A Feast of You (8 page)

“You have a sweet ass, Catherine.”

I almost laughed. “Thanks.” He didn’t usually go for my butt. William was more of a breast guy, but his hands kneading me there felt pretty good. Then they slipped lower, between my legs. He ran his slick fingers over my sex, and I had a jolt of anticipation.

“You like this,” he said, stroking me.

“You know I do.”

His fingers slid higher, into the seam of my bottom, and he ran one finger up and down the cleft. “You’re going to like it when I fuck your ass too.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a command.

Apparently, the tender William who’d bathed me, caressed me, and held me last night and then again this morning was gone, and possessive William had come to take his place and claim what he wanted. And maybe today, right now, we were going to do this. It would be a first for me.

William’s fingers continued to slide up and down between my cheeks, and I reached out and braced my arms against the wall of the shower, lowering my head so the water could pound on my back and release some of my tension.

“That’s right.” William used a knee to spread my legs. “Let me see that sweet ass.” His finger circled my anal opening lightly, and I shuddered. “Every part of you is mine, Catherine. You know that, don’t you?”

I looked over my shoulder and met his hungry eyes with mine. “I’m yours.
You
know that.”

His finger probed me gently. “I’m going to enjoy taking you here.” His thick digit pressed more insistently at my opening, and I sucked in a breath and held it.

“Just breathe,” William ordered. “Don’t I always make you feel good? Trust me.” His soapy finger circled and toyed with me, then gently pressed against my resistance. “Relax, baby. Take a breath and then push back against me.”

I did as he instructed and pushed back against him, exhaling. I felt his thick finger slide in and go deeper than it had ever been in, past my tight ring of muscle and completely inside me.

Oh my God.
My legs went weak and heat instantly shot to my core.

Slowly, William fingered my ass, gently stretching me and moving in and out of my most intimate place, filling me until I was arching myself toward him and meeting his finger with my own thrusts.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked with a growl.

I met his gaze again. With the water sluicing over his hard chest and plastering his dark hair back from his forehead, he looked like a Spartan warrior. His eyes were molten grey now, and his piercing stare was directed fully at me. Just a look from him when he was this intense, this aroused, reduced me to a quivering bundle of nerves.

“I love everything you do. I love you.”

At that moment, with him looking at me with such raw desire in his eyes and me so thoroughly consumed with need, I would have done anything he wanted me to.

“Who do you belong to, Catherine?” His finger slid out of my ass and then his cock was moving up and down between my cheeks.

I panted with anticipation. “You, William. Only you.” As the head of his penis pushed against me, I curled my hands into fists. Everything inside me was tightly coiled and ready.

“That’s right. Only me.”

There was a subtle pressure as that rounded head pressed harder to gain access. I rocked back, inviting, needing. William let out a harsh groan. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

But then he pulled away.

What?
I was ready. Why was he stopping?

“But not today. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Then I felt his hard member move down until it rested at the entrance to my sex. My body was screaming with need, and I pushed back to force him to penetrate me. He chuckled. “Not yet.”

He slid his slick cock over my swollen sex. I dug my fingernails into my palms as I tried to slow my breathing and will the spasms in my legs to stop. The head of his cock pushed in and I braced for more, for the full, hard length of him to fill me completely. But he pulled out. Then he was inside me again, teasing then withdrawing to slide over my clit, and then pushing into my swollen sex again.

My head whipped back and forth under the warm spray of the shower. I wasn’t going to beg. Not this time.

Finally William thrust fully into me, so deep I could feel him at my womb. I bit my lip to keep back a cry of pleasure. There was pain, too, but he felt so good inside me it was almost blinding. I whimpered.

“Wait, beautiful girl. I know what you need, and I’m going to give it to you.”

He pressed harder, his cock hitting all my most sensitive places. His thumb stroked the cleft of my ass, penetrated the opening until he was inside me there, and both my passages were full.

My breathing was ragged and hot and I let myself soar. Just as the wave of my ecstasy was about to crest, William growled in my ear, “You wait until I tell you, Catherine.” His thumb was still in my ass, moving in small circles.

“Now,” I moaned as I thrust back against his hard length. “Please now.” All my hot need coiled into a tight ball. I was so ready to explode, to let go, and then he withdrew.

I let out a scream of frustration. I knew why he was doing this. He was pissed about the picture of Hutch Morrison, and this was another way to remind me who I belonged to.

I didn’t need a reminder.

He slid in again, his thumb going deeper into my ass as his cock thrust up and up, filling my sex and pressing against the thin membrane that separated his finger from his cock. Dark shivers raced through me as I struggled on tiptoes to take him all in. My sex held him in an iron grip, clenched around him tighter than ever, wanting to keep him in me, wanting each stroke to last forever.

My orgasm took me by surprise. William never stopped thrusting, and at the height of my coming, I felt him release hot and hard into my depths. He let out a harsh cry, and lowered his forehead to my shoulder, the unshaven stubble on his chin scratching my back as I slowly, very slowly, drifted down and my legs gave out.

* * *

W
hen we’d dressed—me in a slim, wool, plaid mini-skirt with brown boots and a pink Oxford shirt, and William in a grey pinstriped suit, a light blue shirt, and a purple tie with medallions—we sat in the kitchen over breakfast together. Laird was asleep in his dog bed in corner, his feet in the air and pleasant doggie snores coming from his mouth. The housekeeper had already fed him. She’d prepared a full breakfast for us too, but the buttons of my fitted shirt were straining over my breasts just enough that I’d thought twice about wearing it. I decided to stick to grapefruit and coffee. I either had to drop a couple of pounds or buy some minimizer bras.

I was more than a little sated this morning and the memory of William’s thumb in my ass—and how much I’d liked it—made me blush. William glanced at me and lowered his tablet. “Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”

I was meeting Hutch at Morrison Hotel today, but I didn’t have any appointments tomorrow. “Sure. Why?”

“Come to my office for a meeting.”

My brow arched. “More stand-up sex against your office window?” The idea had appeal. William had a great view of the city.

He gave me a small smile. “Not this time. It’s something else. Two o’clock work for you?”

“Sure.”

William stood and leaned in to kiss me. He smelled wonderfully clean and slightly musky. “Asa will drive you today.” His lips lingered on mine and then he nibbled at my bottom lip before pulling away. “Be good, please.”

“I will,” I nodded without even the slightest protest. “I promise.”

I watched William go and then glanced down at my grapefruit. I’d only eaten maybe half of it, but I pushed it away.

I spent the next five minutes searching for my purse. I had no memory of where I’d left it the night before, but I finally found it in the bedroom. I rummaged through it, looking for my phone so I could put the appointment with William in my calendar. I shifted the contents of the purse several times but I had so much crap stuffed in it, I couldn’t see a thing.
Shit
. I started feeling around.

“Miss Kelly?” It was Asa. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

I glanced at the clock. I’d have to look for my phone later or I was going to be late to meet Hutch. “Coming!”

A
sa drove me to Morrison Hotel, Hutch Morrison’s signature restaurant located in the South Loop. Morrison Hotel was probably one of the hottest restaurants in the entire country, if not the world, and I still had a hard time believing that Hutch had picked me to shoot the photos for his first cookbook. He was only in his thirties but he was already a legendary chef, like, Julia Child legendary. Beckett had just about passed out when Hutch first called me.

In spite of the delay as I had searched for my phone, which I still hadn’t found, I actually arrived a couple minutes early. Hutch must have been excited to get started because he opened the door as I was walking up and ushered me in. I barely had time to say good morning and shrug off my coat before he marched me back to one of the booths and gestured for me to slide in. Coffee was waiting. It smelled rich and earthy, and I sipped it while Hutch went over the work he’d done so far on his cookbook project.

“Now sweetheart, you’re the expert, so if anything I say doesn’t meet your approval, let me know. I live to serve.” He reached over and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. Hutch was a shameless flirt. I didn’t think we’d ever had a conversation where he didn’t touch me at least three or four times.

“I’m impressed,” I said, leaning over to peruse the list he’d made of what dishes he’d prepare for me to shoot.

Hutch might have seemed like a casual, down-home kind of guy, but his food was exactly the opposite. His style was elevated—incredibly formal, totally precise, and perfectly crafted. I wasn’t anything close to a foodie and even I recognized the guy was a genius. Morrison Hotel’s entire menu and concept changed on the chef’s whim every few months, and Hutch Morrison’s inspirations tended to come from rock albums. It was global news when he announced his next theme—and
Sticky Fingers
was about to kick off. Hutch called it “foods from his youth,” and said he wanted to explore simple, Southern fare. I didn’t see anything close to simple on his list, though I spied the brown sugar beignets with blueberry compote I’d already sampled.
Tasso pork tenderloin with goat cheese grits, sugared blue bantam peas, smoked tomato and morel medley, and Jack Daniels reduction
caught my eye. I couldn’t wait to try that dish.

“You’ve made a lot of progress on this.” And now that I had a picture of some of the dishes in my mind, I could start to envision the digital cookbook the way Hutch did. It was a genius idea, really, combining his culinary skills with sexy pictures of his dishes and a bit of food history. He’d fully refined the concept with this proposal—it was fresh and new and soon the world would get a candid peek into
his
world. Hutch was going to be a household name when we were done. I was sure of it.

“I’m not in the habit of wasting anyone’s time,” Hutch said in that slow Southern drawl of his, which seemed to indicate he had all the time in the world. “Especially not someone like you. I imagine William Lambourne keeps you plenty busy.”

I glanced up at him, feeling my cheeks heat. Was it that obvious I’d had sex twice this morning?

A slow smile spread over Hutch’s face. “Well, now, that wasn’t what I meant at all, but I’m sure he keeps you busy in bed too. I only meant you’re more tan than when we last met.”

“Oh. Valentine’s Day trip.” I smiled.

He sat back and crossed his tattooed arms. He was wearing black jeans and a charcoal grey T-shirt that showed off his pecs and biceps. “Let me guess. Private island? That seems like Lambourne’s style.”

I nodded. “Tropos. Four days. We had the entire island to ourselves.”

“Always wanted to go there.” He leaned close. “Tell me, Catherine, is that an all-over tan?”

I could flirt as shamelessly as him. “You’ll just have to wonder.”

He laughed. “That I will. Cold showers for me the rest of the week.” He lifted a hand and motioned a woman over. I hadn’t even noticed her, but obviously Hutch had. “Catherine Kelly, this is Angela Sylvester.”

He made room for her, and she slid into the booth beside him. Angela looked like she was in her late thirties. She was short and curvy, and wore her straight auburn hair pulled tightly back into a no-nonsense chignon, highlighting her striking bone structure and her deep blue eyes.

She held out a hand. “Nice to finally meet you. Hutch hasn’t shut up about you since you signed on.”

I gave Hutch a teasing look. “Oh, really?”

“He’s worse than one of my goddamn kids at a toy store.
Catherine this
and
Catherine that.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to tell him to just shut the fuck up already.”

I laughed and liked her immediately. There wasn’t going to be any pretention with Angela. She seemed straightforward and open.

“So you have kids?” I said, wondering how she managed to be a mom and work for someone like Hutch Morrison. I imagined he was a bit like William. He wanted everything his employees had to give and then more.

“Three. Two boys and a girl, ages eleven, eight, and five.”

“Wow. You don’t look old enough to have an eleven-year-old.”

“Well, fuck me. I see why Hutch likes you so much. Keep this up, and you’ll be my new BFF.”

“Angela’s husband is a fireman,” Hutch added. “I’ve been trying to win him over from the dark side, but so far no luck.”

“The dark side?” I asked.

Angela shrugged. “He likes burgers and pizza, pasta and gravy. Meatballs. He doesn’t go for all the fancy-ass shit Hutch makes.”

“You make the fancy-ass shit too, honey,” Hutch reminded her. He looked at me and winked. “Angela is a self-taught cook, but don’t let that fool you. She’s one of the very best or she wouldn’t be my sous chef. The three of us will be working together. I don’t think I have to point out that with two beautiful women on either side of me, I’m getting the better end of the deal.”