Page 114 of Neap & Spring

I walk her backward, not breaking the kiss, until her back hits the prep counter, and she gasps against my mouth, the sound breathy and sweet. I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss further, my hands sliding down to her waist, feeling the warmth of her body beneath my fingers.

She goes willingly, her body arching into me, and I memorize every detail. The way her skin feels under my fingers. The way she tastes. The small desperate noises she makes. I want to pull every single one of those sounds out of her and keep them forever. I want to remember it all because I know this moment is rare. I know it might be all I get.

Her hands slide up my chest, fingers splaying wide like she’s trying to touch as much of me as possible. Then they’re in my hair, tugging slightly, and the small spike of pain mixed with pleasure makes me groan against her mouth.

“Cal,” she breathes, and hearing my name like that, wrecked and wanting, unleashes a wave of desire in me I’ve been keeping locked down for months.

I pull back just enough to look at her.

Her lips are already swollen, kiss-bruised and bright red and parted as she tries to catch her breath. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any color left. Her hair is a mess from my hands. That sweater is exposing so much skin, and I want to put my mouth on every inch of it.

She looks completely undone.

And we’ve barely started.

“In this kitchen,” I say, my voice coming out rough, “that’s not what you call me.”

Her breath catches, but her eyes sparkle with mischief and a memory. “What?” she whispers, but her head falls back like she’s already surrendering. Her throat is exposed, and her body leans into me.

I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear as I slide my hand to the back of her neck. “You know exactly what to call me.” My fingers curl into her hair, holding her in place, and I feel her shiver against me.

“Say it,” I murmur against her pulse point, my lips moving against the rapid flutter there.

Her breath hitches, and she’s silent for a moment. Then, so quietly I almost don’t hear it, she whimpers, “Yes, Chef.”

That word ignites a fire in me, and I can’t hold back. I press my lips to her jaw, moving slowly down her neck, tasting the salt on her skin. She exhales a shaky breath, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

“Again,” I demand, my voice thick with need.

“Yes, Chef.” Her voice is a sultry whisper as she leans into me, her body craving more.

I slide my hand from her neck to her jaw, tilting her face up toward mine and smile against her lips.

“Good girl.”

I kiss her again, harder this time, and she responds immediately. Her mouth opens under mine, her tongue meeting mine, and it’s everything I’ve been imagining for weeks. Months. Years. Every late night in Paris when we’d study together and I’d watch her bite her lip in concentration. Every text message after we graduated where I’d read between the lines, looking for signs she felt the same way. Every day since she walked back into my life and turned it upside down.

I slide my hands along her waist, fingers brushing under her sweater, inching it higher. She arches into my touch, a wordless plea for more.

“This needs to come off,” I say against her mouth, tugging at the hem of her sweater.

She pulls back just enough to let me pull it over her head. Her arms lift, hair falling everywhere, and then the sweater is gone, tossed somewhere behind me, and she’s in a simple black bra and leggings and nothing else.

I have to take a second to just look at her.

She’s lean with defined shoulders and arms from years of working in kitchens. Her skin is pale and smooth, and I can see her heart hammering in her chest, the rapid rise and fall of her breathing making her breasts move with each inhale.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says, but there’s no real protest in her voice.

“Like what?”

“Like —” She stops and swallows hard. “Like you want to —”

“I do want to.” I step closer again, my hands finding her waist immediately, feeling how perfectly she fits in my palms. “I’ve wanted to for years. You know that.”

“Cal.”

I raise an eyebrow “What did I just say?”