Stress Relief for the Two-Star Chef
Their hot cocoas are now cold and forgotten on the coffee table, her jeans are discarded on the floor, and Sydney’s lying on this crappy couch, with her legs wide open, one foot on the ground, the other propped up on the cushions. And Carmy’s sitting there, in this most private space between her thighs, with his hand on her knee, thumb gently brushing her skin. And despite his very visible bulge in his jeans, and despite the fact that she has only her socks and panties on her lower body, like a gentleman, he keeps his bright blue eyes strictly on her face, taking her breath away. Oh fuck. —Chapter 2: Helping Hands and Lips













