The New Chef
Pairing : Oli Sykes x female reader (as his new vegan chef)
Story content : It's a story alternating points of view, in which Oli Sykes and his new vegan chef struggle to resist the emotional and sexual attraction they feel for each other...
Tags : Romance / Smut / Complicated love.
⚠️ Content Warnings : 18+ / MDNI : dirty talk, explicit mentions of male and female masturbation, M/F sex, oral sex, teasing, touching, power play (Oli is a bit of a dom...)
Word count : 10,1k (22 short chapters / 45 minutes read)
Chapter 1 — Oli Sheffield, early March. The kind of damp cold that clings to your bones. I had been back from tour for barely a week, and I needed calm, nature, discipline.
Veganism wasn't just a whim for me. It had become a way of life, a way to regain control when everything else was spiraling out of hand. So I had hired a new full-time vegan chef. A pro, according to the recommendations. Discreet. Serious. Very talented.
I didn't expect it to be her.
When she arrived that morning, composed, professional, with her long coat soaked by the rain and her eyes shining despite everything, I felt my defenses crack. Just a moment. A heartbeat too late. She looked me straight in the eyes when I shook her hand. Not intimidated. Not familiar either. Just... focused.
And damn, that's what threw me off.
She had that cold elegance that got on my nerves. The kind of woman who doesn't smile easily but obsesses you in two seconds. Her scent, already, when she placed her things in the kitchen. Her voice, soft but assured. I knew I was in trouble as soon as she opened her mouth.
I remained polite. Nice, even. I showed her around the estate, pointed out the outbuilding where she would be living, just a stone's throw from the main house. I didn't let anything show. But inside ? The chaos.
Every time I looked at her, I imagined my fingers in her hair, my mouth on her skin still damp from the rain. I imagined her short breath, her eyes closing. I gritted my teeth. I couldn't afford that. Not with an employee. Not with her.
So I did what I do best : I locked everything down. I put the mask back on. Kind-hearted boss. English gentleman. Smile at the corner of his lips, attentive, almost too much.
But I feel like it's going to be tough.
Very hard.
Chapter 2 — You I didn't know exactly what to expect when I arrived in Sheffield. The contract was clear : full-time vegan chef for Oliver Sykes. Independent accommodation provided. Very decent salary. Absolute confidentiality. And no idea if I should address him like a rockstar or just a lost guy who wants to eat well.
The rain was pouring when I rang the doorbell. The house was immense, ultra-modern, with large bay windows, polished concrete floors, and hanging plants everywhere. An unexpected mix of brutality and softness, as if the place couldn't decide between avant-garde and a return to roots.
He opened the door. Wrinkled T-shirt, arms covered in tattoos, brown eyes still a bit puffy from sleep or melancholy — I couldn't tell. He was handsome, obviously. Way too much. But he also had this kind of unstable aura, like a fire sleeping under the ashes.
He smiled at me with a little wink.
— "You're right on time. It's suspicious."
I smiled politely, but nothing more. My brain, on the other hand, was already screaming : no way, he's worse in real life. More charming. More alive. More... dangerous.
I stood straight, focused. He showed me around the place, cracking stupid jokes in every room — the gym ("never used, it's just for show"), the living room ("I've passed out there drunk like... fifteen times"), and then the kitchen. That's where I should shine.
And all along... I couldn't help but glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His nonchalant gestures, his lazy accent, that way of speaking as if nothing really mattered.
But above all, that look.
I thought he wasn't paying attention to me. That he was just treating me well because he's a cool guy. But there was this moment, in the hallway leading to the shed. He stopped, looked at me, a little too long.
Not a smile. Not a word. Just... a strange silence. Loaded.
And then he laughed. He threw out some nonsense like "watch out, there are vicious squirrels around here" and turned on his heel.
I stayed alone, in my small modern apartment, soaked and with my heart beating a little too fast.
I already knew it was going to be complicated.
And that I was screwed.
Chapter 3 — Oli No matter how much I wanted to keep my distance, she was everywhere.
Well, not really. She was discreet, super professional, silent when necessary, never intrusive. But me ? I was becoming fucking obsessed.
I pretended to be working in my studio upstairs, or writing, or answering emails. In reality, I was listening. I listened to the sound of her footsteps, the soft click of her flat heels on the floor, the rustle of her clothes when she leaned over in the kitchen. I listened to her.
And sometimes... I would go down. To "see if she needed anything." To "taste a new recipe." In truth, I just wanted to see her move. To watch her. Like a jerk.
That day, she had prepared a sweet potato and chickpea curry with coconut cream and basmati rice flavored with cardamom. The kind of dish that makes you want to be vegan for good. I was sitting at the central island, she was bustling behind the countertop, focused, elegant without trying.
She was wearing black leggings and a beige tank top. Her body... it was a masterpiece. Thin, wiry, athletic. Her supple back, her wide hips, her rounded buttocks that moved with every step. And I, like a hungry dog, was staring at her.
Not just a glance. Not just a simple polite appreciation. No. I was recording everything.
Her muscular legs. Her bare neck. That damn trumpet nose that shouldn't be so sexy. And that mouth. Large. Juicy. Perfect. A mouth that could do anything — and I was already imagining the worst scenarios.
I took a bite of the dish. I closed my eyes.
— "Damn... I whispered, It's so good. Like, I think I've never eaten a curry this well made."
She smiled—a small, almost absent smile. But enough to make me hard.
And precisely...
Shit.
I felt it rising, there, in my jeans. This slow and uncontrollable erection, as if my body no longer gave a damn about my will. I crossed my arms on the counter, tried to lean a bit. Hide the bump. Play pretend.
But she leaned over to open a closet, her buttocks rounding under the taut fabric, and I lost all self-control. I couldn't care less. My sex was as hard as a rock, my mouth dry, my brain in disarray.
So I stopped fighting.
I kept eating. Slowly. To look at her. To talk to her.
— "Are you training ? Like, regular exercise ? Because... you exude something quite powerful. Like a feline".
She raised an eyebrow without answering. I smiled.
Yeah, I owned it. I wanted her to see it. That she would guess what she was doing to me. That she notices the massive bulge under my jeans, right there, between my thighs. That she understands it wasn't just a polite admiration.
I was screwed.
And if she didn't stop me... I was going to dive.
Chapter 4 — You I pretended not to see him. It had become a habit.
Since I had arrived, I sometimes felt him behind me, a little too long. I sensed a silence that was a bit too dense, a presence that burned a bit too strongly. But he remained polite. Joking, relaxed, even kind. So I focused on my work. I had nothing to reproach myself for.
Finally... until today.
He had come to settle at the central island as usual, tattooed arms resting on the marble, slightly loose white t-shirt, a smirk on his face. He seemed in a good mood, more relaxed than usual. I had served him a plate of my coconut-sweet potato curry, perfectly seasoned. He had moaned when taking the first bite. Literally groaned.
— "Damn... It's so good. Like, I think I've never eaten a curry that well made."
I smiled without looking at him. But I felt my stomach tighten. He had this way of speaking... sensual without meaning to. Well, I thought.
Then he continued.
— "Are you training ? Like, regular exercise ? Because... you exude something quite powerful. Like a feline."
I froze for half a second. Just enough time to tell myself, okay, this is no longer just small talk. I looked up at him. He was looking at me. Honestly. No awkwardness, no detours. He was staring, outright.
I remained neutral. Professional. As always. But inside, it was brewing.
And then I bent down to put away a bowl. I felt his gaze slide over me like a hot blade. I could have cut him with it. I straightened up slowly, controlling my breath.
I turned towards him.
And then, I saw it.
The bulge in his jeans. Big. Impossible to ignore. It held out the fabric just enough so that there was no doubt. Not an illusion. Not a bad angle. Just him, sitting there, hard under my eyes.
My heart stopped for half a second.
And then he left again. Faster. Louder.
I didn't move. I didn't say anything. But my brain, on the other hand, could no longer function. Nothing else existed but that image : his hard cock, his burning gaze, and that tension he didn't even pretend to hide anymore.
He knew that I had seen. And me... I knew it was over.
I wouldn't be able to think about anything else.
Chapter 5 — Oli I had to flee the kitchen.
I threw out a vague "thanks again" as I got up, without looking at her, without even taking my phone. I left like a coward, hands in my pockets to hide the erection, breathless. I was hot. Too hot. The feeling of having swallowed gasoline and that a spark would be enough to set me on fire.
I went upstairs. My personal studio. Where I made my demos, where I let my rotting ideas turn into sounds. I slammed the door, put on some music, and tried to concentrate. To write. To forget.
Nothing to be done.
I still had the vision of his body imprinted in my mind. That tall, slender, solid silhouette. The contrast between her tall, slender figure and those dreamlike, firm, rounded buttocks, as if carved from marble. And then her mouth. That square mouth, full but narrow, as if it had been made to suffer a little.
I wondered how she would react if I slowly pushed my dick between her lips. If she would manage to take it. If she would struggled a little. If she were to choke slightly... her eyes rising towards me, filled with tears, frustration, and envy all at once.
I could no longer control myself.
I pushed my chair back. I went and flopped onto the big black leather couch against the wall. I took out my phone, opened her Instagram. Nothing suggestive—just her, poised, beautiful, natural. A selfie in the kitchen. A photo taken from afar, her cutting vegetables, focused. I already knew her too well for that to be enough.
I unbuttoned my jeans, my hand already trembling. I spat into it, slowly, and I started to masturbate. Long strokes. Deep. I wasn't thinking about anything else.
And then the image took hold.
She, against the kitchen wall. Grown on tiptoe. I hold her by the nape and by the hip. She is tall, and damn, it changes everything. I take her from behind standing up, one hand around her neck, the other between her legs. She slides against me, her solid and perfect body almost crushing me.
But I am stronger. Filthier. I make her bend. And while I'm taking her, I whisper in her ear to stay standing, not to falter. And when she moans too loudly, I press my finger to her mouth to silence her.
I feel the pleasure rising, muffled, uncontrollable. So I remove my t-shirt with a swift motion, toss it to the ground, and finish, violently, breathless. I come on my stomach, my abs tense, my muscles rigid.
My head tilts back. A muffled scream. The silence falls again, brutally. And I remain there, naked, dirty, emptied... always obsessed.
And she, in the next room, just a few meters away.
Damn.
Chapter 6 — You I stayed alone in the kitchen after he left, in an electric silence.
I wanted to collect my thoughts. Reason. Think about something else. Put things away calmly, methodically. Break this heat that was slowly rising along my belly.
But no. It was over.
His image stuck to me like a second skin.
His tight jeans, that erection impossible to ignore... I had seen it. I had seen the raw, animalistic desire, unfiltered. I had seen what I was doing to him. And now, I couldn't help but imagine him. Naked. Large. Dark. Massive. His body entirely tattooed, that pale skin I imagined moist, warm, salty. His long, slender, nervous hands, almost too delicate for the rest of him.
He was a walking contrast : arms of ink and solid legs, soft muscles, not dry, not chiseled, but powerful. Natural. Alive. And above all... that face.
His eyes. My God, his eyes. Sad, deep, but also mischievous, always on the edge between a joke and vice. That look... it's a language in itself. And precisely : his language.
His damn little nervous tongue that he kept sticking out all the time. On stage. In selfies. While laughing. To provoke. To seduce without seeming to. She haunted me. I saw her moving, I could already feel it against me.
And then, all of a sudden, my mind goes off the rails.
I imagined myself on top of him. Him lying on his back, arms tied to the bed, vulnerable beneath me. And me, naked, dominating his face, my thighs on either side of his cheeks, my clit slowly pressed against his fine, pointed nose, made for this. His tongue searching for me, begging. Her muffled moans. My hand in his hair. And him, who savors it, as if he were starving.
A heat rises between my legs, intense, indecent. I try to breathe. But no. It's too late. I am soaked. I can feel it.
I leave the kitchen in a hurry, pretending to go down to the dependency. I need to change my underwear. I need to calm down.
I walk down the hallway almost running, and that's when I see him.
Him.
In the distance.
Bare-chested. His t-shirt in hand. His arms covered in tattoos, his pale skin slightly reddened. He looks out of breath. His gaze is blurry, absent. His hair slightly stuck to his forehead. As if he had just come out of an intense effort. And suddenly...
I understand.
He masturbated.
I know it. I can feel it. He did it after leaving the kitchen. After seeing me. After desiring me.
And this thought hits me like an electric shock in the pit of my stomach.
I quicken my pace, heart racing, panties soaked, throat dry. I push the door of my outbuilding, close it behind me, leaning against the wood. I have no more doubts.
And now I know he thinks about me... as much as I think about him.
Chapter 7 — Oli She was there, again.
Always so professional. Always focused. Always perfect. And me, a few days after that night, I was still just as messed up.
I could no longer pretend. Not in front of myself. Not in front of my cock, which would wake up as soon as I smelled her citrus and herb perfume, or saw her lean over, her sports leggings hugging her thighs like in a fucking dream. I knew she had seen. The other evening. The erection. My body. The t-shirt in hand. My fucking face still red.
And now every silence between us was sexual. Each polite phrase resonated like a held-back sigh.
But today, Jordan was at home. He had come by to listen to a few demos, talk about mixing, and throw around a couple of ideas.
He had been there for barely an hour when I already felt like a teenager. She was preparing food, not far away, focused as usual. Her silhouette moving back and forth in my field of vision, her hips, her bare neck, her precise hands.
And me, sitting on the couch with Jordan, barely able to respond to what he was saying. My brain was turned upside down, infested by the idea that she was going to walk past us. Or lean over. Or meet my gaze.
And then it happened.
She entered the room with two glasses of water, placed on a small tray. A simple, mundane gesture. But the way she walked, her black leggings, her loose tank top floating over her firm breasts, with no visible bra... it was torture.
She gave me a neutral look. Too neutral. And I think that's what excited me the most. The control. The facade. Because I knew what was behind it.
Jordan also looked at her.
Not like me. But long enough for me to feel his attention settle. He thanked her with a smile, then shot me a glance. One of those wordless looks. Curious. Inquisitive.
And then, as she was walking away, he whispered to me, mockingly :
— "Your new chef is not bad at all...
I shrugged, like yeah, without answering. But I felt my ears burning.
He didn't give up :
— And you, are you hard or just hot ?
I turned to him, shocked, a little amused.
— Fuck off, man.
— I'm just saying what I see. You have a clenched jaw, crossed legs, and you keep glancing every time she walks by. Do you want to talk about it or are you afraid of breaking down in front of someone ?"
He was joking. But he had hit the nail on the head. The thing I was trying so hard to keep under control, hidden in a dark corner of my mind.
I got up, vaguely annoyed.
— "Come on, let's go down to the studio, there are too many distractions here."
He followed in silence, but with a smirk. He had understood.
And I had understood that it was becoming more and more visible. Less and less sustainable. And that if someone like Jordan had picked up on it... she, she must have known. For a long time.
Chapter 8 — You I didn't intend to listen. But their voices carried. And I wasn't deaf.
I stayed in the hallway for a few moments after serving the drinks. Just to put away a dishcloth, I think... Or maybe for something else. I don't know anymore. But I heard. Everything.
— "Your new chef is not bad at all. — And you, are you hard or just hot?"
My heart stopped for a second. I froze, my throat dry, a shiver running down my spine. They were talking about me. About that. And Oli... Oli wasn't denying it. Not really.
I had a smile that was almost dangerous.
I spent the rest of the day in a kind of electric trance. I knew he wanted me. I had seen it in his eyes, in his hasty retreat the other day, in his gaze too insistent on my hips, my legs, my lips. But hearing it said out loud... it was something else.
Jordan left a little later. Oli reappeared, a slightly dazed look on his face.
— "Do you want to come train with me ? I'm too lazy to start it on my own. His tone was light, but his gaze... that weighed heavily. Very heavy.
— Okay. I'm going to change."
I knew very well what I was doing. I put on my favorite sports leggings, the ones that ride high on the hips, hugging every curve like a second skin. A crop top. No bra. No need. I knew that my small breasts stood on their own. And then I liked that mix : sporty elegance, almost too sharp, with just the right amount of indecency when you looked too long.
We met in the gym on the ground floor. It was hot. The Sheffield sun was beating down hard through the large windows.
I started doing squats, focused, but I felt his gaze on me. With each squat, I knew he was watching. My butt. These buttocks a little too big for the rest of my body, rounded, taut, perfectly sculpted by months of training.
He pretended to warm up, but he was just looking at me.
And I knew that the leggings betrayed everything. The shape of my pussy. The fold of my lips under the taut fabric. I wasn't wearing any underwear. I didn't want any lines.
He approached.
— "Do you mind ? You're not going down quite straight. Do you want me to show you ?"
I shrugged, feigning indifference. But my heart was beating so hard that I could almost hear its echo in my ears.
He stood behind me. Very close.
His hands brushed against my hips. He placed his chest against my back. And suddenly... I felt it.
His dick. Hard. Pressed against my butt. Not a coincidence. Not a mistake. He had chosen this moment. That contact.
He guided my movement, his hoarse voice in my ear. — "Like this... gently. Go down slowly, keep your knees open."
I was on fire.
And he, behind me, barely panting, stayed there, glued. His painful, burning erection, perfectly aligned with my curves.
I didn't move. Not protested. I simply continued the movement. A little more slowly. A little lower.
And I knew he was on the verge of breaking down. Me too.
Chapter 9 — Oli I knew I should have said no. Hold myself back. Don't invite him to come train with me. But I couldn't take it anymore.
Every day watching her walk by in leggings, breasts free under her t-shirts, lips too plump for a normal life... I was losing the little control I had left.
And when she came down, ready to work out with me, dressed like a fucking fantasy... I knew I was going to crack. An ultra-tight black legging that swallowed every detail. Without underwear. I knew it. I could see it. Her butt. Those dream buttocks. Generous. Rebellious. Perfect for getting lost in. Her small firm breasts under a too-short top. Her long, toned legs that opened gracefully during squats.
And that fucking fabric stretched over her pussy.
I could see nothing else. The lips drawn. Like an offering. Like a fucking visual assault. I was tense.
I didn't think. I went behind her. I pretended to correct her movement. But it was just an excuse. I wanted to touch her. Feel its warmth. Stick to me. Rub against me.
So I did it.
My chest against her back. My hands on her hips. And my cock, painful, on fire, which I let press against her ass. Slowly. Deliberately.
And she... she didn't move. She continued her movement. She rubbed. She knew. She felt. And she rubbed.
And then... I lost it. My voice came out, raw, betrayed by frustration.
— "Do you want me to come on myself like a damn teenager ?"
My breathing was ragged. My fingers clenched around her. My cock throbbed against her leggings like a caged animal. She froze. One second. Two.
I let her go, abruptly. I was on the edge of the abyss.
But the limit I crossed... it wasn't just physical.
It's just that I looked at her. Really. With the naked truth in their eyes. No more masks. No more barriers. I wanted her. And she knew it.
And that's what made him run away.
Without saying a word, she moved away abruptly. Her eyes had changed. Disturbed. Alarmed. Maybe hurt. Maybe excited. Maybe both.
She left without a word, almost running. I watched her walk down the hallway, open the door to her outbuilding. And close it.
And me, I stayed there. The tail still hard. Short of breath. The heart in disarray.
I had just crossed a line. And now, either she would come back. Either she would never want to see me again.
Chapter 10 — You I slam the door of my dependency, breathless, cheeks burning. My heart pounds against my chest as if it wants to escape. I almost stumble as I cross the small room, still trembling.
I am supposed to be shocked. Angry. Offended.
But I'm wet. Soaked. I feel my leggings stuck to me, damp between my thighs, and it drives me crazy.
I fall onto the bed, hands in my hair, eyes wide open. I'm trying to regain control. To take back my place.
But it's ruined.
I close my eyes... and I see him again. His low, dry voice. "Do you want me to come on myself like a fucking teenager ?"
I still have his erect penis imprinted in my memory, pressed against my buttocks. I felt his size, his weight, his insatiable desire. He broke. For me. And it's not nothing. Not just an inappropriate gesture. No. He burned. He took the liberty.
And instead of being scared... I feel like I'm his.
I no longer want him to be kind, caring, distant. I want him to tear all that apart. That he destroys me. That he is no longer Oli, my boss. But Oli, that tattooed man, tall, too sexy for my own good, who has been looking at me like prey for days. Who gets hard for me. Who fights. And who is going to lose.
I want him to pin me down on the kitchen countertop, to spread my legs apart without gentleness, to take up all the space. I want his mouth on my pussy, his brutal fingers, his insolent tongue. I want his huge cock inside me. I want him to use me, to play with my body as if it belonged to him. That he pulls my hair while I moan, my belly flat against the gym floor, unable to escape him.
My breath catches.
I slip my hand into my leggings, feverishly. I am soaked. It's indecent. My clit is swollen, hypersensitive. I quickly, clumsily touch myself. I need to come, right here, right now. My pelvis undulates uncontrollably. I imagine myself in that same gym, arms tied to a weight machine, butt raised, and him... him behind me, penetrating me without asking, with that same insolent look. His tail is so big that I have to shout a little for it to get through.
I moan. Loudly.
And I'm coming. Loud. A raw, almost painful orgasm that shakes me to my core.
But when I reopen my eyes, the rumpled bed around me, one idea remains, persistent.
I'm screwed. I no longer want him to respect me. I want to belong to him.
Chapter 11 — Oli I didn't think I would follow her.
At first, I had just stood frozen in the gym, nerves on fire, skin clammy, my body screaming a desire I could no longer contain. And then she fled. And my legs moved on their own.
I went out. Slowly. Discreetly.
I don't even know why. Maybe to apologize. Maybe to see her one last time before she decides to leave me, to go away. I walked along the outside of the house, bypassing the bushes until I reached her outbuilding. And I stopped right in front of his ajar door.
That's where I heard it.
Sighs. Moans. The real ones. Sincere. Profound. His breath short, ragged. Her muffled voice. My name, almost. A kind of tender, animalistic moan.
I understood instantly. And everything I believed... collapsed.
She wasn't running away because I had gone too far. She was running away because she couldn't take it anymore, either.
Because that moment, that contact, my body against hers... she had felt it. She had loved him. And she was thinking about it again. She was still living it. In his head. In his body.
She was giving herself to this scene. She offered herself to the idea of me.
And then... in my head, everything changed.
The reserved, brilliant, professional woman I had hired... had just dropped the mask. And what I heard behind that door was not modesty. It was ardor. A pure, brutal, liberated desire.
I leaned against the wall, eyes closed. My breathing became heavy.
My body was burning.
I slid a hand into my pants, slowly. My heart was pounding.
I was thinking about her. About her legs taut under the pressure of pleasure. About her feverish hands. I remembered her look in the gym. She knew. She had felt my desire against her. And she hadn't backed away.
She had played with that. And it drove me crazy.
I imagined her kneeling before me, her mouth slightly open, hesitant, offered, her hands gripping my thighs as if she needed support. I imagined her losing herself in me, her eyes moist, unable to take all of me... and me forcing it into her. Gently. Firmly.
I remembered her buttocks. Full. Perfect. And that legging that hugged every curve of her intimacy.
She was made for that. To be tamed. To be adored and surpassed.
I didn't resist for long.
My breath became ragged. My tattooed hand clenched tightly. I was tense like a string ready to snap.
And when I heard her loudest moan, her trembling voice, almost a scream — I let go.
Everything rose up in me like a wave, violent, irrepressible. I lost my footing.
I came hard in my own hand.
And in that after-silence, panting, exhausted, still glued to the wall of his dependency, a single thought crossed my mind.
She is mine. Even if she doesn't know it yet.
Chapter 12 — You The sun has barely risen when I slip into the kitchen of the main building. The silence of the house envelops me like a cold sheet. It's always my favorite moment: no one, not a sound, just the metal of the pots, the wooden boards, and my thoughts that I try to organize like the utensils.
But this morning... my thoughts are a damn mess.
I do everything to focus. I prepare homemade granola, cut fresh fruits, pour a drizzle of agave syrup, heat oat milk infused with cardamom. Everything is sweet, peaceful, perfect. But my body, on the other hand, is electric. Every gesture seems too precise, too charged. My skin feels too sensitive. My stomach tightens at every memory of the day before.
I can't stop thinking about it. To his body pressed against mine. To his warmth. With his deep, trembling voice just behind my ear: "Do you want me to come on myself like a fucking teenager ?"
And then, his gaze. That look that was no longer that of a boss. He was a man on the verge of losing his grip. Because of me.
And damn, I loved it.
I flinch slightly when I hear his footsteps in the hallway. I sit up straight, try to adopt a neutral posture, to simply be the boss focused on her breakfast. But when he enters the room, my mask falters immediately.
He is here. Wrinkled black T-shirt, still damp hair, bare arms covered in ink, face slightly marked by fatigue or... something else. He smells of a restless night, troubled thoughts. His eyes meet mine for barely a second — and that's enough to awaken everything.
I also feel the night. But not his. Mine.
"Hi" he said simply, a bit more hoarse than usual. I respond with a nod, too focused on assembling my bowls.
He approaches slowly. I feel his gaze slide over me. He doesn't even hide anymore.
He stops right behind me. Too close. I feel his warmth against my back. And my hands tremble slightly on the countertop. He doesn't touch. Not yet. But I feel that he could. He is an inch away from doing it.
— "Have you ever made granola this sexy, or is it just for me ?" He murmurs that softly, almost jokingly. But his voice is heavy. Heavy.
I try to laugh, to respond with something neutral. But my throat is dry.
I finally turn around. Slowly. And I see him. His gaze is darker than usual. Deeper. He is standing there, leaning against the countertop, and he hardly blinks.
I instinctively lower my eyes.
Error.
His black tracksuit hides nothing. He is tense. Visibly. Again.
And this time, I don't look away. I remain frozen. And him too.
A silence. Charged. Denso.
Then he steps forward. His voice drops another tone.
— "Are you going to run away again, or are you going to finish what you started ?"
My heart is exploding. And I don't move. I don't respond. I can't. My whole body is already screaming.
Chapter 13 — Oli I stood still for a second, just long enough to see her eyes slide over me — and to feel that she didn't want me to leave. But not that I'm rushing either. She was tense, but not closed off. Silent, but burning.
So I decided to take my time.
I took my place on the stool in front of the central island, calmly. I grabbed the spoon she had left there for me, without saying a word. The bowl was perfect. Fresh fruits, homemade granola, small pieces of dates, and a touch of still warm frothy milk.
— "You know how to cook and raise the temperature.", I said as I started eating.
She didn't respond. She just kept bustling behind the counter, professional, as always. Too professional. Too right-wing. Too calm.
But I could see her fingers clenched around the spoon. I saw her neck too stiff. And above all... I felt that she was listening to me. Every word.
So I started to talk. To talk to her the way I really wanted to. With the tone I had forbidden myself until then.
— "I think about your leggings from yesterday. The one that fit you like a second skin... I chewed slowly, my gaze fixed on her hips. — It didn't leave much room for imagination. I could almost guess the exact shape of your lips..."
She froze for a moment. Just for a moment. Then he resumed. But her pace had changed. Slower. Less stable.
— "And your butt... I let out a slight laugh, low, almost hoarse. — I don't know how it's possible that you have this body with that kind of culinary discipline. It's not logical. You shouldn't be so firm here, so gentle there..."
I slowly examined her from head to toe, her mouth still half full. My eyes lingered on her slim waist, on the curve of her hips. On her breasts, small but arrogant, as if they defied gravity. And then her face. That full and tense mouth. Her gaze that wanted to hide everything it was screaming.
I leaned slightly forward. And I continued, my tone lower. — "You have this mouth that drives me crazy, you know ? It seems like it's made for nibbling, for provoking... but I can't help but think of something else when I look at it."
She finally turned her head towards me. And I looked her straight in the eyes, without hiding anything. My hand slowly descended onto my thigh. I placed my fingers on my still taut crotch. Still tense since the gym. And I gently caressed myself through the fabric.
Her gaze fell, despite herself.
And I smiled. A genuine smile, a bit mocking. And terribly lit up.
I bit my lip, deliberately. And without stopping the slow movement of my hand, I whispered:
— "Are you going to keep pretending nothing's happening, or are you going to admit that you want me to catch you on this countertop ?"
Chapter 14 — You His words slide over me like a slow burn. I am here, standing still, listening to him talk about my body, his desires, my clothes, my mouth... as if it were normal. As if everything that had been held between us for days finally had permission to come out.
But me... I can't. I must not.
I look away, but my breath betrays me. I'm getting wet. Again. My stomach twists, my heart pounds against my ribs. And he, he keeps touching himself through his jogging pants, calmly, as if he knew he had nothing left to lose.
I can't take it anymore. I finally murmur, my voice broken by fear and fever:
— "Yes... I want to. I look up at him. He stopped his gesture. Just for a moment. I continue. — I've been wet for you since the first day. I can't stop thinking about you. I imagined things that I don't even dare to tell you."
A silence. A heartbeat suspended in the air between us.
— "But I can't, Oli. I can't do it. Not as long as I work here. I'm scared."
He slightly furrows his brows, then straightens up. He doesn't interrupt me. He waits. So I continue. — "I'm afraid you'll use me. That you have fun with me once, twice... and then I'm just the girl you fucked in your kitchen. That you never look at me the same way again. Or worse... that you don't want me to be here anymore."
An even heavier silence descends upon us. I feel my voice trembling but I let it go. It's too late now. The dikes are broken.
And then he speaks.
— "Do you think I'm that kind of guy ? His voice is deep, slow. He no longer smiles. He stares straight into my eyes. — Do you think I would dangle all this in front of you, that I would open up like this, that I would expose myself to such ridicule... if it was just to fuck you ?"
I don't know what to say. He runs his hand through his hair, sighs softly.
— "Do you want to know how many times I've thought about you, to the point of having to deal with it all by myself ?"
I lower my eyes, blushing despite myself. And he continues, in a softer tone, but still heavy.
— "I thought of you in the shower. In my bed. While I was working on some pieces. Once even... » He smiles faintly. ...once, you were just behind that door. I could hear you. You thought you were alone. But you were moaning, you were touching yourself. And I was there, on the other side, unable to resist. So I did the same, I touched myself on the sound of you. Thinking about your fingers inside you and all the dirty thoughts you must have had that made you moan like that..."
I feel my legs slightly weaken.
He gets up. Slowly. Circumvents me, without touching me. He positions himself next to me. Not too close. Just enough for me to feel it.
— "You can say no to me. You can push me away. I'm not going to throw you out. I'm not going to stop loving you from a distance. He smiled, this time for real. — But I'm not going to apologize either. I feel what I feel. And I want you to know."
I look at him. This huge guy, covered in ink, with the gaze of a damaged child, with the smile of an unarmed demon.
And he says, in a lighter voice, like a delicately offered escape route :
"Tonight, I want to take you out to dinner. Just a real dinner. Without tension, without promise. You'll even have the right to ditch me here if you want. But I need to see you somewhere other than here."
I freeze for a second. Then I nod. A simple nod.
And in his gaze, a flash of silent relief.
Chapter 15 — Oli I saw her arrive in front of the restaurant and, without lying, I had trouble breathing for two seconds.
Not because she was dressed sexy — she was true to herself, discreet, simple... but damn. It suited her too well. Her hair barely up, her mouth that she bit without realizing it. And above all, that look : between curiosity, nervousness... and that fire I now knew how to read in her.
I stood up to welcome her. Not like a prince, but like a man who has waited for this moment more than he should have.
— "You're right on time, you're perfect. Are you Swiss or what ?" She smiled faintly. It was off to a good start.
The restaurant was a little gem hidden in Sheffield that I loved : dim lighting, amazing plant-based food, soft music. Nothing grandiose, just enough intimacy for her to forget we were still in the real world.
We ordered. I let her choose the wine; she had much better taste than I did for that kind of thing.
And very quickly, we started talking. No work, no cooking. Just about her, what she loves, what she hates, her childhood, her nonsense, her dreams. She spoke with that slightly sharp vivacity, that self-awareness that turned me inside out. And I was listening like a guy who wants to memorize a song that's too short.
Then, at the moment of the dish, I started to play. A foot against his. Light. Just a touch. She looked up, surprised. I raised my eyebrows, innocent.
And without warning, I slid my foot more firmly against hers, along her calf. She didn't back down. Not this time.
So I sighed, half-joking, half-serious : — "I must admit... I've thought about this dinner a ridiculous number of times. But strangely, now that you're here, I realize I don't want to jump on you. Well... not just that."
She laughed softly. And I continued, without stopping the little game under the table :
"I just want you to have a good time. That you know I don't want you to be just a fling. Even if... let's not kid ourselves. Since you moaned behind that door, I haven't stopped thinking about it."
She blushed. And I lowered my voice a bit, more intimate :
— "What were you thinking that night ? You were in your room, softly moaning... were you thinking of me ?"
She opened her mouth, hesitated. Did not respond. I smile. I liked that. This silence filled with tension.
I rest my elbow on the table, my chin on my hand, gently fixing it. — "I can tell you what I was thinking. I imagined having you against the wall, your thighs wrapped tightly around my waist. Your mouth open, trembling. And me whispering dirty things in your ear, while you try to keep control."
I see her shudder. I lower my eyes a bit, calmer:
— "But I'm not going to lie to you either. Even without the sex, you've messed up my head big time. I can't stop thinking about you. You're not like the others. And it gets on my nerves a bit.
I take a sip of wine. Then I look at her, more tenderly, almost vulnerably:
— "You know, I haven't always been clean. I've been through some rough stuff. Addiction, crises, depressions. I don't even always know who I am. But since you've been here... I want to do things right. With you. For you. Even if it means taking my time."
I'm still playing with her foot under the table. This time, she returns the gesture to me.
And in the comfortable silence that follows... I know we've crossed something.
Not a physical limit. A more dangerous stage : that of attachment.
Chapter 16 — Her The evening could have ended there. On this heated dinner, his sweet and provocative words, this increasingly difficult game of glances.
But no.
On the way back, he suggested spending a quiet moment in the living room, "to digest" he had said with a half-smile.
The living room was bathed in a soft light, with a few candles placed there, as if carelessly. He opened a bottle, rolled a little joint. We settled into the big, plush couch, one against the other, with music in the background — Massive Attack, Portishead, and other stuff I didn't know but that filled the air with a sensual tension. We were talking. Of music, of the past, of fears, of pleasures. Of everything. Of nothing. But always with that troubled intensity, that almost immodest closeness.
And he... kept making remarks. On my mouth, my legs crossed, on what my leggings revealed the day before. Double-edged phrases, spoken in a calm, almost tender tone. But everything within me vibrated beneath the surface.
There was no filter between us anymore. Only this suspended desire.
At one point, he rested his head on my lap, as if there was nothing more natural. His hair was soft. I stroked it without thinking. And then, looking down, I saw.
The bump. Obvious. Hard. Imposing under the fabric of his pants. My heart skipped a beat.
He murmured, without even looking up :
— "You have the right... if you want to. I can't pretend anymore."
I reached out my hand. Trembling. I placed it on him, over the fabric. His reaction was immediate. A hoarse sigh. And that immense body that was tensing.
He straightened up suddenly, his hands in my hair, his mouth against mine. A wild kiss. Hungry. I had no more bearings, only his tongue against mine, his fingers on my neck, his heat consuming me.
My hand continued to caress him through the fabric. He was so hard. And I felt so small, so feverish, under the effect of this uncontrollable desire.
His hand slid over my hip, gently moving up under my dress, until it reached the edge of my panties. And then... I backed off.
— "No." A breath. Almost a plea.
He froze immediately. He stepped back without forcing it. He fixed his gaze on mine, burning but respectful.
— "Alright, he said. Don't worry."
And in complete silence, he accompanied me to my outbuilding.
In front of my door, he turned towards me. Gently caressed my cheek with the tips of his fingers, with heart-wrenching tenderness. Then he placed a slower, deeper, almost painful kiss.
Finally, he whispered to me, his eyes dark and his voice grave:
— "Anyway, I didn't want to fuck high on the couch... That's not how I want to take you. I want to be sober. And smash you against the kitchen countertop. As you deserve."
And just before stepping back, he slid his large hands over my buttocks, slowly. A warm, possessive pressure. His fingers brushed against my crotch, grazing the already damp fabric. He sighed softly, as if holding back something immense.
Then he walked away, without another word.
I stayed there, trembling. My back against the door. My chest barely rising.
And my body on fire.
Chapter 17 — You The morning arrived like a gentle slap. I had slept a restless sleep, too crowded with his hands, his mouth, his words. Still numb, still sensitive, I put on a sweatshirt a bit too big, shorts a bit too short — without thinking, or maybe I did. My body was still vibrating from the evening. Of his rejected caresses. Of what he had murmured, like a promise.
When I entered the kitchen, he was already there. Sitting on the stool near the countertop, coffee in hand, hair still tousled. Wrinkled black t-shirt, sports shorts. Barefoot. And those eyes.
He looked at me as if I were sin incarnate.
Not a word. Just this silence saturated with what we hadn't done. Of what we still wanted to do.
I prepared his breakfast mechanically: a bowl of muesli, fresh fruits, plant-based milk. The kind of thing he loves and pretends to hate. I felt his gaze on my legs with every step. On my butt when I bent over. I did everything to stay normal. Pro. But inside, I was a blaze.
He started eating, taking big bites. Chewing slowly, almost obscenely, while looking at me without any shame. His leg stretched towards mine. Brushed against it. I felt a wave of heat rising up to my stomach.
— "Your shorts, he murmured between bites, are criminal." He looked up at me, serious. — "It doesn't leave much to the imagination, you know..."
I smiled, despite myself. But I didn't respond. I simply kept circling around the worktop.
— "I haven't stopped thinking about them, you know, your leggings from yesterday," he continued. A silence. — I've never seen a fabric fit an anatomy with such precision. It was... fascinating..." A small laugh without joy.
He was still chewing. Slowly. And I saw, under the table, his hand resting in the strategic spot of his shorts. He wasn't even hiding anymore.
— "You're as screwed as a trap, you know that ? His voice became rougher. — You have endless legs, a cheeky little ass, breasts just the way I like them. And your mouth... damn..."
He slid his hand between his thighs. He started to caress himself gently through the fabric, all while continuing to stare at me.
— Do you know what I was imagining this morning ? I didn't say anything. But my breath got stuck.
He bit his lower lip, his fingers moving a little more, still hidden under the table, but not really anymore.
— "I imagined you on your back, on that countertop. There. He pointed to the marble with his free hand. — Your shorts pulled to the side. Your mouth open, your neck offered. And me... me who can barely hold back."
A thick silence. I didn't dare breathe anymore. My heart was beating so hard that I felt it was going to betray me.
— "And the worst part, he added, is that I could do it now. He stood up slowly, approached. — But I want you to want it. I want you to beg for it. He leaned towards me, without touching me. — And I feel it coming, slowly... that you're losing yourself in it."
He took a step back. Took a sip of his coffee. Then he smiled. A slow, carnivorous smile.
— "Come on, chef, get back to your tasks... I'm going to take a cold shower. Another one."
And he just walked out like that. Leaving me alone with the fire in my belly, the heart in my throat, and this irrepressible urge for him to come back. And may he keep his word.
Chapter 18 – Oli I slammed the bathroom door a bit too hard.
Not out of anger. Out of physical despair. Brutal. Instinctive. I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was tense, my cheeks red, my pupils dilated as if I had taken something. But I hadn't taken anything. Nothing but her.
I pulled my t-shirt back over my head with a quick motion. I lowered my shorts, which barely stayed up with what I was hiding underneath. The water was already running, too hot. I needed it. I slipped in the shower stall and let the burn wake me up.
But that didn't calm anything down. Nothing at all.
I saw her again, in that damn shorts. The same one that, since this morning, has been etched in my retina like a cursed image. Her endless legs. Her slender hips. And that little bulge that the fabric hinted at, like a direct provocation. Like an invitation.
I closed my eyes, pressed my forehead against the cold wall, and sighed heavily. It was useless to resist.
My hand slowly descended towards my lower abdomen. I was already hard. So hard that it almost hurt.
I spat into my palm, as often, and I began to caress myself under the scalding water, slowly at first. I thought about her... but not the wise, silent, professional version. No. To the one I saw last night. Who moans alone in her bed. Who touches themselves thinking of me.
I remembered his little sounds through the door. Of his ragged breathing. From my own breath when I realized it wasn't a refusal, the day before. It was fire. Waiting. Fear perhaps, but also desire.
I squeezed harder. My hand moved quickly. I needed to feel her there, perhaps on her knees, hands tied behind my back, her eyes locked onto mine while I relieved myself in her throat. I imagined her struggling against the size of what I was offering her. Stick out her tongue, choke a little. Come back, insistent. Addictive. I imagined her climbing onto the countertop and opening her legs to me as if it were an order.
My other hand pressed against the wall. My hips began to move on their own, into the void. It was dirty. It was too much. But it was her.
And it was then, thinking of her watching me give myself pleasure without touching, legs wide open, that a shiver ran down my back. I groaned. A deep, uncontrolled sound.
And I came hard. In my hand. Against the wall. The breath is ragged. The burning forehead.
I stayed there for a moment, motionless, the water flowing over me like a punishment. I still hadn't calmed anything down.
Because it's not just his body that I want. It's his abandonment.
And I know I will have it. Soon.
Chapter 19 – You
I hear him singing in the shower, just a few notes. Muffled. But it's there. His voice. She slips under my skin.
I am in the kitchen. I am cutting fruits, preparing homemade granola like every morning. I try to stay focused, to think about the textures, the flavors, the rhythm I like to give to my movements. But my mind is elsewhere. Still on the couch from last night. His head on my thighs. My hand in her hair.
I remember the heat under my fingers. Of his breath when I brushed against him there, over his pants. Tension in his kiss. And from his look when I stopped him.
He didn't insist. He didn't grumble, complain, or beg. He brought me back to my room as if I were something precious.
And yet... before leaving me, his words hung suspended at my hips. His fingers on my skin.
I am on fire. Since yesterday. And since this morning.
Everything I do seems to be influenced by him. When I turn the pepper in my hand, I think of his fingers around his sex, the night I heard him. When I fill the blender, I imagine its mouth open, its teeth against my skin. I hate myself a little for being so obsessed.
But I especially hate myself for not being able to desire otherwise. Healthier. Because what I want is not just to sleep with him. It's that he takes me. That he keeps me. Let him keep me for himself.
He enters the room, torso covered by a black t-shirt, hair still wet. He doesn't say anything at first. He looks at me. He slowly sits down at the table, back against the backrest, legs apart.
My stomach tightens.
— "It smells good", he murmurs. I don't know if he's talking about the granola... or me.
I hand him his bowl without looking at him. I'm trying to stay professional, like at the beginning. But I can't do it anymore. I feel his eyes on my back. On my hips. On my thighs.
— "Do you sleep well, in the dependency ?" he asks in a calm, almost gentle tone. I nod my head.
— "Better than me, I bet. I wake up with... images in my head. Rather intense."
I freeze for a moment, my hand on the cutlery drawer. Then I laugh softly. To save face. To stay in control.
But I know he sees right through me.
I'm screwed because of him. And he knows it.
Chapter 20 – Oli She gets into the car without a word. Just a look. And that look, damn it. I could dive into it until I drown.
I pretended to need a hand to pick up a package. Nothing urgent, obviously. Just an excuse. I wanted to have her there. Near me. Without walls. Without a kitchen. Just her and me in this rolling bubble.
She is getting attached. I'm starting.
At first, we talk about everything and nothing. She maintains her neutral tone, as she knows so well how to do. But me... I feel every inch of her bare thigh under this too-short shorts. She has legs to damn a man who's already doomed.
I take a look. I see her tanned, firm, smooth skin. And especially, that little hollow between the seam of the shorts and the beginning of her thigh. My weak point.
I place my hand on my own thigh first. I stretch. I let my arm drop. Then I let my fingers brush against hers. Barely.
She says nothing. So I continue.
I take a turn slowly. My hand slides a little higher. She tenses up, but she doesn't push away. I know she feels everything. The burning leather, my warm palm, the engine vibrating between us.
— "You shouldn't dress like that when you know I'm taking you", I say without looking at her.
I see her mouth tighten. I feel that she is torn between fleeing... or staying.
— "You were the one who asked me to come, Oli. Not planned for you to become touchy", she adds.
But his voice trembles a little. And I notice it.
I keep my eyes on the road, but my hand, it stays put. My fingers draw a slow circle on the inside of her thigh. Then another, higher up.
— "Do you remember the leggings from the other day ? She doesn't answer. — I dreamed about it. I remember it even better than your dress tonight."
I turn my head a little. She blushed. She pinches her lips to avoid smiling. Or to avoid sighing.
— "I want you," I say. My voice is more hoarse than expected.
Silence. My hand moves up a notch. I feel his warmth through the fabric. I'm not going any further. Not without his green light.
— "I heard you the other night. I know you wanted it too. I feel his breath catch. — You were magnificent. You can't even imagine what it did to me."
She finally looks at me. Her eyes are wide open, but not angry. Not scared. Just... troubled. Excited.
— "What are you playing, Oli? — To nothing at all. I don't feel like playing anymore."
I pull over to the side of the road. I turn off the engine. I turn towards her. Slowly. And I talk to him as if I were on the verge of biting :
— "Just tell me you don't feel like it. And I'll stop. I won't say anything more."
She says nothing.
And that silence, it was all I needed.
I don't kiss her. Not yet. I want this moment to remain suspended. That it sticks to her skin.
So I slide my fingers up her thigh, a little harder, a little higher. I look at her. She squeezes her legs. I smile.
And I hit the road again, as if nothing had happened. But she knows. And I know. At some point... it will crack.
Chapter 21 — Oli I brought her back in silence. She hasn't said a word since the car. Just that look. She knew. I knew.
When she goes through the door, I stay behind her. She walks towards the kitchen without thinking, mechanically, as if it were a refuge. Or a scene.
Perfect.
She places her bag on the countertop, and that's when I step forward. I'm right behind. She feels my warmth. My breath. She doesn't move.
— "You hadn't forgotten, had you ?" I murmur.
She turns her head slightly, without looking directly at me. She is almost trembling. But she doesn't run away. And that's all I need.
I run a hand through his hair, gently. Then I force her to turn towards me.
She is here. So beautiful. Feverish. Devouring.
I don't speak anymore.
I grab her by the waist and lift her effortlessly. I place her on the countertop, where I had promised her. Her breath catches. She widens her eyes, surprised. Maybe shocked. Maybe excited.
I press my forehead against hers.
— "Do you remember what I said ? That I wanted to be sober. That I wanted you to remember it for real."
She nods slowly. Her hands rest on my shoulders, light, hesitant.
— "Do you think I'm going to fuck you like a conquest? Do you think I'm going to take you half asleep, between two ego shots or two glasses of whiskey ?"
I move even closer. My pelvis against her thighs. She feels everything. I am as tough as stone. And she knows it.
— "No. I want you to be mine. Completely. I take a break. — And now, you're mine."
I kiss her. Not a tender kiss.
A kiss of hunger.
Her hands grip my neck. I feel her body tense, arch, searching for me. She returns this kiss with as much intensity as I give her.
My hands slide over her hips. I press her against me. I rage at feeling her through the layers of clothing. So I gently bite her lip, release it, then slide my lips against her ear.
— "You have no idea how many times I've thought about this. You. Here. Your thighs around my hips. Your moans in this room."
She moans. Just a little. And that's it. My mouth comes back to find hers, and my hands go down.
She lets me do it.
That's where everything changes.
Chapter 22 – Final [You]
When his hands pinned me against the countertop, I knew. He was no longer going to back down. And neither was I.
I was no longer his chef. I was no longer a woman in control. I was his.
I spread my thighs without thinking, pulled his shirt out of his pants, and threw it somewhere behind me. And this body. This fucking body.
All tattooed, immense, taut with desire. His muscles were twitching. His skin burned. And his gaze... his gaze.
— "You have no idea what you've just started..." he whispered against my throat.
[Oli]
She scratched my shoulders. She dug her nails into me as if to anchor me, to say : stay here, now, forever.
And damn, I was going to stay.
— "I thought about you every night. I wanted to fuck you in every room of this house. But I didn't just want your body. I wanted you to want me too. Like a madman."
She looked at me, breathless, her lips red and swollen from kisses.
— "I want you, Oli. Whole. Dirty. Dark. For me."
I lifted her and laid her on the cold marble. Her arched back, her legs around my hips, her hands tugging at my belt.
I leaned down, I kissed every inch of her skin. Her throat, her breasts, her belly taut with desire.
[You]
He devoured me as if he had been starving for me for years. And I was ready to give him everything.
I guided him with my gaze, slid my hands into his hair, pressed his mouth between my thighs. He looked at me from over there, his eyes shining, insolent, devouring.
— "Don't move. I'm going to make you beg."
And that's what he did.
His tongue, his mouth, his nose — all belonged to me. He licked me like a man kneeling before a soiled goddess. I was moaning loudly. I was no longer holding anything back. I wanted him to hear me. That he would leave a mark on me. That he felt I was no longer just his.
[Oli]
— "You want to come in my mouth, huh ?" I groaned. Then do it. Dirty me. I want your taste on my tongue for the rest of my life."
And she screamed. Loudly. Her legs tightened around my skull, and I almost came just by hearing her.
But I hadn't finished yet.
I straightened up, my mouth glistening with her pleasure. And I looked at her, naked on my countertop, drop-dead gorgeous.
— "Do you know what you are now ? She nodded. — Say it.
— I'm yours."
I penetrated her in one go. Brutal. Total.
She screamed, surprised, but she clung to me as if she had been waiting for this her whole life.
[You]
He was so big. So deep. He filled me like no man ever had. And he looked at me as if I were the answer to all his demons.
— "Do you want me like this ? — Yes... — So take everything. You deserved it."
I scratched his back. I kissed him with all my might. I rode him until he trembled.
I told him raw things. Promises of submission, fidelity, twisted passion.
And he said :
— "Do you think it's just sex ? Do you think I'm going to let you get away after that ?"
He turned me around. He took me standing, facing the wall. His hand in my hair. His breath in my ear.
— "Do you want people to call you Chef ?
— No...
— You want them to say you're my thing, is that it?"
— Yes. Your thing."
And he came. Loudly. In me.
[Oli]
I've never felt this before. Not just pleasure. Something more. Something absolute.
She was mine. And I was hers. Body, mind, pain, madness.
I took her in my arms, against me. I kissed her more tenderly.
And I whispered :
— "It's you. It was you from the beginning. I want you to stay. I want you to be mine. Every day. Not just on the cold marble.
And she whispered to me, against my throat :
— I am already yours."
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
