Shades of Red (Sharp Edges Duet Book 1) by Willow Prescott

Author:Willow Prescott [Prescott, Willow]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

“I can’t believe you’ve already prepped,” Aurélie gasps when she enters the kitchen and sees all the ingredients laid out on the counter in perfect quantities. “When did you even have the time to do all this?”

I shoot her a wicked smile while I go to the walk-in to get my special bowl of cream. “When you were scurrying around the restaurant in the dark, terrified of what I might do when I caught you.” I bring the steel bowl back with me and place it on the counter before grabbing a hand whisk from one of the drawers. “Tell me, was I every bit the monster you were expecting?”

“Obviously,” she retorts, gesturing to the small cut on her neck where I nicked her with the knife while I came inside her. “Although, the délicieux orgasme was a pleasant surprise.”

I laugh at how far we’ve come since our first meeting in this kitchen. She’s barefoot and wearing nothing but my white shirt, the outline of her hips entirely noticeable as she sways them while scalding milk in a pan. I’m shirtless, my black tattoos standing out against the stark white of the kitchen. I never put my belt back on, and my black pants are ridging low on my hips and doing nothing to obscure the hard-on that never seems to vanish when I’m near Aurélie. My cock is already prepped for me to bend my girl over the counter and stuff her full again.

I start to whisk the liquid in the bowl rapidly, whipping my own cream by hand. It would be more standard to use an electric whisk, but I’ve always liked getting to control the texture with my own hands. And it gives me something to do with all the pent up tension that clearly wasn’t sated by our twisted little game of hide and seek. No matter how much I get of Aurélie, I always seem to hunger for more.

“What are you doing?” she asks when she looks over to see me jumping a few steps ahead in the crème légère recipe. She’s already tempered the eggs with the milk, and is stirring until the creme patissiere thickens.

“Practicing my technique,” I answer with a coy smile. “This is what Chef Matis requested, yes?”

“Alright,” she answers with a huff. “Just make sure you get it in the walk-in before it starts to deflate.”

“Yes, chef,” I quip, smacking her ass before continuing to whip my cream into stiff peaks. When it’s ready, I hold up the whisk and run my finger through the swirl of whipped cream on top. “Try it,” I tell her, holding my finger up to her lips.

“It’s crème fouettée, Grey,” she says while rolling her eyes and continuing to stir her pan. “I think even you can handle a procedure of that simplicity.”

Her damn tart mouth makes this moment even sweeter. “Try it, then,” I order, rubbing the white cream over her stained-red lips. “Or I’ll make a mess of you until you do.”

“Fine,”

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