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Or the look of pure, unguarded pleasure on her face every time I close my eyes.
Or why I even agreed to this ruse in the first place because suddenly, my flimsy excuse that I need this job feels more like a straw I was grasping onto.
Kira Clark has fucked me up, and I need to put the mask she shed off me right back on. I have worked here for years, and overall those years, I have lived through one disaster in my life after another without as much as showing a sliver of emotion. And that needs to come back.
The whole day, I have been trying to control my emotions and keep myself in check. I’m trying to keep my skin from tingling, my lips from searching, and my heart growing deeper roots. I have been trying to give my team the Sous-chef they all know and rely on, but of course, that plan fell right out the window when Kira decided to cook alongside us today, and everyone worked with their head up and eyes wide open for that moment when I would inevitably snap.
Or I don’t know…fuck her?
I ignored every jab she threw my way. I knew she was pissed I left her the way I did, but that was the only thing I could do before the last shred of my control snapped. I needed space, that she kept refusing me.
“Are you blind, Levidis? Don’t you see that duck could squawk off that plate—it’s that raw?”
“Who the hell taught you to smear the sauce when my instructions clearly say droplets. Can’t read? Should I send you back to the first grade?”
“If you fuck the same way you stuff that chicken, there is no wonder you are single.”
“Did kissing and touching my body make you an idiot? Because you clearly are one now.”
“I may have to find a new boyfriend since the current one is an imbecile.”
And so, it continued in the same manner the whole evening. But if you think she only tormented me with the vile comments, think again. No, the witch also touched me every chance she got, sending shivers down my spine and straight to my cock, who was not understanding why he couldn’t be inside her sweet mouth again.
Or why she couldn’t touch him ever again. At all. Or any part of me, actually. But I started to question the sanity of my decision myself when I felt her hands on me. Especially when she was brushing her ass against me any time she needed to bend down for something, and today she seemed to be extra clumsy, dropping every fucking thing that she held.
She also decided to forgo an undershirt under her black coat and taunt me with the outline of that white bra I was intimately familiar with every second. At one point, she leaned in so close while inspecting a plate, her lips brushed over my ear, and I jerked away as if I was burned, effectively sending the perfect dish to the floor and earning myself another verbal beating.
I hate the woman so much, yet I want her with almost manic desperation. I’m sick. And need so much help…
I’ve always thought Kira is a beautiful woman, I’m not blind, but I pretended to be after all the shit Viola put me through, I don’t think about women like that anymore. I don’t want them. I decided to concentrate my whole life on the family I already have and call it a day.
But of course, she had to ruin it. She had to wake up this need in me, and I hate her for it all that much more. I hate the feel of her full, firm tits in my hand, the heat of her delicious-smelling pussy calling out to me. I hate how fucking hot she was for me and how much her eyes begged to be fucked by me. I want it, too.
I want to shove her to her knees again and again as I stuff her full of my cum until she can’t speak. I want to fuck her in every way possible until she can’t scream anymore because her throat is scraped dry. I want it, despite the hate.
But she doesn’t understand. Kira has no idea that touch is something I’ve craved my whole life.
Touch is my love language, and having hers on my body threatens everything I’ve built so far, and somehow, I need to remind my body and mind that we hate Kira Clark.
By the time I take my break to call Victoria for her bedtime story, I’m debating quitting so bad I can taste that idea like a bitter sauce.
Maybe there is God up there after all because she gets called away into her office to deal with some crisis at one of her other restaurants and doesn’t return for the remainder of the night. And when we close down and clean up, I flee the restaurant as fast as I can without my usual goodbyes to the team.
I can’t risk seeing her again because I’m not liable for her death if I do see her, and I’m just about to enter my apartment building when my phone rings, and I pick it up without a second thought because normally only my family calls me.
Oh, how wrong I was.
“Where the fuck are you?” She sounds just as angry as the words she’s saying.
I take a deep breath, mentally count to five—because I don’t have the luxury to count to ten—and, rubbing my eyes, say, “Seeing as it’s the middle of the night, I am home.”
“And by home, you don’t mean my place.”
“That place could never be called a home, Kira. More like a freezing cave in the middle of Antarctica.”
“Oh, you are funny tonight, aren’t you? Well, let me add some more laughs for you. You have to be at the airport in fifteen minutes.”
Surely, I heard that wrong. “What?”
