Page 32 of Burning Rivalry

It was now or never. I waited until I was sure he was looking, then stood with my purse in hand. After holding his gaze for a beat, I headed through the doors at the back of the theater and followed the signs directing visitors to the nearby restrooms. My knees were shaking by the time I ducked inside the ladies’ room, and my heart threatened to explode, but I kept going because there was nothing I had ever wanted more. Not a Michelin Star, not the title of America’s Best Baker. The memory of Sebastian’s hand stroking my knee was burned into my mind and refused to let me go.

But this? Sneaking off for a quickie? What was I doing? No, I didn’t want to think about it. I wasn’t going to make that mistake. I was going to act on my impulses. I was going to do it for me, not with my future goals in mind or any fear from the past holding me back. I was going to live in the moment again.

He didn’t keep me waiting long, knocking softly at the door. I swung it open and pulled him inside. There was disbelieving laughter in his voice when he asked, “That’s all it takes to get you going? A near-death experience?”

The thing was, yes, that was exactly what it had taken to make things abundantly clear. “You talk too much,” I whispered, boosting myself onto the marble countertop beside the sink. Hiking my sundress up around my thighs got the point across, convincing him this was no joke, and a brief smile flashed across his face before he almost crashed against me.

This time, though, he pulled me down from the counter and turned me in place, bending me over it instead. I had the pleasure of watching him in the mirror, his face contorted by lust when just moments ago, he was laughing. His hot, greedy hands ran up my thighs, taking the dress with them until it was up around my waist. His caress was white-hot, yet it made me shiver with every stroke of his fingers over my ass.

“If I touch this pussy…” he whispered, meeting my gaze in the mirror, “… would it be wet? Hot and wet and excited?”

“God, yes,” I whispered, arching my back, thrusting my ass into the air. It was true. Going on that ride had done something to me, something that needed to be capitalized on.

When he pulled my thong aside and dipped his fingers between my swollen, shaved lips, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from shouting my approval. His hand covered my mouth, muffling what I couldn’t hold back while he rubbed me with a quick, skilled rhythm that left me grinding against his fingers, desperately searching for release. I had never known a thrill like this. In public, where anybody could find us together, where they could walk in and witness him taking control of me. Control I so happily handed over.

“Filthy girl,” he grunted, working his fingers inside me, strumming my clit with his thumb. My teeth sank into his finger, and he hissed before chuckling. “Hurt me,” he invited, fucking me with two thick digits until I couldn’t think or breathe and could do nothing but shatter in helpless abandon.

“Oh, good girl,” he growled, working me slowly now, dragging it out before withdrawing his fingers. Fingers which he then held to my mouth while he took his hand away. “Taste yourself. Taste what I’ve tasted.”

There was something profane about it—dirty—which could have been why I liked it so much. I extended my tongue, dragged it over his wet fingers, picking up my essence. Looking at his reflection, I saw longing etched in every line of his face in the way his gray eyes narrowed as he watched and the breaths that came through parted lips.

“Fuck me, please,” I begged, spreading my legs wider, pushing back against him. He had to before somebody found us. My heart raced, and fresh wetness leaked from me while I waited for him to get ready with a condom.

Thank God he covered my mouth again before impaling me, or else we would have been in trouble. As it was, there was no being silent, not in the face of the almost unbearable pleasure of having him inside me, moving hard, fast, grinding his teeth as he took me like an animal. So deep, so hard, rocking me back and forth in a quickening rhythm that made it impossible to do anything but give myself over to sheer, primal lust.

“Fuck… Claudia… tight…” he whispered, rutting now, losing his rhythm entirely. I didn’t care. I liked it. Watching him take me hard and fast, my pleasure doubling, tripling, leaving me pushing back against his strokes until we both went stiff. Still.

Then it broke, leaving me shuddering while he leaned against me for support. Incredible. Unreal.

But it was very real, wasn’t it? The proof was in every flutter of my pussy as my orgasm faded, the lingering taste of my juices on my tongue, and in the wicked light gleaming in Sebastian’s eyes. “Remind me to take you on the Bigshot next time,” he whispered, zipping his fly, washing his hands while wearing a sly grin. “And now, back to the show. Give me a minute before you follow.”

The thing was, I wouldn’t have minded going on the Bigshot with him or on any other thrill ride. I wouldn’t have minded experiencing the thrill of fucking like mad in a public restroom again, either. Not when the aftermath was so damn good.

Unexpected, inexplicable, but so good.

It seemed Sebastian Kennedy was determined to teach me all sorts of things about myself.

13

SEBASTIAN

The poached eggs I’d finished moments ago churned in my stomach, a sensation that left me wishing Grayson had presented his intel prior to our breakfast. I wouldn’t have been able to swallow a bite once sheer, flaming rage lodged itself in my throat. My friends, seated around the table, waited silently for once as I reviewed the information his contacts had compiled on the saboteur fucking with my life.

“Are you sure about this?” Not that I doubted Grayson’s expertise. He knew what he was doing, and he made a damn good living doing it. Years worth of high-paying clients couldn’t be wrong. Still, the information he’d placed in front of me was alarming, and I wanted to be sure before I made a move.

“I’m going to try to not be insulted by that.” He was grinning, though, and finally nodded in acknowledgment of my question. “Absolutely. That’s Marissa Cortez, your new assistant pastry chef. She worked for Kristoff Darden for four years. He put her through culinary school. According to the guys I had tailing him, they discussed their next steps while they were out together. She’s his girl on the inside, a plant. This motherfucker has been after you for a while now.”

Kristoff. I’d gone so long without thinking about him, without so much as considering him. Why would I? He wasn’t my competition. I had no real competition.

Clearly, he felt differently. “So what’s the story with this guy?” Aiden asked, glancing around the table like he wanted to be sure he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t remember where the bad blood between us had started.

“It all went down long ago before I met any of you,” I explained, flipping through photos of Kristoff and the girl we had recently hired as a pastry assistant at the new location. I had observed Claudia and Stella chatting with her during the group activity a few days ago. I’d even noticed Lucas giving her a little extra attention. At the time, I was glad since it meant he had given up on Claudia.

The guy just couldn’t catch a break since it seemed the girl was already taken. “These photos were shot recently?” I confirmed.

“Two days ago,” he replied before lifting an eyebrow at Vaughn. “At Eastman Casino, of all places.”

Kristoff and Marissa had canoodled quite a bit at Vaughn’s casino. He growled while reviewing a couple of the pictures taken while they’d gambled at his tables. “Oh, disgusting,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m all about keeping the doors open to anyone looking for a good time and willing to spend money on it, but he’s not welcome anymore. Fuck this guy.”