I use a flat iron over my hair, curling the ends, and swipe some red lipstick on before curling my eyelashes. I grab my purse and my keys and I step outside, breathing in the Big Bear Mountain air. I drive the short distance into town, then I park near the restaurant and bakery. Walking to our place, I soak in the nighttime sounds of the restaurant that's closed up for the night. I see the twinkling lights over the patio that's beautifully landscaped, and that everyone has gone for the night.
Thankfully Truett has made millions of dollars over the years on his cookbooks and his shows and his appearances. And a few years back this new place became a Michelin star restaurant, which gave us more notoriety than maybe he ever wanted again, but, well, it's impossible to outrun your abilities.
Still, he keeps it small by only allowing 15 tables a night. We don't need the money, exactly, so it's a very special list of guests. He always keeps 50% of the reservations open for Big Bear residents, and 50% of the guests can be out-of-towners. We do this to make everybody happy. It's hard. And there is sometimes drama around the guest list, but we haven't gone so far as Perfect Pair and required an interview to enter the establishment.
My bakery has also been quite successful and while I don't post on social media as much as I did when the twins were little, I have recently published my first cookbook called Sprinkles: A Cause To Celebrate and it became a New York Times bestseller. All the proceeds of the cookbook have gone to charities that help children in need.
I never imagined that my baking could give back, but it has been such an honor.
When I enter the kitchen, Truett's the only one there. I smile. I knew this would be the case, and when he sees me, he's surprised. He didn't know I was coming tonight, that I had a sitter.
"Hey," he says, "I didn't expect this.”
“I hope you don't mind," I say, locking the door behind me. "I missed you."
"Lucky me," he says. He takes off his apron, wipes his hands on a towel, wraps me up in his arms. He plants a long, soulful kiss on my lips and my knees go weak. "Damn," he says, "it never gets old. Those kisses. How do you always manage to take my breath away?"
"I guess it has something to do with falling in love at first sight. Being your one and only."
"Yeah," he says, "I guess so. What's the occasion?"
"I just had some news," I tell him.
"News?" he says. He's already unbuckling the belt on my jeans, unzipping it. "Can it wait?" he says. "Because I haven't had anything to eat all day. My sous chef called in sick, so I've been running around."
"You're hungry?" I say. "Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
He nods, "Fucking starved."
I groan in pleasure as he unbuttons my shirt, lets it fall to the floor.
"Fuck, what are you wearing?" he asks, undressing me. I'm in nothing but bright red panties and a see-through push-up bra.
"Look at you," he groans, unclasping the bra behind my back, letting it fall to the floor. He palms my breasts, pushing them together, dropping his mouth, sucking my nipples. "You're perfect," he says, "and these are a perfect pair."
I laugh. "You're bad," I say. "So damn bad."
"I'm so damn hard too," he says, grinding against me, and I close my eyes, feeling his thick, hard cock. I want more, need more. I lean into the counter, letting him grab my ass and set me up on top of it.
"Mm-mm," he says, "not yet." He tugs me back down, tearing off my panties. Ripping them to shreds as he does. "Sorry about that," he says.
"Not me,” I say as he drops to the ground, onto his knees, spreading my thighs.
"Fuck, so damn pink, so damn wet. All mine."
"Is this what you were hungry for?" I ask, using my arms to brace myself against the countertop as he begins to lick me up and down, so damn slow. I close my eyes, remembering the first time he ate me out at my apartment all those years ago. I was so horny back then, so desperate for a man, for him, my man, my lover, my match.
"Oh God." I begin to pant as he slides his tongue inside of me, deeper, circling my clit with a powerful motion. A tongue that knows me so well, so deeply, penetrating me in a way that only he can. "Oh Tru," I begin to moan, threading my fingers through his dark, perfect hair. "Take me all the way," I beg.
He knows how to give me what I want. He begins to eat me out with a hunger only I can satisfy. His fingers find my core, flicking me, finger fucking me the way I crave.