Disclaimer: The Chef’s Apprentice is a Chris Jackson original story; do not repost anywhere without permission. All characters are 18 years old or older; the readers should be as well.
“So, let me get this straight,” I said into my phone, running a hand down my face. “This actress has absolutely no cooking experience at all? She doesn’t want to go to culinary school but wants to stage for me. She understands this is a living, breathing, busy restaurant, right?”
“Yes. Ms. Wallace grasps all of that, Chef. She also doesn’t want to do the homework or the textbooks. She just wants hands-on work experience,” Dove Wallace’s manager told me.
I sighed and shook my hand, a phantom cramp locking up my knuckles. “I get that. I never went to culinary, but I did bust my ass at every job description to get here. For years. I can’t teach all of that in a month. What exactly is she looking to get from this?”
“Ms. Wallace wants to learn basic knife skills, timing, kitchen lingo, and how to create chef-level dishes. She wants to be put through the ringer and know what it feels like to live the life. She wants to essentially know what it’s like to be a chef.”
“This is my last question; she’s going to pay me? I got that right?”
“That’s correct, Chef. She wants to pay you for the materials she’ll be using and potentially fucking up. She also wants to pay you the salary of an instructional chef. She knows she will be a headache.”
“Fine. Whatever. Send her over. I don’t want some kind of fucking damages lawsuit or some shit if I make her cry. Got any paperwork for that?” I was only half-kidding, but if it was real, I’d take it.
“We can have that drawn up, sure. Ms. Wallace knows this won’t be a cakewalk, and she explicitly wants to be treated as any other member of your staff.”
“Good, because I’m not going to lose reputation or efficiency in my kitchen for an actress. If she wants to be the real deal, I can make that happen, but she should expect to cry. She’ll have real breakdowns. Real cuts and burns she didn’t know could happen. I won’t tolerate Primadonna, diva breakdowns, or tantrums. That would go for any new hires, not just her.”
“She’s expecting a hard time, Chef. She’ll report for work on Monday morning.”
I pulled into the parking lot of The Riverside Restaurant, the premier seafood and grill house in the area. I was a little surprised to see a lifted black Jeep with the top down already parked in the back of the lot. I nosed my own Buick next to it.
When I turned the engine off, a cute blonde bunny in the front seat turned to look at me and took off her large sunglasses. Sure as shit, it was my new stage, Dove Wallace.
She was far from being a chef, and I still scratched my brain at her choice of model chef. There were a hell of a lot more well-known chefs than me out there. I’ve never made it outside of our local newspaper or regional magazine.
As I got out of my car, Dove was getting out of hers. “Good morning, Chef. My name’s Dove, and I’ll be staging you for a while. I know you were in talks with my manager setting this up, so you’re up to speed on everything?”
Damn, she was cute; barely over five feet tall, tight body and a face I just wanted to… she was a very attractive woman.
“Yeah.” I started heading to the restaurant, and she followed me without having to be told. A good start. “You’re researching for some cooking show they’re throwing into your lap even though you can’t cook, right?”
Dove chuckled, and I was thankful she wasn’t a bubbly giggler. “That sums it up. “They know I can’t cook, but they think I’m cute and they’re not sinking millions into this. So, they wanted someone with a little bit of a name, but not Selena Gomez.”
“Well, fuck them. Let’s make sure this show of yours takes off because you’re gonna know what you’re doing, and not just because you’re cute.”
“Thank you, Chef.” She smiled brightly as we got to the front door. I unlocked it and ushered her inside before I locked the door again behind us.
“I don’t need people walking around here before we’re open.” Pausing briefly, I continued, “I don’t know just how much you want to learn, or how intimately you want to know it. Unless you make it clear, I will narrate every little fucking thing I do. That’s my best way to teach, and it’s how I learn best.
“I leave the lights off because yes, we’re here but there won’t be waitstaff for another hour and a half. I don’t want people too stupid to read the posted hours to think they can come in.”
“Makes sense,” Dove said, probably just letting me know she was following.
I turned on the kitchen lights and washed my hands before I even went over to the little nook in the back corner that housed aprons and clean chef coats. Dove showed me she was a Monkey See Monkey Do practioner. That sounds demeaning, but it was a golden trait for this situation.
I pulled one of my coats off of a hangar, and I found the smallest one I could for Dove. She was a tiny thing, and most of my crew were men. “These chef coats aren’t just for making us look like pretentious douchebags; they protect us from spills, burns, and splatters. They save our clothes from getting stained and looking like shit. They’re essentially fancy painter’s smocks.”
“I’ve never worn one of these.” Dove excitedly took the coat from my hand and pulled it on.
“After a while that child-like wonder will disappear and it’ll feel like a fucking straight jacket,” I said flatly as I buttoned mine up. “Alright, I’ll give you the tour and that shit while we go. Unfortunately, I’m the only cook on for another hour, so I don’t have time to fuck around while everyone works.”
“Fair enough.” Dove fell in right behind me.
So far, this girl hasn’t been too bad. She was respectful, followed my lead, didn’t talk back, and didn’t ask a lot of dumb questions.
“Dove, you’ve been pretty quiet and that’s cool, but don’t be afraid to ask questions. I’m sure you’ve heard people say there aren’t dumb questions, but yes, the fuck there are. Asking why you shouldn’t put your hand in a deep fryer is a dumb question. Asking how to properly hold a knife for comfort, control, and safety is a fantastic question.”
Dove laughed. “I just don’t want to ask a question when you might explain it to me five minutes from now.”
I started to like this girl. She was smarter than I gave an actress credit for. I was actually afraid she was going to turn out to be just some dumb Hollywood bitch with more makeup than brains. Points off from me for judging a book by its cover.
“I’m going to start opening procedures. Watch closely, listen, and ask whatever questions you have. Simply asking why I do something if I don’t explain it is a great thing to do. Thinking like a cook is a huge part of this game. I just ask that for today, you don’t touch anything. Just observe on day one, Okay?”
“Yes, Chef.”
Fuck. I don’t know if it was on purpose, but I swear her voice dropped an octave when she said that. She hadn’t sounded that husky just a minute ago, and it made me twitch in my loose fitted pants.
Morning procedures went as usual. I got all of the equipment on, fresh rotisserie chickens rolling, soups and the hot line on, necessary utensils on the line, and stocked up and filled any empty holes in the stations that were missed during last night’s dinner service.
We were usually really on the ball with restocking the line, but sometimes even gods make mistakes.
I heard another voice and I knew my opening server, Candace, unlocked the front and was getting the front of the house ready for lunch service. That also meant my prep and lunch cook, Ryan, would be five minutes behind.
And just like clockwork, he was right on time.
“Woah, Chef! Who’s the new girl?” Ryan dragged his eyes appreciatively up and down Dove’s small frame. He was easily a foot taller than her and had more than six inches on me. Ryan was a big fucker.
“My new stage, so shut the fuck up and don’t talk to her. As far as you’re concerned, she’s not even here. Don’t even look at her.”
“Yes, Chef,” the younger cook mumbled. I could be wrong, but I think Dove had about five years on him, anyway.
Ryan’s eyes went down her fine, porcelain white hands. “She’s staging? Has she ever seen a dish pit? Wait, don’t tell me; freshly graduated CIA?”
I laughed. “Fuck no. I know her dad and I’m doing him a favor,” I lied. “Do you really think a CIA grad would even know where we are?” He didn’t have to know anything about why Dove was here. “What part of mind your own fucking business did you miss? Dress the rotisserie chickens and make chowder.”
“So, that’s Ryan? Seems like a nice guy.” Dove’s sarcasm was palpable, and well-suited for the Riverside.
“Yeah. He’s also a walking STD.” I led Dove back to a set of prep tables by the walk-in cooler. “C’mon. I’m going to show you how to skin and portion sides of halibut.”
And so, morning prep went on for another half hour until we opened the doors for customers at 11 a.m.
“Alright, Dove. Lunch hours are 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. Then we’re closed from 2:00 to 4:00. We re-open at 4:00 and rock dinner till 9:00. It’s your first day, so I don’t expect you to be here for twelve hours with me.”
“I want to stick it out because it’s my first day, Chef.” Dove had seen how fast and exacting morning prep was. She saw how fast Ryan and I had to motor to get through the lunch prep list to a point I felt one of us could keep rolling while the other held down the cook line.
We weren’t some huge ass corporate, Hell’s Kitchen kind of place. We didn’t have 30 fucking tables in the place. We were family-style with tables and booths, but our biggest table was an 8-top. On a Monday lunch we could easily roll with just the two of us.
We had a total of 72 chairs in the dining room. For our servers, it was a game of “turn and burn.” With four-tops and six-tops, it was get them in and get them out. Each server section was about four tables.
“If things get crazy, I might have you be a gopher.” Dove blinked at me and I chuckled. “Dove, I need you to go for this. Dove, go for that,” I teased.
“Oh, I get it.” She giggled that time. “Yeah, I can try to do that. The walk-in is organized by contaminant and food groups enough that I should be able to follow that map and then read the labels.”
Ryan laughed as our first ticket buzzed in. “You sure she’s not playing you, Chef? She’s smarter than half of our guys after a month.”
“Anything fun?” I asked Ryan as he read the ticket to himself and hooked it onto the service window rail.
We didn’t have fancy expo boards. The owner was an “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” kind of guy. I didn’t complain too much since a lot of that money he wasn’t spending on whistles went into our paychecks.
“Nah. Soup and a sandwich, and a fish and chip basket,” Ryan answered. He’d have that ticket out in six minutes.
Lunch had started off slow, and I had already broken my rule of not letting Dove touch anything. She was highly observant and well behaved. So, I showed her how to properly grip a knife. How to safely hold and feed a product through a quickly chopping knife without losing her fingertips.
“And this is called pinching?” She double-checked her terms as she used them. It was a fantastic review, and I wondered if she had gone to college to study something. Surely, she wasn’t just some child star without a formal education? Maybe a private school kid?
“That’s correct. How you’re holding the knife is pinch and how you’re holding the onion is claw.”
Dove looked at her fingers and saw the way her fingertips applied pressure to the onion and how the flat of her knuckles ran parallel to the blade. “This does feel safe.”
“Yo, Chef. We got a twelve-top rolling in. I saw Candice pushing two six-tops together. Can I get hands on the line?” Ryan asked.
“Heard!” I put my knife down and headed for the nearest hand washing station. “Dove, hang out on the end of the line by this sink and chill tight. I don’t want you on the line yet.”
“Yes, Chef,” she said in that lower fucking voice again.
I had to bite back a growl. She was so fucking hot when she said that. I didn’t know if I had a kink, if she did, or if it was a two-way street. Either way, it sure wasn’t professional.
As I expected, when the twelve-top came in, a few other smaller tables came in around it. Our two servers handled it fine, and we powered through it, but it was a little more of a lunch rush than we expected on a quiet Monday.
A small business having a company lunch without calling in ahead of time was all it took to cause chaos for a little staff of four people and an observer.
The chaos didn’t last too long, but a heads up was always appreciated.
“Ryan, make a pull list of everything you need to restock the line. Me and Dove will get it, and we’ll resume prep as normal while you clean up the line. Re-wipe your surfaces and make it look like we didn’t just do thirty-six plates.”
“Heard,” Ryan responded, and the three of us went back to business as usual.
2:00 hit and the waitstaff locked the door to the public.
“Dove, if you want a break, now’s your chance.” I hopped into the dish pit and started doing the lunch prep dishes. We never had a dishwasher on weekday lunch services. I never minded doing it myself. It’s where I came from, and there’s no shame in doing it. It’s just part of the job.
“I might get a coffee and come back. Could I bring you guys one?” Dove sounded like she actually didn’t mind doing that.
“That’d be fucking awesome, D. The coffee here sucks.” Ryan laughed.
“He’s not wrong. It’s basic diner drip coffee. Nobody comes here for the coffee,” I admitted. “If anything, the coffee is for staff as much as for customers. We have a full-service bar, so we got spiked coffee drink orders during the colder months.”
“Do you usually drink the coffee here?” Dove looked right at me as she leaned against the prep table.
I couldn’t tell if this girl was just character studying or had a crush on me.
“I drink the coffee here all the time. I have a heart murmur and energy drinks fuck with it. I have a Reign energy once in a while because it doesn’t mess with me for some reason, but I’m careful.”
Dove smiled softly. “I’ll go on a coffee run, and I will be back well before 3:00,” she said and saw herself out, but passed by the service window. “Was there anything in particular you guys wanted?”
“Nah. Just surprise us.” I wasn’t going to complicate her kindness.
“Yes, Chef,” she said for a third time.
Again, she used that sultry fucking radio voice. This time, Ryan was watching me and smiling. He fucking heard it, too!
“Yes, Chef,” Ryan parroted back. “I don’t know who this chick is, but she’s seriously hot, and she just as seriously wants to fuck you, Chef.”
I chuckled dismissively and looked back at my cutting board. “No, she doesn’t, dude. She’s an actress or some shit who’s going to get her own cooking show.” I finally told him the truth. “She just chose me to shadow so she doesn’t look like an idiot on TV.”
“Maybe that’s why she came in the first place. I give it a week before you two are banging.”
“I need more sweet corn to the line!” I shouted across the kitchen. “Jo, I need two cod baskets to go with the timer for the sea bass that’s in the oven. Don’t forget the hush puppies. Yes, they take thirty seconds to fry, but don’t fuck up my timing!”
Friday night fish fry was the real deal. Friday dinner anywhere was insane, but at Riverside, it was something else.
“I need to start getting food out of this window! I need a runner!” I shouted.
I knew the FOH was in the weeds just like us, but if customers started sending back cold dishes or I had to do remakes, my ticket times would be fucked, and I did not have real-estate and kitchen space to deal with that.
“Anything I can do, Chef?” Dove asked from her observation post at the hand-wash station.
“No. Just fucking stand there! This is real game time now. Sorry.”
“Yes, Chef.” She sounded so defeated, but I didn’t have time to play nice.
“She can help me plate, Chef,” Ryan offered. “We are getting a little backed up, here and hands are hands.”
“Fine. Dove, scrub up and get vinyl gloves on. It’s showtime.”
“Yes, Chef!” she said with the biggest fucking smile on her heart-faced shape.
“I’ll teach you how to read tickets in a minute. Right now, just put the food where Ryan tells you,” I instructed.
“Nick, this burger is medium-well, so get a cover on it. When it comes up, that’s gonna be cheddar. Your bun’s right here,” I told him as I got him his setup.
He’d put the bun in the oven to lightly toast it when he topped the burger with the cheese to melt on. “You’re gonna have a walleye with that as well. Ryan, Dove, I have your sides for that ticket in the steam table.”
“Shrimp scampi’s up!” Nick, my sauté cook, said from the stove range behind us.
“Swinging to grab those.” Ryan pivoted to grab the pan off the stove and poured the contents into a bowl he had already set up.
“Nick, seabass no capers. Jo, I need a fry and a calamari app.” With four cooks on the line and Dove being Ryan’s extra hands, I wasn’t worried. “Gregg! I need more salmon to the line, please!”
“Yes, Chef!” I got a bark back from the prep area. I fucking loved when my team was on.
“So, how’d that feel?” I asked Dove as I washed my hands.
“Honestly Chef, that was a lot of fun.” Dove had a big smile on her face. She had high energy in her eyes, like she had just done ecstasy for the first time. “I know I’m not perfect, of course, but like, I can’t believe how quickly I started to pick up plating.”
I smiled back at her. “For your first time on the line, on a busy Friday no less? You need work, sure, but you should be proud.”
She just looked at me as we took our blue aprons off and tossed them in the hamper across from where we get our clean uniforms.
“What?” Why was she fucking staring at me? I looked all over my hands and wrists. “Am I bleeding?”
“No. This just… it isn’t what I expected. The exactingness, the stress and the rigor, the ten and twelve hour days. I expected all of that. You, Chef, are not what I expected.”
It was my turn to stare. “What’s that mean, Dove?”
Dove sighed like this was going to take a while. “Everything I’ve heard about professional chefs make them sound like drill sergeants and arrogant assholes. I keep hearing that chefs are demeaning, and bullies, and ‘push you to be your best at all costs.’ You’re not like that, though. You’re a good leader. You say please and thank you, and you raise your voice, but that’s because it’s fucking loud in here. You yell to us but not at us. You’re inspirational but you haven’t made me cry yet.”
I chuckled at the ‘yet’ clause. “I’ve only made two cooks cry, and one of them was a young college kid who had no business being in my kitchen, and I had just recently made chef. I still had a lot to learn about leading a team then. I still do, but you know. Anyway, there’s more than one kind of chef. Some chefs yell, throw things and belittle their staff, but that’s not me. I’m not built like that.
“Yeah, I get fucking mad sometimes. This job is stressful as shit and it’s only a matter of time until I have an ulcer. I’m fucking blessed if I sleep six hours a night. My diet is shit because cooking for myself feels like work I’m not getting paid for. Why would I want to do that at home when I just did that here for ten hours? I swear way more than the average person. I’m not a bully, though. This job is fucking hard enough without some CIA or Le Cordon Bleu asshole with a certificate screaming in your face because he has a God complex. Shit happens. People fuck up. Especially under pressure.”
I took a breath and let out a chuckle. “I’m rambling. I didn’t mean to give you a fucking TED talk.”
Dove was staring again, but holy fuck, the way she was staring at me. Nobody had ever looked at me like that before. It was like she was looking at the man who had just killed a dragon and was going to yank her from a fucking tower.
I got out of my chef coat and headed for the door. “I’m gonna head home and try to eat something. You should too, Dove.”
I made my way out of the still-open-but-winding-down restaurant. My sous chef didn’t need me to constantly be there from open to close every single night. It was one of the reasons I had him.
I just made it to the parking lot when I heard Dove’s voice behind me. “Hey Chef?”
“Yeah, Dove?” I turned around, my backpack loosely slung over my shoulder.
She didn’t seem to want to talk much more, because she was on her toes and kissing me. I didn’t even know she was that close.
I was surprised at first, so it took me a second to pull back. It took me two seconds because I had to make a flash decision on if I actually wanted to. “What the fuck was that?” I asked, holding her at arm’s length.
Dove touched her fingers to her lips, but she didn’t apologize. She didn’t try to explain herself. I’m not sure if she had an explanation. It seemed spur of the moment, intrusive thought kind of shit.
“Dove, that is not a good idea.” I chuckled. “It’s never a good idea.”
Dove looked like I had ripped her heart out for a second but then recovered. “We’re not actual coworkers, Chef. And yes, I should have asked. I had to do it, though.”
“No, you didn’t.” I scoffed. “Listen, Dove. You have some kind of chef kink. I guess that’s a real thing, and whatever. You do you, but don’t romanticize me. I’m not a sexy person. I eat one meal a day and it’s all of my calories at one fucking time. I barely sleep. My apartment looks like shit. I’m married to my job more than I will ever be married to a person. The only reason I care about my hygiene is because I have to when handling food. I’m lonely and fucking depressed because I see my staff more than I could ever hope to see anyone else.
“Holidays and special occasions aren’t really a thing for me. Ever. My knees are fucked. My lower back is on its way out and my feet constantly hurt. It’s no fucking wonder chefs are always perceived as mad. It’s a fucking miracle I don’t smoke or have a drinking problem. I’m a fucking anomaly for that. I have a college degree, but this career is too seductive and too addictive. I could have been something, but I chose to be this because I was too afraid to leave the town I grew up in.”
I ran my hands over my face and chuckled at nothing. I was pouring my heart out and laying bare everything I found wrong with me to this fucking actress. “Don’t even ask why I do it. We don’t have that kind of time.”
Dove looked overwhelmed; mouth slightly open, eyes wide and arms at her sides. I didn’t blame her. If someone had pinned me down in a parking lot and explained a shit ton of chronic issues with them and their choice of career, I’d probably be stunned into silence, too.
Then, the Petite Wonder jumped back into her body. “Take me to your apartment, Chef.”
I laughed right in her face. “What?”
“I said take me to your apartment, Chef. Did I stutter? I don’t just want to see the job. I want to see what this job does to the people that choose it.”
“Making a documentary now?” I chuckled but motioned her towards my 2010 Buick Lacrosse. I wasn’t a TV chef, and I didn’t have a Guy Fieri car.
“Maybe somebody should.” She shrugged and hopped into the passenger seat.
“This is it. Hope you weren’t expecting much.” I unlocked the door and let her in. “Studio apartment with a loft bedroom. Dishes in the sink. A dirty stove top. Recycling I’ve been meaning to put out for two weeks. I never miss a garbage day because fuck that smell.”
Dove laughed and took her leather jacket off, because of course she wore leather. “Definitely messy but it’s not quite a meth house.” The kitchen’s sense of irreverent humor was starting to rub off on her. Maybe she had it the whole time and was starting to be comfortable enough to play, too.
“If you’re hungry, I’ve got ribs in the fridge that hit shelf life at work two days ago. They’re far from going bad, but a six-day shelf life is a six-day shelf life.” I shrugged as I went for a beer. I was a one-and-done drinker. I wouldn’t risk a hangover at work, and my family struggled from alcoholism. I wasn’t even going to try that fucking game.
Dove came up to me and took the beer before I could open it. “Maybe we should take a shower. Get work off of us.”
I jerked my head back, a little surprised. “You want to shower here? I mean, I guess you can go first. The only shampoo and conditioner is a Head and Shoulders 2-in-1. If you don’t mind Dr. Squatch products, help yourself, I guess.”
Dove put the beer down on a small coffee table next to the couch and grabbed my belt. “We’re not showering separately, Chef.”
This time I kissed Dove. I leaned down and cupped that beautiful face in my hands as I molded my lips to hers.
Dove kissed me right back. She didn’t understand that this was a terrible idea. If she had to learn it from experience, that was her problem.
She made quick work of my belt, but before she could do more, I picked her up in my arms. She was all of 5’2 and didn’t feel like she weighed much, so she was easy to carry to the bathroom.
Once inside, I set her down. I lived alone so I didn’t even bother closing the door. The bathroom was so small that if I closed the door, the shower would make the bathroom too damp for too long, anyway.
Dove went back to taking off my belt and undoing my pants. She had just pushed them down to my knees when I pulled her white t-shirt over her head to reveal a frilly white bra. It was cute, but I wanted to see what was under it, too. I wanted to see what her nipples looked like, and if she had any more little squiggly tattoos hidden by her bra cups.
I kissed her again and pulled her close as I reached behind her back and undid the clasps, letting me pull it off of her arms. Her tits were perky and round with the cutest fucking pink nipples I had ever seen. I didn’t care that she had just worked a full day in a hot kitchen with me. I crouched down and sucked a titty into my mouth, anyway.
“Oh, fuck yeah!” Dove panted. “Suck on my nipples. I love that shit!” I swirled my tongue around one nipple, gave it a violent suck, and then switched to the other.
While I sucked on her tits, Dove reached between us and slipped her hand under my black briefs to wrap around my already-hard cock.
Releasing her breast from my mouth, I went back to kissing her lips as I pushed my underwear down, leaving me in just a t-shirt. Dove broke the kiss and pulled that off of me, too. I stood in my bathroom with just socks on.
“Get the water going?” She pulled down her leggings and panties off in one go, standing up straight, not shy at all. I took in all of her, especially her smooth, shaved pussy. God, she looked so fucking good.
I peeled my socks off and tossed them in the hamper at the back of the bathroom.
Dove was getting impatient as I adjusted the shower temp. She angled my body so I was facing her and standing next to the tub.
The little minx dropped to her knees and started to jerk me off again, kissing all over my cock and balls as I tried to focus.
I had just gotten the water where I wanted it when Dove parted her glossy pink lips and took the tip of my cock into her mouth. She looked up at me with those big green doe eyes, and I mean it when I say I fucking groaned.
I couldn’t help but to push my hips forward, seeking out more of her hot little mouth around my cock. She hummed happily, batting those long eyelashes teasingly as I went as far back as I thought she could take me.
Dove grabbed my thighs and pushed herself further, and I let my head fall back as she gagged herself. She pulled back with a wet gurgling sound, and a copious amount of spit was all around her pretty mouth. She wiped it onto her hand and then rubbed me down with it, keeping me spit lubed so she could go down again.
The little blonde slowly worked her throat back and forth over me, fucking her face on my length. I was damn near ready to cum. The water being ready was the only thing that saved me from popping right there in her mouth.
Reluctantly, I pulled Dove off my cock and back to her feet. She had a very pleased smile on her face. Adorably cock-drunk.
I didn’t have to tell her how good she was down there. She kept the spit and precum on her mouth and chin this time as I led her into my shower that was just big enough for the two of us to be comfortable.
We could wash up when we were done. I pushed her against the back wall. It was my turn to go down.
I got low and pulled her leg up over my shoulder. I dove in on Dove, licking her juicy, pouty cunt lips, running my tongue up and down her wet slit.
“You fucking slut. You’re absolutely drenched just from sucking my cock.” I didn’t need her to confirm for me as I went back in, happy to taste her, happy to turn my tongue into a tube shape and spread her pussy apart so I could get right in there. I rolled my neck back and forth as if I could lick her G-spot if I tried hard enough.
“Fuck, Chef! Just like that!” Dove moaned and played with her tits, groping herself as I started to move my tongue as fast as I could.
I pulled back and slipped a finger into her as I focused my mouth on sucking her clit. I looked up and saw her body wet and glistening with water. She looked so fucking good.
Dove tossed her head back as she panted, her pert chest rising and falling as she tried to breathe through her approaching orgasm. She cried out when her climax hit her.
I didn’t care that my upstairs neighbor probably heard it. I had heard him and his girlfriend plenty of times, so why should I give a fuck?
I licked and fingered Dove the whole time, waiting for her to come down but purposely dragging it out.
“You’re such a fucking tease.” She giggled when I finally removed my fingers and stood up.
I kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on me. “I’ve had all kinds of different foods, desserts and wines, but you are definitely the tastiest thing I’ve ever had.”
Dove rolled her eyes at my corniness. “I thought about saying something like that earlier. Like how out of all the food we’ve made this week, your cock looked the tastiest.” After a beat, she asked, “So, are we fucking after the shower?”
It was another moment I was glad that Dove was such a small thing, because I answered her question by picking her up and pushing her against the wall. I pushed her breath out, but she responded by wrapping her arms and legs around me.
Dove sank down on my cock as I pushed up into her. I groaned as she gasped, but we wasted no time in our mutual efforts to get her bouncing on me.
“Holy shit!” Dove gasped as she clawed at my back and dug her heels into my ass. “Fuck, this feels so good! Don’t stop!” She breathed deeply as I held onto her ass in both hands, pushing her up and pulling her back down, letting my cock get balls deep every time. “Fill me up, please! I want you to cum in me, Chef.”
“Heard.” I chuckled, and I didn’t even care that she hadn’t used my real name at all. If her little chef kink meant I got to fuck her like this, I would take it.
After the fantastic throating she gave me, it didn’t take me much longer to bust my nut deep in her tight fucking pussy.
“Shit! Shit!” I groaned and then bit her neck as I rocked into her. She kept rolling her hips, squeezing those kegels of hers around me, pulling and milking all the cream out of me and into her.
“Keep going! Please, I know there’s more in there!” Dove pleaded in my arms, my cock still in her. “Your hot cum in me feels so good! Don’t stop!”
I kept delivering for Dove; fucking her like I hadn’t cum yet. I gave her my hardness while I had it, fucking my cum into her like maybe it would soak into her if I kept in there longer.
Finally, I slowly put her down and slid my cock out as it started to soften.
She gasped, shuddered, and shook a little like a baby deer. I made it hard for her to stand, and we laughed as I helped keep her up.
The water was starting to lose its heat, so I worked quickly to wash both of us. I loved running my soapy washcloth over her body, up her legs, over her tits and ass.
I was about to wash between her legs to clean my mess out of her, but she stopped me by reaching down.
Dove inserted two fingers and made eyes at me as she swirled them around, curling them against her G-spot, and then she extracted them. She showed me the goo she had gathered and then licked and sucked the cream from them.
“I love a good creampie, Chef. Easily my favorite dessert.”
I wasn’t going to tell Ryan this happened, but he was right. It wasn’t even a full week before me and Dove were banging. Despite my warnings, she gave in to her chef kink.