The realization that my panties are still bunched and twisted around my knees hits me just as his hand finds them there. I freeze as the heat roars through my cheeks at having been totally busted with my panties down, but Oliver only growls into my ear, "Caught you."
Fuck.
His words only get me hotter, and I whimper again as his hand skims down my legs before sliding right back to my knee under the sheet.
"Chloe," he whispers heatedly into my ear as his hand teases up my thigh. I'm raising my hips towards him, biting my lip and closing my eyes as I will his hand to touch me; willing him to find my heat.
"Chloe I want you," he growls, his teeth biting my earlobe.
I moan out loud, and I can feel his fingers inching higher; so close to my pussy that in another inch I know he'll feel how wet I am.
"I want you … " He trails off, and suddenly his hand freezes on my thigh, "I want you to come to work on time tomorrow."
OH MY FUCKING GOD.
My eyes fly open and he's just grinning at me, the devil himself just chuckling away as I writhe on the end of the line like a caught fish.
The heat comes roaring into my face as I grab his hand and shove it out from under the sheets, "Get out!" I scream, but he's just laughing as he stands from my bed and walks to the door.
"Pleasant dreams sweetheart," he says with a wink.
"Oh, and I'm keeping these, by the way." He pulls a hand out from behind his back and I blanch as I see my panties - the pair I just let that fucker skim off my legs - twirling around his fingers. He blows me a kiss, and even manages to shut the door before the pillow I hurl at his head manages to connect.
The next day is fucking brutal. All that obnoxious and pompous shit I say about kitchens being "battlefields" and me being "the general"? Yeah, well, along with the pretentious war analogies comes the fact that sometimes you're seriously in the middle of a fucking war zone.
So yeah, fuckin' brutal. And it's not just because I've been up half the night at the club with Danny and then the other half of it with a rock hard cock and wildly conflicting thoughts about Chloe. It's also not just because me teasing her last night as payback led to her being in an absolutely horrid mood today. Beyond all that shit, we get fuckin' crushed during service.
And I mean just bent over a barrel crushed.
I'm short a dish guy for the night, and the new waitress, Delia, is Fucking. My. Shit. Up. Like, all Goddamn night. And honestly, the only reason I don't end up throwing a fucking plate of food at her head is that she's hot as hell.
Chloe ignores me, muttering only the bare "yes" and "no" at roared commands during the rushes; a noticeable absence of the word "chef" in there, but we're so buried I have to let it slide. Beyond that, she fuckin' ignores me all night whenever I try and get a rise out of her, which isn't very fun at all. After all, what's the fun in teasing this girl if she doesn't react?
But then, what she is reacting to is Marco. And oh does she react to that crooked little shit; way more than I want her to.
The guy is a fuckin' shark, and I should know because I pretty much taught him every part of his game. But he's all over her station the whole shift, cracking jokes to her when he thinks I'm not watching, passing her little bits of steak or some bullshit when I'm roaring at my fish guy; basically flirting like the little devil he is.
I make the executive decision that murdering my grill man in the middle of a Saturday night service probably isn't the most prudent of plans, but I file it away for later after I congratulate myself on my own restraint.
*****
It's afterwards, when I'm in my office slumped in my chair with a glass and a bottle of something brown and Irish in front of me that the door just opens.
No knock, no "hey chef", it just opens. And of course, it's Chloe.
"Can I fucking help you?" I scowl, pouring a splash of whiskey into the glass tumbler on my crowded desk.
"Yeah, the changing room is full of sweaty cooks."
I look at her in mock shock and surprise, "It is?!"
"Cute," she mutters, narrowing her eyes at me, "Look I need to change, so … "
"What, here?"
"Yes here."
I raise a brow at her, trying to figure out what game she's playing at here. "You don't just barge into the chef's office without knocking, Chloe."
She rolls her eyes, fuckin rolls her eyes at me.
"What happened to all that ‘stays in the kitchen' bullshit?" She says, glaring at me.
"We're not in the kitchen, we're in the kitchen office," I shrug and toast my glass to her before taking a sip, grinning as she rolls her eyes again
"Well, deal with it."
The grin drops from my lips. On the one side, she's testing me here, but the prospect of her changing in my small office right in front of me suddenly far outweighs the cons of her acting up. Plus no one's here to see her sass back the chef anyways, so whatever.
She starts to undo her whites before she glares at me, "Um, some privacy?"
I laugh out loud. "Are you serious? It's my office."
"Look just turn around, God."
"Whatever." I turn around, barely, still watching her out the corners of my eyes. Her white kitchen jacket comes off, and I take a big sip of my drink as my eyes strain to the point of hurting; all just to catch of glimpse of her.
Damn, this girl is sexy as sin. And she's wearing this black bra that contrasts fucking phenomenally with her skin. Creamy skin that's covered in this thin sheen of sweat from the rough night; that has my pulse pumping a little faster. She turns away from my desk and drops her pants, and holy shit, there's a little black thong to match.
This fuckin girl's been working ten feet away from me with that on underneath that baggy kitchen uniform? Fuckin' hell.
She bends over a little to grab her bag of clothes off the chair she dropped it in, and right then, I stop even pretending I'm looking away. This girl is driving me crazy with that ass and that-
Fuck. Then it hits me, and it's all clear.
She's fucking with me. Chloe's trying to mess with me as much as I messed with her the night before, even if that was payback for her fucking with me before that. But whatever, she's trying to one up me, but two can play that fucking game
"Yeah I should get out of here too," I say, knocking back the last of my whiskey. I stand, and before she can say shit, I just start taking my own clothes off. She whirls in her undies, her mouth wide open and suddenly looking worried as she realizes her little plan is collapsing around her.
"Um, what are you doing?"
"Changing."
"Now?"
I shrug, shooting her my most winning smile. "Hey, the changing room downstairs in communal. It's just fuckin kitchen culture, sweatheart; everyone just changes around each other."
She crosses one arm across her chest, as if her arm does anything to cover those glorious fuckin' tits, while the other one holds a t-shirt in front of her panties. "Yeah but, it's just you and me in here."
I smirk at her, "So why would that be a problem, sis?
She wrinkles her nose and glares at me; defiantly. I grin, and before she can shoot any sass back my way, I just drop my pants. And then she's just staring; poor thing. She's just staring at my body, her eyes quickly darting across my chest and my tattoos and my kitchen scars.
And my package. She's like, completely staring staring at the semi-bulge in my jockeys.
A grin teases my lips, and I arch a brow at her, "Who's being unprofessional now, sweetheart?"
"Hmm?"
"You're staring."
"I am not."
"You are so."
She blushes fiercely. "Well Jesus, I'm not the one stuffing the front of my underwear for attention, Oliver."
I laugh; "Says the girl wearing a matching lacy black bra and thong to work in a kitchen." I smirk. "And it ain't stuffed, luv," I say with a wink.
She blushes even more, as if that was even possible, and her eyes dart back down then up to my face.
Shit, there's that look again. It's the same innocent look from before. Back when we were in school. Back when I was visiting on that exchange trip. And it's making me hard.
Before I know it, I'm moving towards her, eyeing her and seeing she's not pulling back, "I thought you came in here to get changed."
She bites her lip, her eyes flashing around mine.
"You distracted me," she says, that defiance still lacing her words, but they're coming out whispered.
"Apparently. How's that working for you?"
"What?"
"Being distracted." I arch my brow at her as I nod down at my rapidly growing cock.
Chloe bites her lip, her chest rising and falling quickly. "It's … " She trails off, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, "Distracting."