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Oh, Those Sexy Chefs

Have you watched televison lately and seen the absolute stunning array of chefs cooking and slaving away over stoves and cutting boards? But why stop at TV? Even online, chefs of every kind are making headlines. Is it for their love of food? Is it for their fabulous recipes? Or is it because we, the captive viewers, want to drool a little longer at the latest handsome man touted as an amazing cook? Because, let's face it, a sexy guy plus cooking equals one huge heartthrob! 

I'm no different than the rest. I look at some of these chefs and imagine what it'd be like to have him stirring up a delicious dessert in my kitchen--or in his. And what wonderful ideas he could come up with next. 

But on the flip side, I always get the feeling these master chefs can have control issues. "Don't touch that, you're not doing it right; here, just let me do it," kind of attitudes. Hmm..this can be a bad thing, or a good thing. I mean, let's say you did something just a tad bit wrong. What fun it would be to be under his control for your punishment? And what if that control was times two?

Out now at TEB, I have a story in the Whip It Up! Anthology, where I take this attitude and use it everyone's best advantage. Check out a snippet from Five Courses

Paying the price for breaking the rules has never been so delicious.

Trent and Mike rule their kitchen like they do their subs—with firm command and guiding strokes. Only they haven’t enjoyed a sub in months, not since Melissa moved in with them. She’s getting over a broken heart and seems so fragile that they don’t want to scare her away.

When the men come home from their club early one night, they catch her breaking just about every rule they have in their kitchen. Now the gloves are off.

Melissa, trembling under their gaze, is given ten seconds to decide her fate—she can walk away and lose any hope of growing her relationship with these men, or she can stay and submit to their creative punishment for her misdeeds…

     Melissa ducked and twirled to the song, loving the way the beat surrounded her. She held a slice of pizza in her left hand and danced towards the refrigerator, glancing at the clock as she moved. Ten o’clock. She easily had another couple of hours before Trent and Mike returned. Plenty of time to finish her forbidden late-night dinner, clean up and tuck herself away in her third-floor flat. Feeling smug, she belted out the chorus, looking over the cluttered countertop. Every Thursday night she indulged, like a naughty girl when the parents were away. And even though Trent and Mike weren’t her parents, they were well-known chefs-turned-caterers who guarded their large kitchen like a pair of pit bulls. 
     With the pizza in her left hand, she opened the door with her right. Just before she plucked out another beer, she spread her knees and shimmed into a low crouch before working her way back up. The words of the song rushed through her, making her wonder what it’d be like to be loved rough. To have a lover want to tie her up, or spank her ass, or…or…hell, she didn’t really know what all kinds of naughty stuff could go on, but just the thoughts heated her blood. Especially when she imagined Trent or Mike taking charge and doing these things to her. 
     Nothing could stop the huge grin at these thoughts as she turned and hip-checked the door closed. 
     Then something to her left caught her eye. She turned her head and shrieked. 
     Oh shit. Busted. 
     Trent and Mike stood at the end of the long kitchen. Even though they stared right at her, she knew they saw everything. Wincing, she darted her eyes around the kitchen at proof of her wrongdoing. If that wasn’t bad enough, she suddenly realised with embarrassment, all she had on was a pair of blue silky tap pants and a matching cami top. 
     Oh, crap. 
     As the last chords of the sexy, incriminating song faded away, the distinctive repetition of letters seemed to echo through the room. She flushed toe to neck and started cleaning. She was in so much trouble. 
     “Melissa, stop.”  
     Mike hadn’t raised his voice. If anything, he’d lowered it, and the rumble coursed through her like a distant thunder. She stilled immediately.  
     “How many people were you expecting to entertain…in our kitchen?” 
     She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh”—she tried for a nonchalant laugh—“you know, just a few.” 
     Footsteps clicked on the ceramic floor and a warm hand grazed her neck and trailed down her bare shoulder. “And just who were you expecting to entertain,” Trent whispered across her ear, “dressed like this?” 
     With her head already bowed, she glanced down at herself and blushed again. She’d never left her flat wearing so little. At least, not when these two were home. 
     The music had shifted to another song and the beat seemed too loud. She reached to turn it off, but Trent’s hand over hers stopped her. 
     “I like this song,” he explained. She glanced at him and blinked. His face was inches from hers and despite the firm line of his mouth, his eyes looked excited. 
     She trembled. She wasn’t very experienced, but she’d seen that look on the face of other men, looking at other women. Did he want her? Oh, no, no, no. He couldn’t want her. He only wanted her in her fantasies. She didn’t know what the hell to do with a man like Trent. Or Mike, for that matter. She peeked past Trent and saw that Mike had stepped close and the same desire shone in his eyes.


Grab Whip It Up! while it's hot and explore your own food and fetish fantasies.  

Oh, and as a bonus, check out this site. Scroll down to see some yummy chefs to fuel your fantasies while you read the antho. ;-)

See you around,

Ayla Ruse
~Ensnare yourself in love



Normandie Alleman said...

Oooh! Sounds like it's about to get super hot in that kitchen with those mad chefs.

Maggie Nash said...

Food. Sexy Doms. I'm in!