“How do I know it’s not your hot-ass chef who cooked it for you?”
She flashes an amused smile.
“Stop fucking with me, Jaden. It was not my chef. Besides, he no longer works for me.”
“Since when?”
She smiles.
“How come you didn’t tell me?” I ask.
She laughs.
“I just did.”
“Because I pressed you.”
She waves me off.
“Whatever.”
“I hope you didn’t fire him on my account,” I say.
“No, I didn’t. He moves to Italy in a few weeks and plans on spending some time there. He also shared a few of his recipes with me.”
“Hopefully, it wasn’t part of some trade,” I say, the image of the dark-haired, good-looking man with olive skin flashing in front of my eyes.
Her eyes twinkle with a naughty smile.
“No, it wasn’t. Are you jealous?”
“Do you want me to be?”
Smiling, she bites her bottom lip and nods a couple of times.
“Yes, I am,” I say, amused but also serious.
“Good,” she says, cheerful.
“So are we gonna eat or what? It’s only two o’clock in the morning.”
A mischievous grin lights up her eyes.
“Yes, we will, but first...” she says, pushing upright and propping herself on her arm, “I want to do something else.”
She shifts her position, folds her legs under her, leans to me, and slides her hand to my groin.
Her eyes follow the smooth motion as she splays her fingers over my bulge.
“Is this what she did?” she asks in a sultry voice before chewing on her lip and rubbing my cock through my jeans.
She strokes me methodically from my balls to my hard crown. This is so much different than what the cop did to me, but I see no reason to interrupt her.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur.
Smoothly, she unfastens my belt, runs my zipper down, and slips her fingers inside my jeans. My hard shaft springs up into her hand.
“Don’t stop,” I say, spreading my legs and sinking my back into the sofa.