Camille raised an eyebrow at Jackson. “I beg your pardon?”
“Take off your dress and lay down on the table.”
The last customers had been long gone. The entire staff had left. Camille remained, alone with her new tempestuous chef, Jackson Cole. They’d had words on several occasions during the first services of the new restaurant.
During the last argument, he had leaned in, grabbed her by the neck and to her shock and altogether too pleased surprise, kissed her hard. Then he had growled in her ear.
“I will get my revenge. Count on it.”
He stood in front of her, towering at six foot five, broad shouldered, his arms crossed over his impressive chest. His eyes blazed and while he didn’t look mad – he looked dangerous.
“I told you there’d be payback.” He walked forward, trapping her between the table and his imposing form. “Now. Take. Your. Dress. Off.”
For some inexplicable reason, Camille lifted her hands to the buttons that ran down the front of her brand new, sleek and sexy royal blue dress. The one that matched the graphic in their logo, and the stripe on their china. One after another she slid them through the buttonholes until her dress gaped and her pristine white push-up was exposed.
Jackson swooped down. His hands clasped her around the waist and he buried his mouth between her breasts, nuzzling and kissing before taking a soft mouthful and biting.
“I’m hungry.” He then pulled her dress down her arms, and with a tug, yanked the remaining buttons off. Lifting her effortlessly, he picked her up and sat her down on the table. Swiping one arm across the table he pushed all the cutlery and plates to the floor with a crash.
“Quiet. I don’t like noise while I eat.”
None too gently, he pushed her backwards on the table, pulled her thong off and smiled down. Taking an ankle in each hand he spread her wide, and then looked up into her eyes.
“I’ve been planning on feasting on you for days. But I think we need a little something extra spicy here. Planting each foot, still clad in her heels, on one corner of the table, he pointed one finger at her. “Don’t move. Or I won’t let you come.”
Camille didn’t budge. She was suddenly breathless and the entire absurdity of the situation occurred to her but oddly, she just didn’t care. The sexual tension between her and Jackson had been ratcheting up every day that they worked – and clashed – together. Now he was just overwhelming her and while her common sense screamed at her that she was insane, this time, just this once in her life, she was going to take a walk on the wild side.
“Now this will be just right. Gonna tingle a little, but you know how I like my food hot and spicy.”
Then he bent over her and drizzled his specialty hot sauce right onto her. The liquid dripped through the moisture and instantly she began to feel the burn. She started to twitch, but Jackson slapped her right between the legs.
“Don’t move, I told you.”
Then he put his mouth on her.
He wiggled his tongue, ran it up and down the length of her labia. Insinuated it into her with a wicked movement. She could feel his tongue – feel him licking her inside, feel the stinging, sizzling burn of the hot sauce as he lapped at her. Everything was thrumming, throbbing, liquefying and she was panting.
Then he spread her wide with two fingers and thrust his tongue deep, probing, and retreating, and sucking and the feel of him rasping over her clit, swiping the hot sauce across that needy little bead of flesh until with a suddenness that overwhelmed her, the orgasm slammed into her. Writhing in his hands, her back bowing as the jolt hit her groin, then spread throughout, her stomach, her breasts, right to the very tips of her fingers until it felt as if her entire body was one tsunami of orgasm.
And Camille decided that she would be fighting with Jackson Cole on a regular basis.
Then he lifted his head, looking at her with a devilish grin as he licked his lips.
“Mighty fine. This should be on the menu. Pussy Diablo.”