that made her smile. She lowered herself gently and then squeezed him with her cunt before moving her hips in a sweeping motion like she was dancing. His hands fisted in the sheets before roaming up to find her hips and hold her tight. Not too tight – he didn’t try to guide her. He simply moved up just a hair every time she sank down on him.
So she got that punch of penetration. That rush of power and pleasure.
Jill arched over him, hovered there, letting the tail ends of her long hair brush his belly and his chest. Tickle his face and his shoulders. He made a soft sound that was almost a word but not quite.
She nudged herself repeatedly along the base of him, grinding her clit to the muscle and bone of his pelvis and when she came she just said, ‘Oh, Cole’ like a prayer.
‘Shit,’ he groaned. The tension and the need plainly audible in his voice. His hands came up to grip the ends of her hair in his fists. He held the twin hanks in his fists and tugged her. Now he was aggressive. Now he was ready to take.
And that was fine.
She spread her legs just a bit wider, the heat of her inner thighs kissing the taut length of his outer thighs. She rocked in short little blips until he was driving up under her, anchoring her to him with the twin coils of hair he’d wrapped around his hands.
‘Chef Calvert.’ His voice all rough edged and raw. He tried to grin at her, at his choice of words. But his eyes told a different story and that story made her throat close up a little with unsaid words.
I love you …
Where the hell had that come from? And why now? Why now of all times?
He didn’t speak and she didn’t speak. She simply leaned all the way over him and as he grew soft, his cock pulled from her. But she stayed put, his arms banded around her, her head listening to the slowing gallop of his heart.
‘Big day tomorrow,’ he said, smoothing her hair along the length of her now bare back. ‘We should sleep.’
‘I know. Good luck. I’m rooting for you,’ she said and yawned.
She really was rooting for him. Which was a mind blowing realisation but nevertheless felt right. Good.
‘Hey, we all know you’ll win. And that’s how it should be,’ he said. But she was almost asleep so any hope of responding was lost.
Chapter Eight
IT WAS THREE IN the morning. At first she had no clue where she was. Jill rolled to find him behind her, almost spooning her but not quite, and the thrill of feeling him there was too big to even contemplate. So she didn’t.
Jill sat up and eyed the room. The TV had been clicked off and the lights were off too. He’d left the bathroom light on and the door cracked, most likely for her, so she’d be able to get her bearings.
Cole reached for her, despite clearly being deep in sleep, and when he found her thigh under the covers, he rested his hand there. Jill smiled at him.
He really was a good man. He’d lost so much. He was doing this to prove something to himself about himself. She was simply doing this as a big grandiose effort to lick her wounds and save face.
Tom had done the dirty job of ripping her off. He had made them and her restaurant look bad. And it occurred to her that she was continually punishing herself for her sous chef’s bad deeds. Her regulars had returned to her immediately after the news story broke regarding the crime that had been done to her – for if you got down to nuts and bolts, that was what it was. He’d ripped her off. So what the hell was she trying to prove?
But Cole … lost a marriage, lost a restaurant … lost himself in alcohol. And he’d made it all right. Pulled himself out of it and now, it was just the two of them left in Best Chef. And if anyone deserved it, he did. So why was she battling him for real? It should be him and they both knew it.
You could just … throw it.
She could. She could just not try very hard. Or mess up intentionally. Then he’d be the winner and it would all be OK. A good man would
So she got that punch of penetration. That rush of power and pleasure.
Jill arched over him, hovered there, letting the tail ends of her long hair brush his belly and his chest. Tickle his face and his shoulders. He made a soft sound that was almost a word but not quite.
She nudged herself repeatedly along the base of him, grinding her clit to the muscle and bone of his pelvis and when she came she just said, ‘Oh, Cole’ like a prayer.
‘Shit,’ he groaned. The tension and the need plainly audible in his voice. His hands came up to grip the ends of her hair in his fists. He held the twin hanks in his fists and tugged her. Now he was aggressive. Now he was ready to take.
And that was fine.
She spread her legs just a bit wider, the heat of her inner thighs kissing the taut length of his outer thighs. She rocked in short little blips until he was driving up under her, anchoring her to him with the twin coils of hair he’d wrapped around his hands.
‘Chef Calvert.’ His voice all rough edged and raw. He tried to grin at her, at his choice of words. But his eyes told a different story and that story made her throat close up a little with unsaid words.
I love you …
Where the hell had that come from? And why now? Why now of all times?
He didn’t speak and she didn’t speak. She simply leaned all the way over him and as he grew soft, his cock pulled from her. But she stayed put, his arms banded around her, her head listening to the slowing gallop of his heart.
‘Big day tomorrow,’ he said, smoothing her hair along the length of her now bare back. ‘We should sleep.’
‘I know. Good luck. I’m rooting for you,’ she said and yawned.
She really was rooting for him. Which was a mind blowing realisation but nevertheless felt right. Good.
‘Hey, we all know you’ll win. And that’s how it should be,’ he said. But she was almost asleep so any hope of responding was lost.
Chapter Eight
IT WAS THREE IN the morning. At first she had no clue where she was. Jill rolled to find him behind her, almost spooning her but not quite, and the thrill of feeling him there was too big to even contemplate. So she didn’t.
Jill sat up and eyed the room. The TV had been clicked off and the lights were off too. He’d left the bathroom light on and the door cracked, most likely for her, so she’d be able to get her bearings.
Cole reached for her, despite clearly being deep in sleep, and when he found her thigh under the covers, he rested his hand there. Jill smiled at him.
He really was a good man. He’d lost so much. He was doing this to prove something to himself about himself. She was simply doing this as a big grandiose effort to lick her wounds and save face.
Tom had done the dirty job of ripping her off. He had made them and her restaurant look bad. And it occurred to her that she was continually punishing herself for her sous chef’s bad deeds. Her regulars had returned to her immediately after the news story broke regarding the crime that had been done to her – for if you got down to nuts and bolts, that was what it was. He’d ripped her off. So what the hell was she trying to prove?
But Cole … lost a marriage, lost a restaurant … lost himself in alcohol. And he’d made it all right. Pulled himself out of it and now, it was just the two of them left in Best Chef. And if anyone deserved it, he did. So why was she battling him for real? It should be him and they both knew it.
You could just … throw it.
She could. She could just not try very hard. Or mess up intentionally. Then he’d be the winner and it would all be OK. A good man would
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