His Just Desserts (4 page)

“Would you like me to hold your calls until your meeting is over?”

He thought hard, trying to remember a meeting scheduled for the morning. He had a consult at ten. Perhaps the client had rescheduled. Which reminded him of a file he needed. “Of course, and please let Archer know that I need the Slovavich file from the cold storage room?”

“Of course, sir. I’ll let him know.”

“Thanks, you’re a doll. Tlotzin doesn’t realize how good he has it.”

“Go on, you smooth talker.” She reached for the phone on her desk. “I’ll let your associate know about the Slovavich file.”

Moving at a brisk pace down the hall, he noticed a woman and two men sitting in the partners’ dayroom as he walked past. Assuming they were his prospective clients, he tipped his head toward them. “I’ll be with you in just a few minutes.” Then he slipped into his office, pushing the door shut, wondering if he had time to wolf down his breakfast biscuit. The smell of fresh kolaches hit his nose, and his mouth began to water when he spotted the steaming pastries on a linen-covered platter, their golden edges glistening. The distinct aroma of strawberries and apricots tempted him. It whisked him back to another time. A time when he lounged against the counter in Mrs. Garibaldi’s kitchen and watched Isaiah make his favorite breakfast pastry, in hopes of snitching one hot from the oven. And that hadn’t been the sole thing he’d stolen either; he remembered the quick brush of his lips against his boyfriend’s when Mrs. G. had her back turned.

“I brought a peace offering.”

“What?” His gaze flew up to rest on the figure standing next to the window behind his desk. The battle between his lust for food and for the man who’d created the flaky pastries swept through him. Isaiah didn’t play fair. First his demand, and now this. He took a step forward, taking in the faded jeans which hugged the man from his waist to his ankles and the snug white T-shirt which had a graphic design of his former lover’s favorite R&B band. He couldn’t believe his ex was inside his office. “Baby?” The endearment slipped out without thought.

Tucking his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans, Isaiah met him head on. “Look, Sean, I shouldn’t have said what I did last night. I was pissed. I didn’t think you’d agree to it. So, to apologize, I brought over some of your favorite morning pastries. You still like
kolaches
, right?”

Swallowing, he set his briefcase on the desk. “Yeah, I still love them.” Panic stirred in the pit of his stomach. He wouldn’t let Isaiah back out now. To cover his reaction, he picked up one of the
kolaches
. “I can’t blame you for being angry.” He took a bite, moaning at the hint of nutmeg, cinnamon, and apricots exploding over his tongue along with the lightly sweetened dough. He swallowed. “Delicious, as usual.”

“Don’t sidetrack me with compliments, Whitcomb. I acted like an asshole last night.” His frustration caught Sean by surprise.

“You had every right to be. I left. I didn’t try to compromise. I wanted what I wanted and left you behind.”

“But that doesn’t give me the right to demand sexual favors in return. What I demanded last night isn’t something an honorable man would do. Mrs. Garibaldi raised me better than that. Only a rapist would use such underhanded tactics.”

Sean’s blood ran cold even as his temper ignited. Under normal circumstances, it took a long time for him to get mad, but there were certain topics which pushed his buttons. And the man in front of him claiming to be no better than some common rapist set him off. “Wait a goddamned minute! Don’t you ever compare yourself to scum like that, Isaiah.” He stalked around the desk to corner him. Following when he backed into the wall next to the window. Pinning him in with his arms on either side of Isaiah’s head, he used his height to his advantage. He crowded close enough that they were pressed together from thighs to chest. Grinding his hips against the other man’s, he kept their eyes locked.

“Sean….” His name came out on a gasp.

“Does that feel like I’m being forced to do anything?”

His chef shook his head. “No, but—”

“No buts. I’ve been like this since we made our arrangement last night.” He rocked forward, making sure Isaiah could feel his hard-on. “We have a verbal agreement, and I’ll sue your ass for breach of contract if you back out now.” He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the side of Isaiah’s neck, inhaling the lingering scent of
kolaches
and cologne. Rubbing his nose over smooth skin, he lifted his head enough to whisper into his ear. “And I’m a damned fine lawyer. I’d win, do you understand?”

“I…yeah.” Isaiah moaned when Sean slid one hand down to cup his ass. “Okay. You win.”

Growling, he nipped at the satiny lobe of the other man’s ear, just like he’d imagined last night. “That’s right.
We
will win. You will come over and cook.” He laved the abused flesh with his tongue. “We’ll be reunited lovers—which will be the truth.” He ground their erections together. “And when they’re gone, you can make me dessert and…then have me.” Sean blew into his ear, trailing his lips over his jawline, stopping just short of the corner of Isaiah’s lips. “Any way you want, all weekend long. All you have to do is accept the fact I want it.”

“Then prove it.” His dark brown eyes narrowed, he drove his fingers into Sean’s hair.

“How?” He couldn’t resist taunting the sexy chef, while holding eye contact. “What do I have to do?”

“Give up your control to me for one afternoon, while we shop. If you can do it, I’ll quit protesting.” He twisted and covered Sean’s mouth, his kiss desperate.

A low rumble built inside his chest as their tongues tangled. Things were good. He’d go to the market, allow the man to control their outing. It would work out. His chef wouldn’t run…for now. And him? Well, he would be one step closer to reclaiming what he had lost.

“Shit!” Wrapping his bleeding finger with the linen towel he’d had draped over his shoulder, Isaiah wanted to hit something. He needed to get his damned head into the game, before he did more than just cut himself.
Like burning down the restaurant. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t been able to get a solid eight hours of sleep in the past two days. I still have a job to do. This is what happens when I allow him to pull me back into his damned web. What the hell was I thinking when I asked Sean to give control to me?

“You okay, Chef?” Laco paused, his knife hovering over the half-chopped celery. It would go into the soup of the day. Next to him on the cutting board were piles of perfectly diced onions, bell peppers, and carrots.

“Yeah. Just a nick. I didn’t sleep well last night, and it made me careless.” He peeled the cloth away, examined the wound. Only a surface cut, thank goodness. Not like the last time when he’d damn near taken off the entire tip of his thumb. Retrieving the first aid kit, he doctored the bleeding finger. Snapping on a pair of latex gloves to reduce contamination, he resumed trimming excess fat off the meat. Something he did himself because no one else ever did it to suit his exacting standards.

“So why didn’t you sleep? I think it’s something else which has you so distracted today.” Laco dumped the celery and rest of the ingredients into the steaming stock pot. “I bet it’s something, tall, blond, and über sexy.” Using a wooden spoon, he stirred the steaming liquid.

Isaiah wanted to groan. There were no secrets when one worked in such a tight-knit group. “So who told you? Berta?” He was going to kill his roomie.

Laco shrugged his slim shoulders. “No, she didn’t. But the whole restaurant has been abuzz about the customer you decked who had the balls to show up again on Thursday.”

“Are we talking about Mr. Sexy Lawyer?” Rostislav, their imported French pastry chef, looked up from the half-layered
žemlovka
. The baked apple and raisin dessert would have a starring role on the night’s menu. Waving his paring knife in Isaiah’s general direction, he grinned, returning to the apples in front of him. “If I didn’t have my girl and swung that way, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers,
mon ami
. There is something
tres
sexy about him. Makes one want to rumple him, to strip his control away and….”

This time Isaiah did groan. “Enough, Ros! Don’t tempt me.” He closed his eyes against the imagery of ripping off a certain attorney’s clothing. “I have to meet him after work, and I’m trying to behave!” He opened to his eyes to find a gleeful look on the
potager’s
face. “You can quit your smirking, Laco, or you can replace Samuel as the
plongeur
. I’m sure he has plenty of pots and pans you can wash.”

“Aw come on, Chef, don’t be that way. I’m just playing with you. What you do on your own time, is private.” He grinned. “But after the shit you gave me and Ros when we found our girls, did you honestly expect anything less?”

A chuckle escaped him. He had it coming. He’d given them all kinds of crap from dating advice to good-natured ribbing. They had every right to dish it back. His overreaction to their teasing merely proved how far under his skin Sean had crept. “Go ahead and rub it in, but just remember who’s in charge of the kitchen.”

“You are, Isaiah, and you girls better get ready and quit your gossiping.” Laco and Ros both groaned when Berta stuck her head into the kitchen.

Isaiah placed his hands on his hips. “For what?”

A mischievous grin crossed her delicate face. “For the lunch rush, which is getting a jump start today. We have a bus full of seniors—forty of whom just walked through the front door. The tour director told me they spent the entire morning at Jordon Creek Mall and want some-stick to-their-bones food.”

“You know, Berta, you sound entirely too happy about this.” He swung around and shot off orders to his brigade, thankful they worked like a well-oiled machine, despite the razzing they gave each other. Time to batten down the hatches and put one sexy lawyer out of his mind. He’d have plenty of time to decide what to request from Sean during their outing.

***

Sean shifted on his couch, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Rubbing his palms over the top of his legs in the new crisp jeans Isaiah had ordered him to wear, he drew a ragged breath. It’d been years since he’d worn anything like this. Before he’d taken the bar exam, in fact, and the snugness of the material against his groin was distracting. While he could have adjusted to wearing them, the intense feelings were compounded by the lack of underwear between his family jewels and the denim. Along with wearing jeans, his sexy chef had demanded he go commando for their outing.

Ready to jump out of his skin, he surged to his feet. Stalking toward the bedroom, he fought the temptation to change. Despite washing the jeans twice and using a liberal dose of fabric softener, the way the material cupped his cock left him feeling exposed.
Which more than likely is his intention
. Isaiah wanted him to be aware of not only his own sex, but also the fact that other people would be as well.

“Kinky bastard.” He muttered the words under his breath, almost afraid the man would appear out of thin air and take him to task. He growled, pressing down on his covered erection at the thought of being dragged over Isaiah’s lap for a well-deserved spanking. And here he’d been bitching about Isaiah being kinky. He was just as kinky, if not more so. More than once when they’d been together, he’d wondered if a spanking would be as hot as he imagined. When his dick pressed even harder against his zipper, he growled.

Changing his mind about ditching the pants, he headed toward the hall bath. Maybe if he relieved a bit of the pressure before his date arrived, he wouldn’t end up jumping him. “Remember, it wouldn’t be a good thing, Whitcomb. Not as skittish as he already is. This is about showing him you can allow him to be in control, not you tackling him and begging him to fuck you.”

Wrenching open the door, he had his pants unbuttoned and unzipped in seconds. Standing in front of the john, he gave a sigh of relief. That was until he fished out his stiff dick. A hiss broke free when he made contact with his hard-on. Already stimulated by the denim, his cock was stiff and weeping. Running his fist down and then back up, he paused at the tip, rotating his wrist to rub over the hot spot just under the flared head. A groan ripped free of his tight chest while his thighs trembled and his balls drew up tight. “
Shit
.”

His free arm braced against the vanity counter when he swayed forward, his body struggling toward completion. How had he gone so far, so fast? His normal staying power had deserted him. And his stamina…a thing of the past. His chef had stolen it. He stroked faster and fucked his hand, the same way he had Isaiah’s their first time together. The sound of his own grunts and the slapping of flesh on flesh barely registered. Memories of how he’d seduced the younger man down by the crick where they’d gone skinny dipping filled his mind. They had been so inexperienced then. Oh he’d thought he was a big shit because he’d jerked off his first boyfriend and once gone down on another man he’d met hanging outside a gay bar, but it all paled in comparison to the way Isaiah moaned when he covered his chest with his cum.

“Ah…fuck.” Lightning grabbed the base of his spine and built until his back arched. Aiming toward the toilet, he groaned. He fell over the edge, his cock thickening in his palm. The first volley of seed hit the seat. Agonizing pleasure caused him to jerk against his own grip. He coaxed rope after rope of seed out of his throbbing shaft. Squeezing the head, he savored the last jolt of searing gratification. His knees locked against the intensity of it.

When the orgasm finally released him, he caught his reflection in the mirror. His flushed face stared back at him. He looked like he’d spent too much time in the sun.
Or had an earth-shattering orgasm
. “Damn, I better clean up before he gets here.”

He did a quick inventory and when he didn’t see any stains on his shirt, he let his eyes drift down to see if he needed to change his pants. His spent dick had left a small smear of cum to the right of his zipper. Easing himself back in, he zipped his jeans. Then he grabbed a washcloth from the towel bar. Dampening it under the tap, he dabbed at the spot. He had almost gotten it out when a brisk knock on the door interrupted him. He dropped the cloth back on the edge of the sink. “Son of a bitch…he’s here already.”