rounded belly of a woman four months pregnant. Then you notice something beneath the tablecloth, the sharp corners are gone. They're new tables. Luca kept his word, and the thought alone brings the faintest smile to your lips. You take a deep breath. No way are you going to burst into tears in the middle of a room full of strangers over a table with rounded corners. You adjust your curly high bun and lean back against the wooden chair. Your hands still tremble from everything that happened today. You wish so badly you could lift this weight off your shoulders, and as though you'd summoned it, your appetizer arrives with a tiny purple edible flower tucked into the corner. You curse under your breath, tears stinging your eyes. This chef is going to be the death of you.
You changed your order today, and Luca noticed the moment he heard one of the cooks read it aloud. Beef tenderloin, smoked mashed potatoes, green asparagus, thyme beef jus, and confit shallots. A dish he leaves to his sous-chef while he focuses on desserts. He's planning a little surprise for later. He saw how sad you looked, and he doesn't know why, but he's made it his mission to fix it. Chef Luca never neglects his station. He listens, tastes, and gives orders as tickets keep pouring in.
Your entrée arrives much sooner than you expected. You cast one last glance toward the kitchen, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but he doesn't come out. You brush away the foolish disappointment and begin to eat.
Your knife and fork glide through the meat, and you take a bite without really looking. You chew slowly, as you always do, your gaze drifting out through the bay window to occupy yourself. The meat pulls apart between your teeth, which is odd for something that's supposed to be well done. It should be firm, not soft. Your eyes drop to your plate. The dim lantern at the center of the table casts a warm glow across the browned surface of your meal. But something isn't right. You chew more and more slowly, the piece of beef rolling around in your mouth as a grimace of disgust crosses your face. A streak of blood mixed with sauce spreads across your mashed potatoes while you press your knife into the meat. It's rare. Not well done. You quickly grab your napkin and spit the bite into it. You gag once, then again as bile rises into your throat. One of the waiters notices your discomfort and hurries over.
"Is everything alright, Miss?"
"It's not well done. There's blood-" You make a choking sound. Silverware clinks around the room as you spring to your feet in panic.
"Miss, can I help you? Do you need anything? Water?"
The waiter pours some water into your glass. You press a hand over your mouth. The bile is there, burning your throat, threatening to spill into your mouth. Some of the diners stop eating to watch you. Heads turn in your direction. Tears well in your eyes, and before you can even think, your legs are already moving. You run toward the restroom. At that very moment, Luca steps out of the kitchen with a towel in his hands and frowns when he sees you. He heads straight for your table, where the waiter looks completely flustered.
"Tell me." Luca studies the plate, already reading the story of your appetite from what's missing and what's left behind.
"We got it wrong. She asked for it well done and, uh... her beef is, uh... rare."
"How did this happen?"
"I don't know, Chef."
"Right. We'll investigate later. First, take it back to the kitchen. Ask for a vegetable soup and bring us her usual tea. The black one. Thank you."
"Yes, Chef."
Luca glances at the watch on his wrist, hooks the spotless white towel onto the apron tied around his waist, and folds his arms. The frown never quite leaves his face, even as he greets a few guests walking past. He checks the time again, more specifically, the minutes. He's counting how long you've been gone, how long ago he asked for your tea. Before impatience can settle in, the waiter, Marcus, returns carrying a tray. A teapot filled with hot water, a small teacup with a homemade speculoos on the side, a teaspoon, and a sachet of black tea.
He arranges everything himself, placing each item with meticulous precision, exactly as it should be for a proper English cup of tea. He sets a sugar cube beside the teacup, straightens the tablecloth, smoothing every wrinkle. Once everything is perfect, he gives a simple nod, and the waiter leaves. He checks his watch again. You've been in the restroom for twenty minutes now. He fights everything inside him that urges him to go make sure you're alright, and once again, just as his patience is hanging by a thread, you appear at the far end of the hallway. His first instinct is to go to you.
“Hey, Friday.” His hand brushes lightly against your arm. You look up, taking a deep breath. Your lips tremble slightly from the effort. “Now, you don't look good.”
You shake your head, managing a small smile.
“Hi, Chef- ugh.”
“Wow, what was that?”
“I'm really nauseous because of the meat.”
“Then sit down. Come with me.”
He offers you his arm, and you rest your hand on it. He walks you back to your table. You sit down, one hand cradling your belly as you try to steady your breathing. The scent of tea drifts into your nose. Softer than the smell of the meat. More comforting.
“I didn't order that.” You let out a quiet laugh, and he smiles kindly before crouching in front of you so you won't have to strain your neck to look at him.
“Well, you didn't have to. How do you feel? Any pain? Any discomfort?” His eyes drift to your belly. “The baby's okay?”
“Yeah... yes.” You swallow. “Sorry.”
“I have no idea why you're apologizing, but I don't like the sound of it.”
His large hands come to rest on either side of your thighs. Their warmth rushes straight to your head. Your gaze falls to his, and he smiles at you. You almost forget that his palms are touching your skin.
“You're doing great. Look at me. We're going to breathe really slowly together. Can you do that for me?” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “If you haven't run back to the restroom yet, it means we can still keep it from happening. In... and out. Follow me.”
You listen to him. You follow his rhythm. The more you steady your breathing, the more the nausea eases. After everything you just threw up, your stomach is empty. All that's left is the reflex, and Luca helps you calm it. Once the bile stops burning your throat, you close your eyes in relief. An incredulous laugh escapes your chest, and he nods, visibly relieved.
“You nailed it, Friday.”
“Yeah... I think I'm okay now.”
“Please accept my sincerest apologies for the steak.”
His hands slowly move up and down your thighs. Your eyes lock onto them. He glances down at what he's doing and quickly pulls them away.
“Sorry for that too.”
“No... Um, I don't mind. It helped.”
“It helped?” he asks skeptically. “Do I have your consent to touch you?”
“What? Did you just ask for my consent?”
“Yeah. I might as well ask you to sign a waiver while we're at it. I can't afford a lawsuit.” He smiles. “I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn't.” The words leave your mouth a little too quickly, and you look away, embarrassed.
“Noted.” He says, watching you, then slowly places his hands back on your thighs. You let out a quiet breath. “Better?”
You nod. He glances around to make sure no one is paying attention before looking back at you.
“I was worried about you. You were in the restroom for quite a while. I suppose all my hard work ended up down the drain.” His smile softens. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
His eyes drop to your belly before returning to your face, and you can tell he isn't satisfied with that answer.
“My crew is making you some soup as we speak.”
“No. No more food. I've lost my appetite. I can't swallow anything. I'm sorry.”
“Don't apologize for my crew's mistake. It's an unforgivable one.”
He frowns, and you suddenly realize how much you hate seeing that expression on him.
“Oh my God, Chef, you sound like you're about to execute whoever did it.”
“I'm considering it.” A faint smile tugs at his lips, though it does nothing to hide the concern beneath it. “You're going to have the soup.”
“Chef-”
“You're having it.” He says it firmly. You wet your lower lip, and his eyes follow the movement. “I'll make it up to you with dessert. Deal?”
“Why are you being so kind to me?” You almost whisper the question.
He leans in a little closer to keep the conversation between the two of you.
“I want to make you feel better. Not because of the steak. Well... not just because of the steak.”
“Then why?”
“Because you're Friday. You're special... to the restaurant.”
“To the restaurant.”
“A matter of great importance.”
He smooths your dress over your thighs before resting his hands on top of the fabric this time.
“Tell me your name.”
You do, and his face lights up.
“That's a lovely name. Just like you.”
He gives you a wink that makes you giggle like a teenager with a crush on a TV star.
Suddenly, he stands and walks back to his usual spot, standing behind the chair across from you. He grips the top of it as he thinks.
“I'm glad the nausea passed. But...” He raises a finger in mock disapproval. “There is a but.”
“What? What's wrong?”
You lean over the table, nearly knocking over your teacup before quickly setting it straight. You don't know why, but you hate that look on his face. You'd do anything to keep him from being disappointed, which is completely inappropriate, yet you feel it deep inside you. That need to please him. A smile slowly spreads across his lips as he realizes just how intently you're hanging on his every word.
“You seem sad today. Want to tell me about it? Even though I spend most of my time bossing my staff around, I'm still capable of listening. Really listening. So talk to me, Friday. Share your burden with a random chef at nine o'clock at night.”
“You really want to know?”
“I do.”
You pick up your phone, stare at the screen for a moment, swallow hard, then set it back down on the table. You tug at your sleeves out of habit, your gaze drifting outside for a moment. When it returns to him, you realize he hasn't taken his eyes off you.
“The father blocked me when I asked if he wanted to come with me to the ultrasound.”
“Despicable.”
“I'll be seeing the baby for the first time. I thought he'd want that too. But it's clear he doesn't want to be part of his baby's life.”
His jaw tightens. He looks away and grips the chair a little harder.
“You know what? Fuck him. His loss.” He exhales his anger before giving you a small smile. “I don't have the pretentiousness to tell you everything's going to be okay, but I can promise I'll feed you the best fine dining I can as a chef. That little round belly of yours is going to be full every Friday. Or any other day you feel like stopping by.”
“Chef.” You laugh. “I'd love that, but you're expensive. I mean... your restaurant is.”
“Luxury usually is.”
Another wink, and you dive headfirst into a fit of giggles you're not particularly proud of.
“Two Michelin stars...” He shrugs. “My accountant's already threatening to quit because I'm too generous. Can't afford to lose him. He's a good one.” He chuckles. “More seriously, you won't have to pay every time. Just like you won't be paying tonight.”
“Oh.”
“Yup.”
“Oh...”
Your voice grows higher. You pretend to fold your napkin as tears begin streaming down your cheeks.
“No, no, no.”
You wipe at your face, but a sob escapes anyway. A hand comes to rest against your back. Luca is already beside you, concern written all over his face. He doesn't say anything at first. Instead, he leans in slightly so he can look you in the eyes. He smells faintly sweet, and the warmth of his palm radiates through your dress. It only makes you cry harder. You're not loud, but the tiny hiccupping sobs that escape you break his heart.
“Don't cry. Tomorrow will statistically be different.”
“I can't stop,” you sob.
“Alright.” He nods once. “Give me your review of the appetizer.”
“The taste was confusing.”
“Confusing?” he echoes with a quiet sigh. “You really don't like citrus, do you?”
“No.” You answer through your tears. You've held everything in all day. You have no idea why it's all pouring out now.
“Perhaps you'd be interested in my new dessert?”
“A new dessert? What is it?” You blow your nose. “I don't like pistachios.”
“No pistachios for the pretty pregnant lady crying over a free meal.”
“Chef Luca! Stop teasing me.” You lightly smack his arm, and the two of you laugh.
“I actually started out as a pastry chef, but you have to branch out if you want a thriving business.” A hint of pride appears in his smile. “I'm rather proud of this one. Pain perdu loaded with sugar. How does that sound?”
“Good. It sounds good.”
“Yeah?” He smiles. “Then keep crying for as long as you need to. No judgment. And I'm going to make something special just for you. Alright?”
“Yes.”
You nod quickly, your eyes red, tears still rolling down your cheeks, and he looks at you with a warm smile that makes you melt like butter in the sun.
“You stay nice and warm. I'll be right back.”
The tea, the soup, and the dessert, just as indulgent as it was filling. You enjoyed every bit of it and, this time, didn't leave a single bite behind. Luca concludes that you have quite the sweet tooth, and he's perfectly happy with that as long as you're eating properly. He even brings you a few miniature pastries he's been developing. You love two of them and are far less impressed by the other three. He genuinely enjoys listening to your feedback, even jotting it down in his little notebook so he won't forget.
The feeling is intoxicating: to be listened to, to know your opinion actually matters. The tears from earlier feel like a distant memory by the time you slip on your coat to leave. Your heart feels lighter, and your belly fuller, not just because of the baby, but because you've very clearly eaten too much. Luca didn't just stay by your side while you cried. He was there for your nausea too, and for a pregnant woman going through every stage of her pregnancy alone, it's an incredible relief.
Rain pours over the streets of Copenhagen. The cold autumn wind stirs the leaves in the trees. You sling your bag over your shoulder, pull your collar up, and button your coat, getting ready to brave the rain on your way home. The restaurant is almost empty now. Most of the customers have already left. You're standing alone in front of the double doors, watching the rainwater run along the cobblestones as you sigh, thinking about the journey ahead.
“Friday! Wait!” Luca jogs toward you, his black shirt dusted with flour, a large black umbrella clutched in one hand. “It's raining like crazy. Take this to get to your car.”
You look at him skeptically, your arms wrapped around yourself.
“It's not an umbrella a customer forgot. It's mine.”
“Thank you.” You take it with a shy smile. “I don't have a car. I don't live far from here. About a twenty-minute walk.”
“Twenty minutes?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Excuse me, did you just say twenty minutes?!”
“What?” You laugh as his eyebrows shoot up.
He plants his hands on his hips and shakes his head firmly.
“That won't do.”
“Chef!” You're already protesting whatever argument he's about to make, but he shakes his head again, so vigorously you're almost worried he'll hurt his neck.
“Take a cab. Better yet, I'll pay for it.”
“No, I won't let you boss me around this time. I'm walking, and you're keeping your money in your wallet. Your accountant's going to lose his mind.”
He laughs out loud.
“Me? Bossy?”
“Kinda.”
You shrug, looking up at him. He takes a step closer. His closeness has become so familiar that you barely react anymore.
“Do you like that?”
“Kinda.” You repeat it more softly this time.
“Good. Then we're on the same page.”
His blue eyes gleam beneath the warm lights. The two of you hold each other's gaze for a long moment before he steps even closer.
“As a matter of fact, let me take that and walk you part of the way.”
He gently takes the umbrella from your hand, while his other hand settles against the small of your back.
“Let's go.”
He opens the umbrella above you before stepping outside. His hand slips away, and his free arm shields yours from the wind. Together, you walk into the pouring rain. The alley is deserted this late at night. After midnight, hardly anyone passes through here. You walk for a little while before stopping.
“Chef?”
“Hm?”
“I feel guilty. You should head back. It's raining way too hard. You'll be soaked walking all the way back without an umbrella.”
“How guilty?”
“Very.”
He lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, lowers his arm, and hands you the umbrella.
“You get home safely, alright?”
“Sure. Don't worry.”
“But I will anyway.”
You step away. He ducks his head to move out from beneath the umbrella. His neatly styled blond hair immediately begins to darken in the rain. You smile at each other as you step into the street.
Then the ringing of a bicycle bell cuts through the night.
“Hey! Careful!” He snaps toward the cyclist, pointing sharply.
He closes the distance in three quick strides and pulls you back toward the safety of the sidewalk. One hand grips your arm firmly while the other spreads protectively over your belly through your coat.
“Are you okay?” For the first time, he says your name. “Are you hurt? The baby?”
“Chef, calm down.” You laugh. “Everything's fine. I'm not hurt.”
“Yeah, but you almost got hit by-” He shouts after the cyclist speeding away. “This fucking moron!”
“You still have your hand on my belly. Don't yell.”
“Right.” He exhales. “Please accept my apologies. That was pure instinct.”
He steps back beneath the umbrella, ducking slightly because he's taller than you.
“You jumped in to get me out of danger. I should be the one apologizing.”
“That wasn't your fault. It's those fucking-” He cuts himself off with a deep breath. “I'm calm. Everybody's calm.”
“Oi! Who the hell are you talking to like that?”
The man several yards away drops his bike and starts marching toward the two of you.
“You don't get to insult me. She was in the road! It's her fault!”
“What did you say? She's pregnant!”
Luca steps out from under the umbrella and walks toward the man too. The cyclist quickly realizes he isn't winning that fight and backs away with both hands raised.
“Get back on your fucking bike! Get on your- Fuck you!”
“Chef!”
You hurry after him, which, for you, means walking as fast as you can, and hold the umbrella over his head. He's fuming, fists clenched.
“You're mad?”
“Yeah, but not because of you.” He takes a steadying breath and turns to you. “Never because of you. Sorry.”
“Well... he did get back on his bike.”
You laugh quietly. His broad shoulders finally relax.
“He was probably afraid a pastry chef would turn him into a pink little cake.” He jokes, and you burst into laughter. “I like that sound.”
“Yes...” You smile. “It's late. I should get going. Long walk.”
“Be safe out there, alright? I can't have my restaurant losing such a valuable customer.” He pauses, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Actually, if you stop coming, there's a pretty good chance we'll go bankrupt.”
“Bankrupt?” You laugh. "You're being ridiculous.”
“Yeah...” He smiles. “You need to get some rest. Goodnight to you...”
His eyes drift down to your belly.
“And goodnight, little one.”
“Bye, Chef.”
You begin walking away while he stays standing in the rain, watching you leave.
“See you next Friday.”
He pauses. Then he says your name.
You stop walking for a brief second. Your heart flutters wildly inside your chest before you start moving again, pretending Luca hadn't just filled your stomach with butterflies.
Summary: Luca is the chef of a Michelin-starred restaurant in Copenhagen. Every Friday, you walk through his doors and never finish your meal. Week after week, the two of you grow closer. The problem is that you were already pregnant the first time he saw you.
Characters: Soft Dom Chef Luca x Shy Pregnant Fem!Reader
Warnings: none for the first chapter except kind Dom Luca
Author: Blackcat-9696 / Do not copy, publish, translate my work or claim it as your own.
Author note: New story after watching season 5 of the tv show The Bear. Enjoy.🐈⬛
Tag list (open, just ask) : @1960memories @periandernyx @theredvelvetbitch @goth-detectives365 @littleall003
MASTERLIST
Chapter 1: A Table for Two
The three-star restaurant is packed. The perfect setting for a high-end establishment. The waiters are dressed in black with immaculate white waist aprons. Just another Friday at Luca's in Copenhagen. The streets outside are lit by street lamps and the enchanting view is only visible from four tables. Small candles illuminate the white tablecloths, dishes are served, waiters move quickly and politely. Nothing is left to chance, everything is measured to perfection and the pastries are worth selling your soul to the devil for.
You always book in advance, the table near the bay window for Friday night. It has become a ritual, a sort of gift you give yourself at the end of the week. And today is no exception.
This is already the third time you've done this since discovering the restaurant tucked away at the corner of an alley. Three times you've come and sat at the same table with your gaze lost outside, and three times you haven't finished your meal. Chef Luca doesn't pay attention at first. At least not particularly. At the end of every service, he always inspects the leftovers to see what is appreciated and what isn't, and your plates are always half full. His blue eyes scan them every single time, no potatoes left untouched or vegetables pushed to the side, just half of the dish eaten. The first time, he tells himself it's nothing serious. The second time, he takes the plate and tastes it to see if something is wrong. The third time, he frowns. Which is why today, when you sit down at your usual table and stare through the bay window, he watches you from the kitchen.
He notices your tense posture, your legs crossed beneath the table and your phone that you check far too often for his liking. When your order comes in, he takes care of it personally. A citrus avocado starter, a risotto with shavings of Italian parmesan and, for dessert, a chocolate mousse. You ask for the mushrooms and seafood to be removed from the dish. A request that leaves him confused considering they're the very heart of the plate, but his muscular arms accept the challenge and he decides to make you something special.
The sous-chef watches him from the corner of his eye as Luca delegates the other dishes to focus entirely on yours. And about thirty minutes later, your appetizer arrives. He watches as the waiter places the plate in front of you and you order a glass of non-alcoholic wine. Strange once again, but he heads back into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on your meal.
Chef Luca is patient, kind with his team, orders fly around but are never shouted. He handles his tools with care and cooks with his heart. The Michelin stars are there to prove his excellence and he puts his expertise into your plate in a particularly personal way. It's not an ego thing, he simply hates knowing a customer has left dissatisfied with his food.
Classical music echoes through the restaurant, cutlery clinks and quiet conversations fill the space. Your flowing dress falls along your legs all the way down to your heels. Curly hair pinned into a bun, a few strands resting against your temples and a sad look directed at your plate. You place your fork and knife to the side before picking up your phone. You're alone, not a word, not a smile, just a plate returning to the kitchen with the entire right side untouched. Luca wipes his hands on his apron, his black shirt rolled up over his tattooed forearms, then picks up the plate and inspects it. The avocado is creamy, the radish shavings are crisp, the seasoning is perfect and everything blends together in harmony despite the absence of crab. He looks at you again from afar, you sip your non-alcoholic wine without even lifting your eyes and remain glued to your phone while waiting for the main course.
Luca sighs before pressing the bell to send it out. You welcome it with a small, polite smile before beginning to eat while watching passersby walk through the streets outside. Your expression is melancholic and your movements elegant. You look like a painting frozen in time through flavors and candlelight. He glances at the silver watch on his wrist, answers a few questions and then gets to work on your dessert. You eat slowly, a good hour passes before the waiter brings your plate back and once again Luca loses patience when he sees it unfinished. He even makes his sous-chef taste it and judging by the pleased groan that follows, the dish is excellent, so why don't you finish it? He can't understand it.
If you didn't like it, you wouldn't have eaten it. If it didn't interest you, you wouldn't have ordered it and considering the outrageous prices of his restaurant, you might as well enjoy it. He chooses to ignore his disappointment and send out the dessert instead. He practically follows the waiter into the dining room and positions himself at a reasonable distance. He shakes a few hands, those of regular customers, wealthy neighbors and simple admirers of his cooking, but he never looks away from you. No, you remain the center of his attention. At six foot three, he towers over almost everyone. He stays behind the register, arms crossed, leaning against the counter where menus and napkins are stacked.
Every bite is watched, analyzed, dissected. You barely react, no expression of pleasure, no dissatisfaction either. You eat your dessert quietly, ignoring the world around you as if there is only you inside your little bubble. He sees you as a loner. You come here alone every Friday and tonight, you somehow look even sadder than the week before. And yet he added little surprises to the chocolate mousse: caramelized hazelnuts, tiny biscuits and a sprinkle of crushed peanuts. A delight for anyone willing to be seduced by it, but you remain neutral. Every spoonful brings you closer to halfway and Luca holds his breath.
Then suddenly, you place a hand on your throat and begin coughing. Not a pretty cough. A frightening cough. The kind of cough that makes people think something is stuck. Luca doesn't waste a second. He crosses the restaurant with quick strides. He's the only one who noticed you were struggling to breathe.
“Hey, are you alright? Need help?” His hand brushes against your arm while you cough before sliding up to your shoulder.
“I’m- cough- fine- cough- the hazelnuts- stuck.”
“No, don't talk. Drink this.” Luca fills your glass with water and places it in front of you. “Drink.” he says as he leans over you. It doesn't sound like an order, but it isn't very far from one. You hear the urgency behind it and empty the glass in one go. “Easy now. Yeah, just like that. Better? Still stuck?”
You shake your head. Your coughing is less violent but still there. You take another sip of water. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes from the effort.
“Look at me.”
You lift your eyes and your gazes connect instantly. His is soft and blue, a mixture of certainty and confidence that reassures you.
“Breathe. It'll pass.”
You nod and swallow hard and he smiles.
“See? All gone.”
He straightens up and his hand leaves your shoulder. He moves to the other side of your table and leans against the chair while watching you catch your breath.
“Thank you.” You clear your throat softly and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
“So I suppose the hazelnuts were a bit too big.”
“No. No. It was fine. Delicious.” You push the empty bowl slightly across the table to show him you've finished eating. His gaze drops to it before returning to you.
“You're sure it was delicious? You might as well be honest with me. Any feedback is welcome.”
“Excuse me, who are you?”
“Fair.” He laughs quietly. “I'm the owner and the chef of this restaurant. My name is Luca, but you can call me Chef.” He offers you his hand. “For now.”
“Oh!” You shake it. His hand is large around yours, warm and surprisingly soft. “I'm-”
“You're Friday.”
He watches you frown.
“You've come here every Friday since last month.”
“You noticed?”
“I did. Especially when you don't finish your meal every single time. You offended a chef, that's quite an uncommon thing to do.” He smiles. “I'm kidding. I was curious about you. Well, about your taste, at least. Your satisfaction is mine. Help me achieve it.”
His hands grip the back of the chair and he leans a little closer.
“Please.”
He straightens up again and crosses his arms.
“What was wrong with the menu?”
“Nothing.” You swallow hard. “Really.”
“Try again.” The answer comes too quickly and he immediately reins himself in. “You're not obliged to answer, but I'd appreciate some honest feedback. It's the only way for me to know what you like.”
You look left, then right, then back at him. His gaze hasn't left you once. You take a deep breath and begin turning your glass slowly against the table.
“The appetizer... Good, but a little sour.”
“Too much citrus, alright.” He nods.
“The main course, too simple.”
“I should've replaced the protein instead of simply removing the grilled octopus.”
“And the dessert...”
“You nearly choked on it.” A smile stretches across his lips.
“More biscuit.”
“Interesting.” He thinks for a moment. “Good to know for next time.”
“Yeah...” You lower your eyes to your phone. It's almost ten o'clock already. And you're already thinking about the trip back home.
“Would you like some tea? Coffee? I have to make amends for the incident. The bill is on the house.”
You are about to refuse.
“Don't fight it. I'm a gentleman. It's the British side of me.”
“A tea would be nice.”
“Let me guess, green?”
“Black.”
You smile despite yourself. You have the vague impression that he's flirting, but you could be wrong, so you look away.
“Thank you.”
“The waitress will be back with your tea.” He smooths down his apron. “Have a lovely evening, ma'am.”
“You too, Chef.”
You watch him walk away, say something to a waiter while pointing toward your table and disappear back into the kitchen. A few minutes later, your tea arrives, along with a tray of miniature pastries, each one more tempting than the last. The waiter tells you they're compliments of the house and thanks you politely before leaving.
You start on the desserts with an appetite you hadn't expected and, about thirty minutes later, you push open the doors of the restaurant without knowing that the chef is watching you leave with a thoughtful expression.
The following Friday is a rainy day. Heavy drops fall over the canal, the streets are slippery and umbrellas are everywhere. Around seven thirty in the evening, you walk through the double doors of the Michelin-starred restaurant. The waiter guides you to a table you know all too well. You take off your trench coat and sit down on a comfortable chair. September is damp and slightly cold. You pull at the sleeves of your light sweater as you pretend to read the menu. You already know what you're going to order, the same thing as last time and the times before that. The brunette waiter with the mischievous eyes keeps a straight face when you tell him what you want. He doesn't write anything down as if he already knows. He brings you your non-alcoholic wine and a carafe of water. Then a bowl of warm homemade bread with salt and pepper on the side.
Your thoughts drift toward the people passing by outside. You've been holding back your tears for hours, a deep sadness pulling at your features. You swallow it down and fiddle with your phone. Videos scroll by, you don't listen, you only watch to pass the time. Some are funny, others thought-provoking. You rest your face against one hand, your expression passive when your appetizer arrives.
The first thing you notice is that the lemon is much softer, lighter, almost bright somehow. It's no longer served as a sauce but as an airy foam. The avocado melts in your mouth and the radishes are crisp. It's good, so good that you eat more than half of it but not the entire plate. The second course arrives a few minutes later and you lift your eyes to thank the waiter automatically, but a blond man with blue eyes greets you instead. He places the dish in front of you with almost reverential grace before giving you a wink. You can't help but smile.
“Hi, Chef.”
“Evening, Friday. I came myself to check whether the risotto is to your liking.”
“You mean you'll stay here while I eat?”
“If it doesn't bother you, yes. You look like you could use some company. Though don't hesitate to tell me I'm wrong. I'm perfectly willing to hear a very polite ‘leave me alone and go back to your kitchen, Chef.’”
“I wouldn't say that.” You laugh a little but he notices your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes. “You can stay. Do you want to sit down?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Wouldn't be appropriate. I should maintain some composure while spying.”
He stands behind the chair, his hands gripping the wood. You can see his tattoos more clearly now, vegetables, drawings, all more artistic than the last. You pick up your cutlery and begin eating. You don't dare look up but you know his blue eyes are fixed on you. He's not intimidating, or maybe he is a little, but it isn't unpleasant. Something about him feels kind and there is something else beneath it, something controlled. Not in a bad way, at least not to you. The tears you've been holding back since this morning are almost forgotten. The dish is comforting, like an old grandmother's recipe he reinvented to fit within a fine dining setting. Silence takes up space as spoonful after spoonful disappears and eventually you decide to look at him. He smiles.
“Keep going. Almost there.”
You swallow the last spoonful and his smile widens.
“You did it.”
“Yeah...” You pull your sleeves over your hands and he notices. “You added bacon.”
“The very best for you. I mean for my clients.” He pauses. “I choose my suppliers myself.” Another pause. “Are you alright today?”
“Yes, why?” You smile awkwardly.
“You look... sad. May I ask why? I'm a curious sort, forgive my bluntness. You usually seem to drown in melancholy but today there's something else.”
“It's, uh... personal.”
“Right. Of course. I respect that.” He picks up your empty plate. “Your dessert is waiting for you. I'll be back with it.”
He starts walking away. Your breathing quickens and the words leave your mouth as if they had been waiting for permission all along.
“I'm pregnant.”
He turns around. Contrary to what you expected, he doesn't look surprised. He almost looks happy for you.
“That's good news. Congratulations. But it doesn't explain why you're sad.” He studies you. “The father?”
“Not in the picture.”
You pull at your sleeves again, a nervous habit or maybe he hopes you're simply cold. Luca doesn't want you to feel nervous around him and the thought intrigues him.
“How far along are you?”
“Three and a half months.”
“I see...” He nods as though he's suddenly understood something about you. “I didn't know.” He nods again. “That deserves a little treat. What's your favorite dessert? And don't tell me to surprise you, that's a death sentence for a chef. You might as well sleep here because I'd take far too long, so choose something and I'll bake it.”
“Really?” you ask incredulously.
“Come on, Friday. Try me. Don't be shy now when I can still fix it.”
“Cinnamon rolls.”
“An hour and a half wait. Does that sound fair to you?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
You smile a little wider and Luca seems to freeze.
He grips the edge of the plate harder than necessary and nods before heading back into the kitchen. The waiter comes over with tea and little pastries, you tell him you didn't order any and he replies that the chef made them for you. The cup is warm in your hands, warming both your body and your heart. The sadness inside of you seems to lose some of its space and you feel grateful.
Finally, someone who sees you, who sees beyond the facade and acts for you. This gift may seem small but to you, this tea is worth all the gold in the world. The rain keeps falling over Copenhagen while you sip hot tea with a slightly lighter mind. The tables begin to empty as the night goes on. Conversations become rarer. Two hours later, the waiters clear the tables and there are almost no customers left apart from a couple in the corner and you. Luca returns with a plate of three steaming cinnamon rolls and places it in front of you. You slip your phone into your bag, the sweet smell makes you hungry.
“Mmm, it smells good.”
“Homemade bakery effect.” He stands behind the chair across from you as usual. “Extra butter and extra icing sugar for the lovely pregnant lady. I can add ice cream if you fancy it. And don't forget the feedback, I'm rather eager for that.”
“Alright, I taste and I tell you.”
“Please, be my guest.”
You pick up your fork and he makes a disapproving sound.
“Eat with your fingers. Better flavor. Trust me.”
You do as he asks without even arguing and he licks his lower lip.
“Good gi-... uh yeah.”
The dough is perfectly soft. The cream melts on your tongue. There is a little crunch to it, hazelnut chocolate. Sweet and not bitter. You close your eyes as you chew and a quiet moan escapes you. He watches you eat with your cheeks full, satisfying in a way that feels almost intimate. Watching you enjoy his cooking creates a kind of euphoria inside him and his smile widens. You eat one, then the second, then the last one. Your fingers are covered in thick cream and you lick them eagerly while Luca finds himself caught by your slow movements.
“Right. I'm definitely adding those to the menu. You seem to like them, Friday.”
“It’s really, really good. Oh my God! How can it be this good?!”
“Chef's secret. Want more?”
“No, no, that's enough sugar for tonight.” You laugh, happy for once. “Thank you, Chef. I'm going to wash my hands and head home. It's late.”
You stand up, move too quickly and the top of your thigh hits the edge of the table.
“Ouch!” you exclaim with a grimace.
“Hey. Hey, what happened? Did you bump yourself?”
He steps closer to you and it's only now that you realize just how tall he is. You stammer something but Luca is already crouching in front of you, inspecting your bare thigh beneath your skirt.
“Sharp edges... I should buy new tables with rounded ones.”
His warm hand moves across your skin as he checks whether a bruise is forming, too focused, too involved. You remain speechless somewhere between surprise and satisfaction. You blame your hormones because the way he touches you stirs something inside of you.
“You don't need to throw away the tables. I'm just clumsy.”
“I don't need to, no.” He rises slowly, his hand gliding over your skin, then your skirt which he adjusts slightly over your thigh before moving to your arm. “But I want to.”
“Okay...” you breathe.
The closeness is overwhelming for a few seconds. Neither of you moves and then he steps back and removes his hand at the same time.
“Doggy bag for later then. No discussion.”
“Chef?”
“No. Discussion.” He says seriously before his features soften and a smile appears. He steps back again to let you pass and you hurry away from him.
“Same time next week? I might have more surprises for you.” He laughs. “I'm talking about the menu. That came out wrong. I'd like to keep this routine. I work hard to make you finish your plates and it's surprisingly fulfilling. How does that sound?”
Summary: Dex finds her in a crowded club, beautiful and shining like a star. Even when she disappears, he doesn’t let go. He follows every trace she leaves behind, determined to have her, whether she wants it or not.
Characters: Benjamin Poindexter "Dex" x Ballerina Original Female Character
Warnings: Manipulation, violence, blood, trauma, bordeline personality disorder, heavy smut, dominant Dex, dubious consent, possessive behavior, dark romance, knife play, light daddy kink, forced marriage
Author: Blackcat-9696 / Do not copy, publish, translate my work or claim it as your own.
Author note: Long time no see, I'm back... for now. Enjoy.🐈⬛
Tag list (open, just ask) : @muffinbrown @avidreader73 @boydholbrooksblog @beckyamidala81727
MASTERLIST
Chapter 15: Tokyo Drift
The mall was huge and the crowd was thick. It was hot for late summer, so Stella wore nothing but jean shorts and a white tank top. Her nipples poked slightly through the fabric but she didn't care. She had rushed out right after Dex left. Money in her purse and a smile on her lips. Finally, she was leaving the villa she'd been confined to for over a month and a half. White lights shined all around the glass ceiling. Long escalators ran at full speed, carrying customers from floor to floor. The stores were packed and the background music echoed throughout the entire shopping center. Her curly ponytail bounced as she walked, simple flat ballerinas on her feet and sunglasses to keep the glare away.
The mission was simple: buy new underwear, hopefully find a specialized store for ballerinas, and buy Dex's gift. She still didn't have a clear idea of what she wanted to get him, but she wanted it to be something that would make him emotional. He was so controlled all the time that she wanted to see that façade crack, if only for a moment, to see his face light up with a big smile.
She had already been wandering through stores for hours. Children played, people lounged on couches, and others enjoyed ice cream. She walked around with bags full of this and that, including ballerina flats she had found while passing by a shoe store. She stepped into another shop, the last one so she wouldn't get back too late and miss the bus that stopped an hour away from the villa.
They sold all kinds of knives there, every shape and material imaginable. You could even choose one and have it engraved. The owner sat behind a glass counter, watching TV from his tall chair while keeping an eye on her as she looked through the different options. She wandered around sipping her iced matcha through a straw before stopping in front of a pair of crescent moon-shaped knives that looked like daggers. They rested in a beautiful blue case and there was a hole at the end of each handle, probably meant for a finger to slip through. The owner sent over a salesman to answer her questions. She was the only customer at that hour and his attention shifted between her and the television.
"Hi." She smiled brightly before pointing at the box. "How much does it cost?"
The thin man with the curled mustache smiled.
"Five hundred dollars, miss."
"What? That much?"
"Can't lie, it's expensive, but I'm sure your boyfriend's gonna like it."
"He's not my boyfriend, he's my husband." She lowered her sunglasses before narrowing her eyes. "How do you know it's not for me?"
The man looked her up and down, a few seconds too long, before smiling again.
"Just guessing, miss. So what? You gonna buy it?"
Stella hesitated for a moment before adding,
"Yes, but I want something written on it. Does it take long to do? I can't come back tomorrow... or the days after. I have to buy it today."
"Depends on the writing. Can do it now if ya want. What's on your mind?"
"Uh... I love you."
"You love me? How nice."
He laughed, but when he saw she wasn't following the joke, he cleared his throat.
"On both knives?"
She nodded with a small frown.
"Thirty minutes tops. That work for you?"
"Yes, thank you."
"The register's this way."
He pointed toward where the owner was sitting and she noticed he was staring at her strangely. As if he was surprised to see her, as if he had seen her somewhere before. Stella nodded, pulled on her straw, and lowered her sunglasses as she walked over. The salesman glanced at her ass as she left before grabbing the box and getting to work on his stainless steel engraving machine.
"Yeah, that's about right. Hope I'm gonna collect the whole bounty for the catch," the owner said into the phone.
Stella stood at the register, her matcha finished and her shopping bags resting on the counter. She rummaged through her purse, counting the dollars she had left. Not much. Just enough for a bus ticket and Dex's gift. He hung up a little too hard and it made her jump.
"That's a lotta money for a gift."
"Yeah, it's for my husband."
"Husband?" He raised an eyebrow. "He must be worried right now." He chuckled.
"Why? No. He's not." She nervously placed the money on the counter. "He's waiting for me outside."
She lied. Very badly. And the man only chuckled again. As if he knew something she didn't. Almost as if he was openly mocking her.
"There's the count."
"That's what I see. You can sit in the chair right here. Lenny will come back with your... surprise."
Stella blinked several times, a slight frown appearing on her forehead as the owner looked her up and down like an animal that would soon be led to slaughter. But she brushed the feeling away. The knives she had chosen were beautiful, unique, and she was sure Dex would love them. At least this gift might make up for her absence.
The seat was comfortable, her shopping bags resting on the floor and the empty plastic matcha cup tossed into the trash can beside her. Outside, people passed by, families, couples, all busy talking and laughing, and for a moment Stella found herself missing Dex a little. She pulled out her new phone from her purse. Nothing fancy, but recent enough to have GPS and internet access. She looked through her contacts list. He was the only name on it. She bit her lower lip, wondering what he was doing. He never left her alone, and what he had told her before leaving, that he was going to meet someone who would offer them a new life, it was all so mysterious that a heavy sigh escaped her.
As if Dex had been thinking about her at that exact moment too, her phone suddenly started ringing. Panic made her jump to her feet, pushing the chair back a few inches. Her phone vibrated in her hand as she searched for somewhere quiet, anywhere. She spotted a half-open door where the salesman was working on the engraving and ran like a madwoman before closing the door behind her. Lenny turned toward her, confusion making the tip of his mustache twitch. She pressed a finger to her lips and silently begged him to stay quiet with her puppy eyes. He nodded and she was finally able to answer the call.
"Hello?" Silence. Then a breath swallowed like a smile. "Dex?"
"Are you in trouble, Stella?"
"No. No. I'm perfectly fine, why?" She swallowed hard. "Why do you ask?"
"You took a very specific amount of time to answer my call and I'm getting concerned about your inability to follow a simple task."
"Dex!" She protested before hearing him smile again. "I was just... in the kitchen."
"You. In the kitchen?" He paused. "You good, Starlight?"
"Yeah. And you?"
"I am. Coming home soon. Need anything?"
"No."
She paced in front of Lenny, who had suddenly become very interested in the conversation.
"When are you coming back?"
"Soon, like I said. I have a strange feeling you've gotten yourself into something."
"Dex, I told you I'm fine. Just getting bored at the house."
"Oh yeah?" Another smile that made her smile too. "What are you wearing?"
"White tank top and jean shorts..."
"Don't tell me you wore that transparent and ridiculously sexy top."
Stella looked down at her chest before rolling her eyes.
"It's not transparent."
Lenny, sitting at his desk, muffled a laugh that proved otherwise. She pressed a finger to her lips again to make him understand he needed to stay quiet. And for a moment, the silence on Dex's end made it seem as though he had heard it. If she didn't know better, she could easily believe he had superpowers because his ability to pick up the slightest sound or movement was simply inhuman.
"Dex?" Her heart started beating harder. "Are you still on the phone?"
"I am," he said flatly. "See you in one hour."
"One hour!? Wait-"
He ended the call and she stared at her phone with wide eyes.
"Damn it." She exhaled before turning toward the salesman. "Can you speed up? I need to go. Like right now."
"Wait in the shop. I'll be there in no time."
"Yes, please. Dex is gonna be furious if he gets home before me."
Lenny waved his hands to shoo her toward the exit. She opened the door and headed toward the chair where her shopping bags still sat on the floor. And then she heard a click. Something cold pressed against her temple.
"Oh my God..."
"You do realize you fucked up really bad this time?"
The salesman laughed with his gun pointed at her.
"Don't move a finger. One million dollar bounty, sweet pea. You might've killed the president's son for all I know. I'd believe it."
Two heavily armed members of the Anti-Vigilante Task Force entered the store at the same time. They wore black tactical gear with helmets and weapons strapped all over their uniforms. Stella slowly turned her head toward them and raised her hands in surrender.
"Stella Bourdier. You're currently wanted by the police for murder."
"I want my money!" the salesman barked back at them.
"Call the number on the bounty and they'll wire it to you."
One of the agents grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her toward him.
"Please, can I- I- the gift- Can I at least take it?" The second one grabbed her other arm. "Please! That's all I'm asking. I won't fight."
"Miss! It's ready." Lenny ran toward her and held out the box. "I don't want my best work to go to waste."
"Thank you," she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
The men let go of her as she gently ran her fingers over the case with a sad smile.
"Dex... I'm sorry."
"Move!"
The agents spoke at the same time and one of them shoved her toward the exit.
"Vargas is gonna love this."
The atmosphere inside the van was thick, the air smelled of sweat and engine oil. Stella sat between two members of the Anti-Vigilante Task Force and three others seated across from her. They all wore their protective helmets with the visors down, she couldn't see their faces or expressions but she could hear their breathing. The van had already been driving for over an hour, the sounds of traffic growing fainter and fainter as the miles piled on. It was as if they were taking her out of the city, far beyond New York, far beyond their secluded villa in New Jersey. And that reality broke her heart, knowing Dex had probably come home without finding her.
She wondered if this was the end of their story, the end of everything. And the worst part was that she still hadn't gotten her memories back, their meeting, her arrival in the Big Apple, ballet. Even with that complete lack of memories, Dex had somehow managed to carve out a new place inside her heart. That ache she felt at the mere thought of him ending up alone after everything he had done to find her again made her tighten her grip around the knife case in her hands.
These agents were so unafraid of her that they hadn't even bothered cuffing her wrists, no restraints, nothing, just the prison of her own mind and those memories of happiness with Dex.
She looked to the side, the nighttime scenery passing by the windshield meant absolutely nothing to her. The soft clicking sounds of her captors' weapons echoed through the cabin. Her feet rested in an arched position as if she were about to dance and the idea of finding a way to escape crossed her mind. She looked up at the agent sitting across from her, tall and muscular beneath his tactical gear with his finger resting on the trigger of his rifle. Then she looked at the windshield and back at him.
The van door wasn't locked, maybe she could struggle free and jump out but she didn't know if the wanted notice specified she had to be brought in alive. What if they shot her while she tried to escape? What if Dex found her lifeless body? What would happen to her if Vargas got his hands on her? It didn't promise anything good, especially not after all the hatred he had shown her before boarding the helicopter. She stared at the weapon in front of her, the reality of her feelings hitting her all at once. She was more worried about Dex's despair than her own.
A powerful engine roared behind the van. Stella and the seated agents instinctively turned toward the steel double doors. It was the only car she had heard in several minutes. The distant sound grew closer and closer, as if the car was sprinting down the road straight toward them.
"Shit. Who the fuck is that?!" the driver exclaimed before pressing harder on the accelerator. The atmosphere inside the van changed in a fraction of a second. Stella was no longer the prey to capture, the armed agents were.
"Boss said Bullseye is with her." The passenger cocked his rifle.
"How did he find us? Did she have a phone?"
"Fuck, did you search her?!" The five agents looked at Stella, not at her, at the crossbody bag she was still wearing.
"Jesus Christ! You moron."
"Boys!" the passenger shouted as he turned around. "Get ready, this car is not friendly."
"No shit! You know what? We're gonna fuck him up. Hold on." The driver accelerated so hard Stella was thrown to the side. The agents with her were already preparing for the worst, weapons aimed at the rear doors.
"Black Mustang coming fast! Fuck! Fuck!"
The car slammed into the back of the van with a loud boom. The impact was so violent that everyone in the back crashed into each other, including Stella who landed on all fours on the warm floor. The engine growled. They were nearly at top speed on the open road when another impact knocked them over again. Tires screeched. The driver fought to keep the van on the road. The case slid beneath one of the seats, Stella rushed to grab it but one of the agents shoved her with the butt of his rifle and she fell back onto the seat clutching her stomach. A third impact forced the doors open, both of them flapping wildly in the whistling wind.
The Mustang stayed close behind them, stable and fast despite the insane speed. Stella looked up toward the road and her ragged breathing stopped.
Dex was driving the Mustang. Everything happened so quickly it was almost unbelievable. He pushed one arm out the window, the Glock 17 rose in his hand and the sights lined up directly with the van. The agent standing in front of her took a bullet between the eyes through the visor of his helmet. The same happened to the next two before they could even start firing. Dex accelerated again and rammed the rear bumper of the van. The impact threw her backward onto the seat. One of the remaining agents started emptying his magazine into the Mustang while the other grabbed Stella's ponytail, yanked her against him and pressed the barrel of his pistol against her temple.
"If you shoot the car again, I will-" He never got to finish his sentence. "Arrghh!" A bullet tore through one knee, then the other, and a third one went straight between his eyes.
Stella dropped to her knees and covered her ears. The windshield of Dex's car shattered under the gunfire.
"Dex!! Be careful!" she screamed.
He lowered his head to avoid getting shot and jerked the wheel to the side before accelerating again until he pulled up alongside the driver of the van. It only took one shot, just one, for him to go down. The van immediately started swerving and the passenger rushed to grab the wheel and steady it on the road.
A truck appeared in front of Dex, he slammed on the brakes and slipped back behind the van with unbelievable precision. Thick smoke covered the tires. Dex pushed the car forward until his bumper was pressed against the rear of the van. A perfectly executed fishtail maneuver. The only agent still near Stella had already emptied the ammunition from his rifle. He threw it against the hood of Dex's car and Dex let out a dark laugh at the pathetic attempt.
"Poser!"
Dex raised his arm and his Glock 17 sent a round straight into the corner of his stomach that wasn't protected by the bulletproof vest. Only the passenger remained, desperately trying to keep the van straight but it was difficult not to panic. Stella was thrown from side to side and during a brief moment of calm she saw the case sliding toward the open doors and lunged forward to grab it.
"Starlight! Jump on the car!"
"What-"
"Fucking jump now. Trust me. I'm gonna catch you." Dex pointed his gun toward one of the tires. Stella's eyes widened as she understood what he was about to do. It was madness, pure madness, but he wasn't giving her a choice. "Last chance, wifey." The bullet left the barrel and shot straight into the tire which exploded into pieces.
Adrenaline surged through her veins, she scrambled to her feet in panic, sprinted toward the open doors and jumped from the van just before it completely lost its grip on the road. She landed curled up on the hood and clutched the case tightly against her chest. Dex's car slowed more and more until it came to a stop without making her move while the van crashed farther down the road.
Stella heard the sound of a car door opening before opening her eyes and slowly sitting up. Dex was standing there in front of the car, a frown carved a deep line into his forehead, his legs slightly apart and his gun still in his hand. He wore the same clothes he had left in, black T-shirt and jeans. Sweat rolled down his forehead and despite his legendary calm, she could see the slight tremor in his breathing.
"Dex..."
Stella climbed off the hood with a grimace before stepping in front of him, her gift box in her hands.
An explosion made her jump. It was the van that had turned into a blazing fire behind him in the distance. The noise didn't even make him flinch, he stared at her as if she wasn't really there. His jaw cracked under the pressure he was putting on it. The silence between them stretched and then suddenly he took a deep breath before exhaling. The tension in his shoulders eased a little, just a little. He took one step and then several before cupping her cheek in his hand.
"You okay?" he asked, worried. His dark eyes never left hers.
"Yeah," she said softly and he nodded with a sigh. His hand left her cheek and he started walking toward the passenger side. He opened the bullet-riddled door.
"Inside."
"I'm sorry, I didn't know that-"
"Get in the fucking car, Stella." He pointed his gun at her without a second of hesitation.
"Alright! No need to-"
"What did you say?" He tilted his head to the side.
"Nothing!" She instinctively raised her hands and climbed into the Mustang. "I'm in the car, see?"
Dex slammed the door shut before sitting down in the driver's seat. The engine roared again. The car accelerated in place, more and more smoke rising around them. He jerked the wheel, everything spun, and he released the brakes to shoot off like an arrow in the opposite direction.
Stella quickly fastened her seatbelt too. He looked as furious as he looked relieved, it was the first time she had ever seen him like that. The seats were covered in holes, spent bullets lying near her feet. She tightened her grip around the gift box against her thighs before looking out the window. For a long moment, he didn't say anything and she couldn't resist looking at him. Nothing about him had changed. Eyes on the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shifter.
"Are you mad at me?"
"I'll let you guess."
"In my defense, you didn't tell me there was a bounty on me." Silence. "Okay, I'm sorry. But it was worth it. I found something. Something you'll like."
"No, Stella, you don't get to talk to me anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't want to hear anything from you for the rest of the drive, understand?"
"No." She frowned too. "I made a mistake but you don't get to yell at me like that."
"Oh really?" He shook his head, jaw clenched. Suddenly he hit the steering wheel. "You're starting to piss me off real bad, Stella. You don't want to find out what I'm capable of when I lose it, so I suggest you shut up and let me drive."
For two hours, Stella and Dex didn't exchange a single word. With the shattered windshield, it was hard to even hear herself think. The silence wasn't comfortable, it wasn't soothing, not like usual. There was anger, fear, and a lot left unsaid. She didn't know what the reason for his behavior was. There could have been several. She wasn't proud of putting herself in danger, of making him worry.
Her shopping bags had been left behind at the mall and all she had left was the gift box she didn't dare bring up. She was angry too because she had been kidnapped, because she had survived a car chase, and above all because she had been afraid for herself and afraid for him. There was a glaring lack of communication between the two of them and since Dex was closed off to the idea of talking, Stella wasn't inclined to make the first move either.
Once he had parked the car in front of the villa, Stella didn't wait for him to turn off the engine before getting out. The front door slammed behind her. The gift box landed on the couch as she almost ran toward the bedroom. Behind her, Dex followed her, just as angry as she was. She closed the bedroom door and a second later he opened it, then she closed the bathroom door and locked it.
Stella rushed to the sink, she felt dizzy and nausea was rising inside her. She splashed water onto her face, removed her hair tie and kept both hands gripping the edge of the sink. Suddenly the wooden door exploded into pieces. Dex had kicked it open. Stella turned around quickly, her fingers digging hard into the edge of the cabinet beneath the sink. Her breathing sped up as Dex took one step after another toward her. His gaze was dark, filled with emotions he himself didn't understand.
"What was that? You lock the doors now?" he asked with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He looked completely out of his mind and for the first time Stella felt fear rising inside her and the worst part was that he could see it. His smile widened when he saw her trembling. "Afraid of me? You should be."
"What's wrong with you?! You're acting crazy."
"Oh yeah?" His hands found her hips, he leaned over her, their lips dangerously close. "Say it again." He chuckled. The rumble in his throat made her shiver even more, he tilted his head to the side and his teeth pinched the skin of her neck. She closed her eyes at the sensation, as pleasant as it was painful.
"What are you doing?" she whispered. His hands moved up to her breasts which he touched through her tank top. "We need to talk."
"Later." Dex brushed his tongue over the bite and a whimper escaped her. "Let me fuck you and then we'll talk."
Her eyes snapped open. The haze of pleasure disappeared instantly and she pressed both hands against Dex's chest before pushing him away with all her strength. He made an annoyed sound before reluctantly stepping away from her. He paced around the bathroom, the anger beneath the surface rising again and every time their eyes met he shook his head and kept walking like a caged lion. He pulled a knife from his belt and spun it between his fingers in an attempt to calm himself down.
"We're not having sex, I can see how angry you are. I'm not a punching bag!"
"You're funny." He laughed bitterly.
"Dex, talk to me."
"I told you to stay safe at home and what do you do? You go out. Do you realize how stupid that is? You could have- Vargas could have-" He started pacing in circles. "Can you imagine how I felt when I didn't find you here?"
"I know, I'm sorry but you came for me. I'm here now." She tried to get closer and the murderous look in his eyes made her step back. "I just wanted to buy you something. To go outside and get some fresh air!"
"So you're telling me you're unhappy with me? You want to leave me?"
"You're not making any sense! I'm tired of being trapped with you!" she shouted back. Dex froze. He slowly turned his head toward her and he looked completely absent. "Dex-"
The tip of the knife buried itself into the mirror above the sink. The glass cracked in a spiderweb pattern around the point of impact. Silence fell. Neither of them dared move. Stella was petrified. She felt something warm running down her skin, brought her fingers to her neck and saw blood on them.
Dex was panicking, his eyes wide and his breathing quick. His broad shoulders rose and fell faster and faster. The cut wasn't deep but the fact that his knife had touched her at all terrified him. He had suddenly returned to childhood, back to accidentally killing his coach. That horrible feeling of having broken something, of losing his footing in the middle of emotions he couldn't control, brought back a panic he had long forgotten.
"I never intended to- Forgive me, Starlight. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He took a step toward her but she stepped back with her hand on her neck.
"You cut me."
"It was a mistake."
"You never miss a shot."
"I'm not Bullseye with you. I'm not-" He swallowed hard. "I was so scared of losing you again." He saw the disappointment in her teary eyes before stepping back to give her space. "Stella..."
"You almost killed me." Tears started running down her cheeks. "Is that what happens when you're angry at me? Angry enough to kill me?"
"Sorry. It's hard. It's really hard." His eyes turned red. "I was scared the whole time. It's the first time for me. The first time I felt like- I'm not used to loving that much. With you, every emotion gets multiplied."
"That's not love..."
"Don't tell me what I feel."
"You can't be that possessive. I'll suffocate."
"I wasn't like that when we met. I followed you but I let you breathe."
"Then why don't you do the same?"
"Because you disappeared. Kidnapped by a fucking human trafficking boss who wanted nothing more than to make you suffer. You can't imagine how lost I've been without you." He took a step toward her but she couldn't move back anymore because of the sink cabinet. "I didn't want to hurt you... I need my Starlight. I need you, Stella."
"That's not love, Dex." She shook her head as she cried. "I think... We should break up."
Summary: Dex finds her in a crowded club, beautiful and shining like a star. Even when she disappears, he doesn’t let go. He follows every trace she leaves behind, determined to have her, whether she wants it or not.
Characters: Benjamin Poindexter "Dex" x Ballerina Original Female Character
Warnings: Manipulation, violence, blood, trauma, bordeline personality disorder, heavy smut, dominant Dex, dubious consent, possessive behavior, dark romance, knife play, light daddy kink, forced marriage
Author: Blackcat-9696 / Do not copy, publish, translate my work or claim it as your own.
Author note: Enjoy this fluffy and smutty chapter...🐈⬛
Tag list (open, just ask) : @muffinbrown @avidreader73 @boydholbrooksblog
MASTERLIST
Chapter 14: A Pool Full of Liquor
Stella was deeply asleep after a busy day spent doing a few ballet exercises to get back on her feet and watching TV in Dex’s arms. Life was becoming peaceful, just like their relationship. And she had never felt so fulfilled as she did by his side. It was one of those nights when it felt cold beneath the thin sheets. He hadn’t taken out the comforter yet; his natural warmth was enough to keep her warm, but right now she was missing something of him: him. Her body was covered in goosebumps, the fine hairs on her skin standing up from the cool air. She slept on her stomach with one leg bent to the side. Her hair tie had disappeared, no doubt wrapped around Dex’s right wrist. He could no longer go without having a piece of her on him. Her voluptuous curls covered part of her face. Her mouth was slightly open, her lips still damp from a kiss he had given her in her sleep. He found it adorable how her little toes moved whenever she dreamed. Her soft breathing and the gentle snore escaping her lips drew him in. The dim glow of the bedside lamp didn’t bother her. Judging by her slow, steady breaths, Stella was lost deep within the confines of her subconscious.
Her plum-colored nightgown had ridden up over her round backside. She had gained a little weight since she had stopped following intense training sessions and no longer stuck to a strict diet. Dex loved seeing the softness on her thighs, and even more, he loved touching it. She let out a content little sound when she felt Dex’s warmth return beside her, over her. It was as if a powerful heater was radiating directly against her back. She shifted her head slightly on the pillow and curled one hand near her nose.
A warm breath tickled her ear and suddenly, a tongue slid along her earlobe. It felt good. Her body reacted even in her sleep, and the little noises she made only made him want more. His large hands slid over her exposed skin, his fingers spreading like claws. The weight on top of her disappeared and her legs moved on their own. The familiar coolness settled between them, her panties were gone. Then Dex laid back down over her. He was careful not to smother her beneath his weight as he brushed her hair away from her face. The soft lamplight illuminated her delicate features and he smiled.
The damp sensation between her thighs only grew stronger. Her moans were sleepy, her movements slow. It was pleasure that pulled her from sleep, weaving itself into her dreams and turning them erotic. Her breathing grew faster and faster. Disjointed flashbacks flooded her mind. She saw dark eyes above her, watching her as she lost herself. In her dream, Dex was inside her, his growls echoing through her entire body while she remained completely at his mercy. In reality, something hard and thick slid between her folds. He wouldn’t stop licking her ear. His tongue pressed against the base of her neck before traveling upward and taking the sensitive skin into his mouth. Stella was dazed, trapped between two worlds where Dex ruled supreme. He shaped her fantasies and controlled her pleasure. The pressure against her clit was light, an endless brush of sensation. It couldn’t be the sheets. The movements were too precise, too deliberate. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips parted to let out a small, high-pitched sound. How could a dream feel so real? He bit the spot between her shoulder and neck, his teeth sinking into her skin and leaving behind a clear, reddening mark. She rolled her hips in response and frowned when she realized her movements were restricted.
The hardness between her folds moved faster. The sound of the friction was wet. The bed creaked softly. The hand on her mound traveled up to her breasts before covering one of them. The flesh was soft beneath his palm. He pinched her nipple and another groan followed. The effect he had on her was disorienting. Her mind was foggy. Her sensitivity kept climbing. She tried to squirm but she couldn’t move. The warmth behind her was overwhelming, no room for escape. Then his hand moved back down. A jolt of pleasure made her turn her face into the pillow.
The strange sensation grew stronger, sharp and impossible to ignore. The harder she fought not to wake from her dream, the more her body reacted on its own. Every nerve was being teased, pushed to its breaking point. Dream-Dex sped up and it matched perfectly with what was happening in reality. She felt as though she were floating in a pool, soaked and drifting beneath an extraordinary bliss. She jerked awake, her body tensing under the thunderous orgasm Dex tore from her. Tingles invaded her fingers and toes. And he kept circling her clit relentlessly, giving her no reprieve from the shocking sensation of falling completely into a bottomless abyss. She nearly squeaked from the overload. It felt so good, yet so overpowering.
“It’s too much- too much,” she murmured, still dazed.
“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” The voice in her ear was clear, low, and unbelievably sexy.
“Yes...” His slightly curved cock slid between her pussy lips, fast, hard, while he continued stimulating her clit. “But- nhamaaah- I- I-”
“You can do this, Starlight. We both know this isn't the last one.” He licked her ear before chuckling darkly. “That’s it, let it flow on me. Give me more. I want it all. Chase it. Chase that high with me.”
Her entire body was seized by violent tremors. His control over her was insidious, deeply rooted in her core, and whatever he did to her, she lost every shred of sanity. The pillow muffled her cries. The orgasm was so good it hurt. He slowed his movements, both his fingers and his cock between her legs. Slower and slower until he stopped completely, which almost made her cry with relief. She breathed heavily through her mouth, motionless beneath him.
“You’re so cute when you come.” Stella had no words left, no voice left to answer. “Move your leg to the side for me. Higher. Yeah, just like that. Fucking perfect.” He slipped an arm beneath her leg and lifted it against him. She shook her head against the pillow, still hiding her face. “Call me daddy.”
“Please, Dex, you said you’d wait.”
“Allegedly.” His words sounded like threats, punctuated by the tip of his cock pressing against her entrance. He rolled his hips forward and the tip slipped inside. “If you care to fucking listen and do as I say.”
“Daddy, please!”
“Oh, kitten.” His cock popped out and slid back to her clit. “Wasn’t that hard to obey.” He grabbed her hair with his free hand, yanked her head back, and kissed her smoothly. She whimpered into the kiss, already feeling overstimulated again. Their lips parted and he rested his forehead against hers. “I missed you so much. Didn’t you miss me too?”
“Dex... I- I don’t re-”
“Yeah, you missed me.”
He shifted his position so the tip was back at her wet entrance. His kisses were rough, urgent, possessive. Stella barely recognized him from the gentle, caring man he usually was. She tried pushing him away now. He was clearly trying to get inside her. When he finally stopped kissing her, she gasped for air.
“I don’t want to, please.”
“Don’t panic, Stella. Look at me.” She froze, panting. “I’m gonna come inside. No moving, just coming. You understand?” She nodded. “You want me to feel good too, don’t you?”
She hesitated before answering, staring at him with shining eyes. Suddenly he straightened up, swung her leg over his shoulder, and lowered himself over her. His arms framed her head. His hardness pulsed against her mound and his face slowly moved toward hers.
“You’re still not ready yet.” He seemed to be saying it more to himself than to her. He hated when she was afraid of him. It was his worst nightmare.
“I’m just... I don’t know.”
“Don’t explain yourself, Starlight.” He kissed her gently this time. For once she didn’t have to beg for it, and it was a delight. “I’m sorry, I got carried away.” The way he caressed her cheek, the way his thumb brushed her skin so tenderly. Stella felt confused, unsettled by the way the different sides of Dex had collided within the span of a few minutes. “You good?”
Stella didn’t answer. She lifted a hand to his face and traced his scar with two fingers. She couldn’t deny she had feelings for Dex. These past weeks had been the happiest of her life because of him, because of their connection, because of the undeniable way he challenged her while making her feel safe at the same time. And she knew there was darkness inside him. He never hid it, but sometimes he restrained it for her.
She knew his possessive side had no limits and that he wanted every part of her. That wasn’t the problem. Because deep down, she wanted to belong to him in that way too: raw, visceral, brutally honest. Then there was that irrational fear. The fear that he would lose control and that whatever fracture existed inside him would hurt her. Sex wasn’t the problem. She couldn’t count the number of times he had reduced her to a trembling mess simply by touching her a certain way since she had woken up without her memories. It was the intimacy. The fear of losing herself in him.
“If you fall, I’ll always be there to catch you.” Dex said suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts. It was as though he knew exactly what her inner battles were made of. “You’re afraid of me?”
“No.” She answered immediately, shaking her head. “I’m not. You’re crazy sometimes.” He smirked. “But I kinda like you.”
“Oh yeah?” He pressed kisses along her neck and licked the bite mark there. “Say it again.”
“I like you. We can try...”
“Try what?” He cupped her left boob, pushed the fabric of her nightgown aside, and ran his tongue over her nipple.
“We need rules.”
“You and your fucking rules.” He lifted his head so his face was directly in front of hers.
“You almost lost it! It can’t happen during- you know-”
“I’m a yearning guy, Starlight. You survived before, you will this time too.” Quick kiss. “Lift your legs.”
Their lips moved naturally against each other in a torturous slowness. Stella let out a small sound from the back of her throat as she wrapped her legs around his waist while he adjusted himself at her entrance. Her mind grew foggy between the gentle kisses he gave her and what he was doing. He wasn’t pushing inside, but he applied enough pressure to make sure she knew he could.
“Stop...” she said with her eyes closed.
“What? Kissing you?”
“You make me feel-”
“Dumb? That’s the purpose of it.”
“You said you just want to come inside, right?”
“Yeah.” He left wet kisses along her jawline. His muscular chest pressed against her breasts and his fingers were tangled in her curls.
“Okay, but with only the tip.”
“You know I can’t keep promises.” He intertwined their fingers. “Nah, let’s change the narrative. You choose.”
“What?”
“Where I should jerk off.” Dex watched her think, her gaze drifting to the side, her lower lip trapped between her teeth. Then she thought of something they had never done before.
“My face?” She winced as she said it, convinced he would find it less appealing than coming inside her, but he didn’t. He smiled broadly.
“Excellent choice.”
Dex got onto his knees so quickly Stella let out a startled breath. He looked her over from head to toe. The way her nightgown clung to her body like a second skin, how her pink lips were damp with saliva, one breast still exposed, her center completely soaked. It was exactly the sight he loved most: wasted and ready.
He moved between her legs, placed her arms at her sides, then crawled over her until he was kneeling above her face. His balls brushed her chin while his thick cock rested against her cheek. He grabbed it and started stroking it against her face. She stuck out her tongue, eyes closed, savoring the length sliding across her lips.
“Now you’re gonna suck it like you’re starving.”
Bullseye maintained his muscular condition by working out regularly, almost every day, whether it was early in the morning or late at night. He never missed a day of stretching, wrist exercises, arm exercises, neck exercises. He practiced his throws by making slow, precise movements with his shoulders. Stella slept less during the day now. She was starting to feel like herself again, and sometimes when he did his exercises, she did them with him. They laughed together whenever she failed to imitate him properly, and he taught her his own way of relaxing his muscles. Dex’s laughter came easier now, more naturally by her side.
The kisses he pressed to her forehead whenever he passed by, the way their fingers brushed when he looked into her eyes, and the gentleness of his hands on her made her melt. And yes, Dex was a domestic creature. He did all the cleaning, the laundry, the dishes, and never complained when he had to spend hours cooking. In fact, he loved it. There was a thought settling into her mind, one that was difficult to erase. She thought he would make a fantastic father. He was already a fantastic husband; well, when he didn’t lose his temper, because that still happened. He categorically refused to let her step outside their little bubble, and it could end with a knife at her throat if she insisted. He went from normal to extreme in the blink of an eye, and the worst part was that it was exciting. Exciting to provoke him, to be a brat, as he called it.
It was one of those days when Stella wanted to annoy him just to see how he would react. Her curly ponytail bounced with every step as she joined him by the pool. The weather was beautiful outside. The sky was blue, the clouds high above, like something out of a dream vacation. The pool sparkled brilliantly, its water crystal clear and shimmering. Her purple sports bra hugged her small chest, and her leggings clung to curves that were no longer quite so skinny. She suspected he wanted her to gain weight because he kept feeding her like she was royalty.
She wore her bikini underneath, and of course he had picked it because the thong on that thing was scandalous. He was shirtless except for a loose black shirt hanging open enough to reveal the carved V at the bottom of his stomach. He had put on sunscreen, and she laughed when she noticed he was already turning red. Moments like these made her forget everything: her life, her past, her responsibilities. All that mattered was resting and enjoying the moment. And it was quite a sight watching him do push-ups with perfect form. He didn’t stop when she rolled out her yoga mat beside him. She dropped into a split on it, and his head simply turned to the side.
“You didn’t prep my breakfast.”
She stretched while looking at him with nothing but desire, but he remained focused.
“I’m occupied.”
“It’s a sunny day... We can go for a drive. Shopping together for once.”
“Don’t waste your saliva. I might need it later.”
“I’m serious.” She protested. “It’s been weeks since I’ve been here. Maybe Vargas forgot about me. Maybe we can have a normal day outside.”
“I’m wanted.”
“Wear a cap and sunglasses.”
“Do you know how many people I killed to get to you?”
“Yes, but we’re far away from New York.”
“The discussion is closed, Starlight.”
“Okay.”
She answered so cheerfully that her reaction made him turn his head toward her, and he really shouldn’t have because she was putting on a show. She slowly took off her sports bra before undoing her long curly hair and tossing it from side to side. A strand fell across her face and she blew it away with a proud smile. He had stopped doing push-ups just to admire her, and that was a victory she intended to savor.
“I was thinking...”
Dex sat down on the grass, one knee bent with his elbow resting on it. A long silence followed as he stared at her, his gaze moving slowly up and down her body while she adjusted the strings of her bikini behind her back.
“So I saw an interesting yoga pose on TV. You think you can carry me?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Stella. Do you think I can?” he answered sarcastically.
“It was a simple question. You’re being cocky.”
“Do I?”
“Whatever. So you’re like this and I’m like this.” She moved her hands around to explain the position, and all he was looking at were her pretty almond-shaped eyes. “You carry me with your hands only and I stretch upward upside down, straight like this. Basically, you support all my weight with your arms and I have to keep my balance. It looks difficult, but I think we can do it.”
“Alright.” He laid down on his back. “Jump on.”
Stella chuckled as she hopped off her mat to join him. She placed her feet on either side of his torso, leaned down to lace her fingers through his, pushed herself up on his hands, took a breath, and kicked her legs up all at once until she was upside down. The tips of her hair fell onto Dex’s face and she heard him snicker. Her arms were still bent, so she slowly straightened them. Her body trembled from the effort while Dex’s remained perfectly steady. Every time she wobbled, he adjusted his arms to bring her back into balance.
“Oh my God! I should be on a diet! Fuck!”
“Can’t lift yourself anymore?”
“Shut up. It’s your fault.”
“Do it in three. One.” Sweat ran down her face. His elbows cracked. “Two.”
“What the fuck! It’s so hard.”
“Three.”
He gave a little push and she extended herself fully above him. Together they formed a perfect right angle. They both laughed.
“See? We did it. Together.”
It was difficult to maintain perfect balance. Her legs were literally shaking. She lowered them into a split, which added a bit more stability. Then suddenly she let herself fall and landed straddling him. He groaned in discomfort because she had landed directly on his abs.
“Sorry.” She scooted back until she was sitting beneath his lower stomach. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. Good exercise, by the way. We can try it again until you can keep your balance for more than twenty seconds.”
“I tried my best.” She laughed.
“Yeah, you did.” He rested his hands on her bare thighs. He watched the sunlight radiating around her. “You look like the first time I met you. Beautiful and shining like a star.”
“Thanks to my nurse.” She tapped his chest.
“Me? A nurse. That’s new.”
“Maybe I can try dancing later. I miss it.”
“I’m a good audience.”
“Can we go shopping? Buy ballet stuff? I can’t dance properly on my feet.”
“Next time.”
“Dex...” She pouted, trying her puppy face to soften him up, but he didn’t respond. He simply stared at her. A gentle look with something lurking beneath. “You can’t keep me locked in forever.”
“Want to bet on it?”
“Please, Dex.”
“That’s a dangerous voice to use.” She felt his cock twitch beneath her. It was getting harder and harder. “See what it does to me, Stella?” He lingered on the syllables of her name in a seductive way. He grabbed her ass so firmly that she had to lean over him, her hands pressed against his pecs. “Something wrong?”
“You’re stupid.” She rolled her eyes.
“Come again?”
“Stupid and possessive as fuck.” She pushed herself off him, grabbed her hair tie, and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She looked annoyed, which only amused him more.
“Should I fix that attitude?” He sat up on the grass. “Because it looks like you want me to.”
“What do you mean?”
A silence followed. A dangerous silence that immediately put her on alert. He looked like he was preparing to do something, as if he were about to pounce on her. Stella took one step back. Then another.
“Wait- what do you plan to do to me?”
“Spanking.”
She hesitated for a second, holding her breath. Maybe he wasn’t serious. Maybe he was joking. Then he stood up in all his glory, cracked his neck, and looked her straight in the eyes with a devilishly smile. Then he took off, and that was when she realized she needed to run.
“Aah!” she screamed when he started chasing her. He was deliberately not running at full speed just to drag out the suspense. “I’m sorry!” she called out breathlessly while he laughed openly. They ran around the pool. She sprinted as fast as she could while he was basically jogging. “Wait- wait- let me tell you something. Wait!” She stopped and raised her arms with her palms visible. Dex slowed down but didn’t stop walking. “No- no, please- I’m uh... I’m going to swim a little. Okay?” She stepped back while pulling off her yoga leggings and tossed them toward a lounge chair.
“You missed.”
The water was warm when Stella jumped into the pool while holding her legs together. She hadn’t intended to dive into the deep end. Her arms and feet kicked frantically as she swam back toward the surface. Her first instinct was to gasp for air. She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face, and tried to stay afloat. Dex stood at the edge of the pool, always staring as if he had to win a contest.
“What are you doing?”
“Joining you,” he replied after lowering his shorts. He threw them toward the lounge chair, and unlike her, he didn’t miss. Then it was his boxer’s turn. Stella’s eyes widened when his cock popped free. It bounced lightly between his legs, and it was obvious he was in a full erection now.
“That’s hardly fair.”
“Hardly, yeah.”
“You’re a red flag!” she said loudly.
“I’m named Bullseye. What did you expect?”
Dex dove into the pool far more elegantly than she had. Headfirst, arms extended. He entered the water without creating a single splash, smooth and silent. She floated on the surface, her arms making lazy circles beneath the water. Time stretched on and Dex still didn’t come back up. She started to worry. His shadow moved deep beneath the blue water. Then he grabbed her ankle and dragged her under the surface.
It happened so fast she didn’t have time to hold her breath. She opened her eyes underwater. The chlorine stung her vision, but she could see him in front of her, tall and imposing. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her toward the bottom of the pool. It took too long, and she began running out of air. He noticed her distress and her heart skipped a beat when their lips met. He shared air with her through the kiss. Her legs moved with his. Stella wrapped her arms around his neck while Dex held her against his chest. The water felt sweet now. They swam in perfect harmony, two lovers diving in a pool full of liquor.
She took a huge breath once they reached the surface, and he looked at her as if she were the most beautiful person to ever walk the earth. She coughed a little, still catching her breath.
“You good, Starlight?”
“Yeah...” She nodded and steadied herself against him. He floated like a boat. She brushed her hair back and then did the same for Dex. Her lips curved into a smile as she watched him enjoy her touch. “How can you hold your breath like that?”
“Practice.” He slowly turned with her in the water. His hands were flat against her back, resting on the strings of her white bikini. “I have a question for you.”
“Really? What?”
“What if you could do whatever you wanted for one day? What would you do?” She burst out laughing. “Share it with me.”
“See the ocean. Dive into it. Maybe try surfing or kitesurfing. Oh, and I’m dying to try those fast jet skis. They look so fun on TV.”
“I’m planning something for your birthday. July 27.” Stella’s eyes lit up. She hugged him even tighter and kissed him before pulling back to look into his eyes. “What was that for?”
“To thank you for taking care of me. For making me happy.”
“So we’re the happiest couple.” His laughter was contagious. “In a few days... we’ll have our freedom back. I’ll kill Fisk and Vargas at the same time. A fucking glorious day.”
“How are you going to manage that? They’re both so dangerous.”
“Karen is going to court and they’ll be there. Good opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.”
“Who’s Karen?” She frowned.
“A friendly enemy.”
It was the first time Dex had spoken about another woman, and she didn’t like it. She immediately pouted.
“Are you jealous?” He laughed brightly. “No need. I’m the loyal kind.”
Dex told her he had to meet someone to finalize his plan for the courthouse killings. Someone who could help them build a new life together, a new chance to live freely without fearing the police or being kidnapped by a criminal organization. Not that Dex would ever let that happen, but he wanted Stella to be able to pursue her dream of becoming a famous ballerina.
He reluctantly gave her a phone. He would be gone for hours, much longer than a simple grocery run. He needed to be able to check up on her anytime. And judging by how ecstatic she was when she received it, he was already regretting the decision.
He gave her clear instructions: never open the door no matter what happened and answer the phone within a minute if he called. She swore she would do exactly as he wanted, which only reassured him halfway.
There was one flaw in his plan, something he hadn’t anticipated.
She left without him two hours after his departure. Stella’s motivations were innocent. She genuinely wanted to go buy some things, and she had found a stack of cash among Dex’s belongings, which motivated her even more. Not that she intended to spend all of it. Just what was necessary. Just enough. Because she wanted to buy him a gift. Something to thank him. Something to show him that she cared about him as much as he cared about her.
He had managed to make her fall for him, even without her recovering the memories of the past month. That had to mean something. Proof that he really was her husband. He gave without holding back, and she wanted to do the same for him.
A small gift to make him happy.
What she didn’t know was that Vargas had put a bounty on her head.
