Page 32 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

11

RHETT

Iwatched her cab disappear into the Manhattan traffic. My hands were shoved deep in my pockets, the cool fall air cutting through my thin shirt, but I didn’t move from the sidewalk.

I should have asked her to stay on the team. The words had been right there on my tongue, but something held me back. It felt dangerous. I wasn’t worried about her calling me out in the kitchen again. Not really.

It was because I knew exactly what would happen if I kept her close for an entire month.

The heat was rising between us and one of us would get burned.

By the time I made it back to my penthouse, I was exhausted. The adrenaline crash from the evening’s chaos had left me hollow and restless. I poured myself a double scotch and stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was a creature of habit. It was part of my routine.

The tour was fucked without Conroy. I had backup chefs I could call, sure, but none of them knew my systems the way he did. None of them could read my moods and anticipate my needs before I voiced them. It would take weeks to train someone new to that level, and I only had a few days before our next event.

I drained the scotch and headed for my bedroom, stripping off my clothes and letting them fall where they dropped. The black satin sheets were cool against my overheated skin as I collapsed face-first into the pillows.

Sleep came faster than I expected.

I was back in the kitchen at La Tavola, but it was different somehow. Quieter. Empty except for the two of us. Clem stood at the appetizer station, her back to me, that ridiculous pink dress replaced by nothing but a black apron tied around her waist. Her perfect round ass was on full display. The bow from the apron strings was begging to be untied.

“Hot behind,” I murmured, moving closer until I could feel the heat radiating from her skin.

She glanced over her shoulder at me. Those green eyes were dark with want. “What do you need, Chef?”

The word sent fire straight to my cock. I pressed against her back, my hands tugging at the ties of her apron. “You know what I need.”

The apron fell away, pooling at her feet. She was perfect, all soft curves and smooth skin that begged to be touched. I ran my hands down her sides, feeling her shiver under my palms.

“Tell me what you want,” I growled against her ear.

“You,” she breathed. “I want you.”

I spun her around, lifting her onto the steel prep counter. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer. I could feel her wetness through the fabric of my pants, hot and ready.

“Please,” she whispered, her fingers working at my belt. “I need you inside me.”

I slipped my hand between her thighs and found her wet and wanting. She was definitely ready.

I pressed two fingers inside her. Her walls clenched around me as she gasped. Her head fell back against the stainless-steel backsplash, eyes fluttering closed as I worked her slowly.

“Look at me,” I commanded, my voice rough. “I want to see your face when you come for me.”

Those green eyes snapped open, locking onto mine. I could see everything I was feeling. Desire. White-hot passion. It was intoxicating. I added a third finger, stretching her, preparing her. She was so fucking wet I could hear the obscene sounds as I worked her higher.

“Rhett,” she whimpered, her hips rolling against my hand. “Please, I need⁠—”

“I know what you need,” I growled, curling my fingers to hit that spot that made her cry out. “But you’re going to take what I give you first.”

I could feel her getting close. Her breathing became ragged and her thighs trembled around my waist. I wanted to watch her fall apart completely before I buried myself inside her. I wanted to see that controlled composure shatter.

“Come for me,” I ordered, my thumb finding her clit and circling it with just the right pressure. “Let me feel you.”

I jerked awake, disoriented and achingly hard. My sheets were soaked with sweat, my cock throbbing. The remnants of the dream clung to me.

I sat up in my penthouse bedroom, running a hand through my hair and trying to shake off the lingering arousal that had followed me into wakefulness. I flopped back down on the pillow and tried to slip into the same erotic dream. If I couldn’t have the real thing, I wanted to dream it. I wanted to imagine what it was like to have her come in my arms. I really wanted to feel her tight sheath squeezing around me.

What the hell was wrong with me?