HOLY shit, girl. U’ve hit the hookup lottery. Enjoy the condoms!
Tessa was still laughing when Van came through the doorway. He smiled. “What’s so funny?”
“My friend approves of you.”
He gave her a roguish grin. “I’m charming that way.”
“And she thinks you’re hot,” she said matter-of-factly. “That goes a long way with Sam.”
He laughed, not bothering to deflect the assessment of his hotness, and crossed his arms. “And what do you think?”
She lifted her chin, jaunty. “I think I don’t like cocky guys.”
He stepped in front of her chair and braced his hands on the table behind her, caging her in. His expression held playful challenge when he leaned in her space. “Liar.”
She raised her eyebrows. “How would you know?”
“Because you didn’t wait a whole year only to waste a night with some guy who’s unsure of himself.” He put his lips next to her ear, his voice turning dark and ripe with promise. “I may be cocky, but I’m not going to fumble around. I’m not going to lie back and wait for you to take the lead. I’m going to feed you the best meal of your life. Bite by bite. Then I’m going to fuck you. And I promise, when you wake up tomorrow, you won’t remember the food.”
THREE
Sweet baby Jesus. Tessa had no idea what to say to Van’s illicit promise, so she didn’t even attempt to respond. But she could feel heat traveling through her like an electric current, turning on switches she didn’t even know existed. She closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath, but that only made it worse because she got a lungful of his spicy scent.
Van pushed off the table he’d braced his hands on and straightened. “Still want to have dinner with me?”
She lifted her gaze to him. He’d made his intentions clear, and he was giving her an out. This was her chance to go back to the safety of her apartment where there would be no handsome strangers making her feel vulnerable and off-balance, where there would be no risk of her embarrassing herself, and no dreaded walk of shame to face in the morning. But as she stared back at him, she knew she’d suffer one thing if she walked away now. Regret.
Because no man had ever caused such a visceral response in her or inspired such primal need. And she knew instinctively that he wasn’t writing checks he couldn’t sign. He was promising her the sex of her life, and she had no doubt he could provide it. And maybe it was base and wanton to simply want this man to take her over and use her for their mutual pleasure, but dammit, she couldn’t think of anything she needed more right now than to let go like that.
“I’m very hungry,” she said finally.
His eyes lit with satisfaction. “Well, far be it from me to deny you a meal.” He extended his hand. “Come on, I still owe you a little Cooking 101 lesson.”
She took his hand and let him lead her to the stove, feeling as if she’d crossed some portal she couldn’t walk back through, like if she turned around now, there’d only be mirrored glass to tap. They both knew what tonight was about now. No pretenses. But apparently, he was still going to hold to his promise of teaching her how to cook. He grabbed a bottle of olive oil and a bowl of what looked to be nuts and set them on the tiled counter. He picked up one of the nuts and lifted it to her lips. Dutifully, she opened her mouth and let him slide it in. He took his time pulling his fingers back, letting them casually brush her lips.
“These are blanched almonds,” he explained, his tone soft in the quiet night. “They won’t have much flavor yet since we haven’t toasted or salted them. But I want you to get an idea of what they taste like before. It’s an important step. Taste your ingredients and your cooking throughout the process so you can adjust seasonings as you go.”
She crunched the mostly tasteless almond and swallowed, trying to concentrate on the lesson and not the way his deep voice was seeping inside her and dialing up her internal thermostat. Focus. “Why are they blanched?”
“It provides a better surface for the seasonings and they look nicer in a bowl. We serve these on every table with the manchego.” He turned on the burner beneath a small skillet on the stove then handed her the bottle of olive oil. “We’ll need about three tablespoons of oil.”
She scanned the utensils on the counter. “I need a measuring spoon.”
He smiled. “Don’t have any of those up here, but it doesn’t have to be perfect. Cooking is a lot about feel and developing your instincts. Trusting yourself. A tablespoon is roughly one swirl around the pan. Do three of those.”
Though she was a little nervous she’d somehow manage to screw up the simplest of recipes, she followed his instructions and poured the oil into the pan. “Is that enough?”
“Yep, now wait for the oil to shimmer a little and then you can dump the almonds in. Extra virgin olive oil has a low smoke point. It can burn or catch fire quicker than other oils, so don’t use it on too high of a heat and put your ingredients in before it starts smoking.”
She felt like she was the one with the low smoke point. A few more touches and heated glances from him and she was sure she’d catch flame, too.
When the oil started to glisten and slide easily around the pan, he gave her a little nod, and she poured the almonds in. He stepped behind her, put a hand to her waist, and reached around to give the nuts a quick stir with a wooden spoon to coat them. The smell of fruity olive oil filled her nose, but all she could think about was Van pressed against her back. He was so much bigger than she was—not in the bulky way like Doug had been—but tall and lean and honed. It made her feel petite and feminine in his hold.
She swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat. “Now what?”
“Now we wait for them to get fragrant and golden.” He set the spoon down and turned her around in his arms, shifting the two of them away from the hot stove. “And we taste.”
He picked up the olive oil again and drizzled some on his fingers. She watched in fascination as some dripped to the ground like green-gold raindrops.
“People usually think of Italy for olive oil, but Spain produces some of the finest stuff out there. Good enough to sip like wine.” He lifted his hand to her mouth then ran slick fingers over her lips. “Or to kiss off of a beautiful woman.”
Before she had time to react, he lowered his head and captured her mouth in a slow, coaxing kiss. The fruity oil slid over their lips and mixed with the lingering flavor of sangria and something distinctly him. Her hands went to his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt. His lips were even more decadent than she’d imagined—soft and sexy and commanding. A vivid appetizer to what she suspected was going to be a very lavish meal. And it’d been so long since she’d been kissed—even longer since it’d been done with passion—that she found it hard to control her starved response. She craved more, needed it.
When he moved to pull back, she said his name like a plea.
Needing no further encouragement, he banded his arm around her waist as he kissed her again and backed her into the table without breaking their connection. Before she could lever herself upward, he lifted her onto the table and deepened the kiss. Their tongues touched and sparks seems to flare out along her nerve endings. She groaned into his mouth, overwhelmed by the all-encompassing response to such a simple act. Somehow Van had transported her back to her high-school days where everything was new and an openmouthed kiss was as erotic an experience as she could imagine.
She slid her arms around his neck and gave herself over completely, opening to him and surrendering to the moment. When he laid her back onto the table and unfastened the top button of her blouse, she was too far gone to worry about anything. She didn’t care that they were out in the open and anyone could walk in. She didn’t care that they were outdoors and only protected from the view of people on the street by a row of potted trees. And she forgot to worry whether or not she was in o
ver her head.
Van finally broke the kiss to drag in a breath and worked a few more buttons to get her shirt fully open. His gaze traced over her simple lace bra with ravenous heat. “We’re going to burn the almonds.”
“I don’t care,” she said, slipping her shirt off.
With one swift movement, he reached over and turned off the burner, then he was back over her, holding the bottle of olive oil above her. “Take off your bra, Contessa. I need to taste you.”
She did as she was told with fumbling fingers and tossed the scrap of fabric aside. As soon as she lay back against the table, the drizzle of oil hit her skin, sliding over her nipples and down her belly. She closed her eyes and moaned softly, the sensual feel of the liquid against her conjuring images of Van taking himself in his hand and marking her skin with his release.
His hands trailed up and over her ribs, bringing oil with it, then he cupped her breasts, sliding his fingers over slippery skin and making her arch with need. He pinched her nipple between lubricated fingers. The desperate sound she made bordered on embarrassing. “Van, please.”
He let out a soft curse. “Baby, I want to take my time with you. But God, I can feel how near the edge you are already, and it’s driving me to the brink. I’ll never make it through a meal.”
“That makes two of us.”
He groaned and bent over her, taking her nipple in his mouth. The combination of the warming oil and his talented tongue had her back bowing up. Lord, she’d forgotten how lovely foreplay could be. Doug had been all about the end game, convinced that because he was well-endowed, that’d be enough for any woman. But size only went so far and getting to orgasm had always taken work on her part, a concerted effort. But right now, she felt like one stroke between her thighs and she’d go off.
His hand went to the hem of her skirt, slipping beneath it and gliding along her thigh with well-oiled fingers. She reached for him, her hands acting on their own volition, and gripped his thick hair, holding him against her breast and silently begging him to move his hand higher up her thigh.
He slipped free from her grip and lifted his head. “Just lie back, baby, and put your hands above your head. I’ll take care of you.”
She did as she was told and followed him with her eyes as he grabbed her blouse and wrapped it around her wrists. “What are you doing?”
“Exactly what I want,” he said simply, as if that were explanation enough. “I have a bit of a thing for control. You okay with that?”
A ripple of apprehension went through her. “I’m not sure. What do you mean?”
His lips curved. “Ever done anything kinky before, Contessa?”
She thought back to the time she’d bought risqué lingerie and a set of handcuffs to surprise Doug. He’d wrinkled his nose in disgust and told her to throw that crap out. “No.”
“How come?” he asked as he traced his fingers along the delicate skin of her forearms.
God, why the questions? Couldn’t they just get to it? She didn’t want to rehash those embarrassing memories.
“Because it’s for girls who try too hard,” she blurted, remembering how ridiculous Doug had made her feel as she stood there in that corset and heels. If I wanted to sleep with a cheap whore, I’d hire one, Tessa. Take that shit off.
Van came back into view, his eyes meeting hers, amusement touching his lips. “Is that right? Well, I hope I can change your mind on that one because you look very, very sexy stretched out and bound. But if you’re not on board, I’ll release your hands.”
Somehow the sincerity in his voice and the heated look on his face had her guards falling away. She found herself wanting to comply, wanting to be sexy for him. “It’s okay. I’ll try it.”
“Thank you.”
He leaned over and took her mouth in a languorous kiss, dipping his tongue deep and giving her another preview of just how skilled he was with his mouth. A moan caught in the back of her throat, and her hips lifted off the table involuntarily as need built low and fast. Lord, could she come from a kiss? Her body was begging for that to be true. It had been so long. But even though no orgasm came, by the time he pulled back, she was sure her muscles had liquefied and her bones had disintegrated.
He nipped her bottom lip. “Move your hands from this spot, and I’ll stop what I’m doing. Understand?”
She nodded quickly, ready to agree to anything if it meant he was going to touch her again. “Yes.”
The pleasure that flickered over his features at her acquiescence was its own reward. He walked back to the end of the table and gathered her skirt up her thighs, revealing her pink cotton panties—panties that were now damp and clinging. He ran the tip of his finger down her crease, rubbing the wet cotton against her most needy parts.
Oh, God.
“Look how pretty and wet you are for me already.” He outlined her clit with his fingertip using enough pressure to make her arch but not enough to send her over. “Do you need to come, baby?”
She gasped as his finger moved inside her, still covered with the fabric of her panties. The slight abrasiveness of the cotton only ratcheted up her sensitivity further. “God, yes.”
He moved his finger with gentle undulations. “It’s too bad that olive oil is bad for condoms. Otherwise, I could get you off with a few simple strokes of my hand.”
She whimpered. God, how could he tease her like this? Couldn’t he see she was about to lose it? She went to reach for him, but as soon as she moved her bound arms, he stopped the stimulation. She let out a sound of frustration. “Van, please.”
“Put your hands back where they’re supposed to be and maybe you’ll get what you want.”
The calmly uttered command almost undid her. She should’ve been rankled by his bossiness. He didn’t know her or have the right to order her to do anything. But for some reason, she found herself complying and burning even hotter.
When the backs of her hands landed on the table, Van yanked her panties down and off. “Good girl. Spread your knees for me.”
Feeling a blush work its way up her body at the vulnerability of her position, she did as she was told. Her eyes fixed on the vine-covered pergola above them and the twinkle lights, and she tried to breathe. If she didn’t calm down, she would come as soon as his mouth touched her skin and she wanted to enjoy this.
“So fucking sexy, baby,” Van said gruffly as he looked down at her. “I’ll take this as an amuse-bouche any day of the week. The food can wait.”
He locked his arms under her knees and pulled her to the end of the table, then lowered himself between her thighs. He draped her legs over his shoulders, and Tessa went liquid. That sinful mouth was against her in the next moment, and her entire body contracted with pleasure. His slid his hands under her bottom and lifted her closer, opening her with his tongue and kissing her pussy with the same single-minded focus he’d had with their kiss.
She writhed in his hold, her eyes wanting to roll back in her head at the sheer decadence of his tongue. But he wasn’t letting her wriggle away. Whether she could handle it or not, she knew he was going to get exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was for her to fall apart. This wasn’t a tentative warm up or prelude. It was an annihilation of her control. His slick hands kneaded her ass as he feasted on her, the rough handling stimulating hot spots she hadn’t even been aware were there. The whole combination was hurtling her toward oblivion without brakes.
Her fists curled into her palms, the binding around her wrists tightening as she flexed. And a sudden shot of nerves went through her. “Van, I’m going to come. People will hear.”
Because there was no way she was going to be able to keep quiet.
In the span of two seconds, Van lifted away from her and reached for something from one of the bowls behind her. “Open and bite down.”
Her eyes widened, but she
did what he said. He tucked a fat orange wedge between her lips, then was back in position like he’d never paused. His tongue glided over her center then he sucked her clit between his lips and tugged. She shattered. Her back lifted off the table and she bit down hard on the orange, the juice squirting into her mouth and dripping down the corners of her lips as she cried out. Van dug his fingers into her ass to hold her in place and his mouth dipped precariously lower, teasing a forbidden place that had never felt a man’s touch much less his tongue. Light broke behind her eyes, splintering into color, and she groaned low and deep.
Her orgasm climbed another step higher instead of relenting, and the orange fell from her mouth. She began to pant, trying to bank her noises, and her body shook with the force of a release that felt like it’d been building for months. “I can’t, I can’t . . .”
Van was over her before her next breath. He clamped his hand over her mouth, his eyes dark with desire. “Just let it have you, baby. I don’t give a damn who hears you. But I’ll help keep you quiet if you want me to.”
She nodded. He moved his hand away from her mouth and yanked his shirt tails from his pants, wiping the olive oil on it, then he pulled a foil packet from his back pocket. He ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth and undid his pants.
“Give me one more, beautiful. I know you have it in you.”
With that, he positioned himself at her entrance and pushed inside. A gasp escaped her, the feel of him stretching her an exquisite shock to her system. Her body resisted despite her slickness—the feeling almost foreign again. But the edge of discomfort was the most decadent kind of pain. She wrapped her legs around his hips, trying to open herself fully. She needed all of him. Right. Now.
“Lord, baby, you’re gripping me so hard,” he groaned. “Am I hurting you?”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “A good hurt.”
The wicked gleam that flared in his eyes had her thoughts emptying.
“Mmm, my favorite kind.” He rocked forward, his eyes closing as his fingers dug into her hips, and he buried himself deep. His body shuddered along with hers, the remnants of her orgasm still sending aftershocks through her. “Oh, fuck, yes. You’re so hot around me. I can feel your pussy trying to milk my cock.”