Page 27 of A Mustang River Christmas

“Beautiful.”

He connected another snowflake to the first, and another, until he had created a garment for her made of frosting.

And then he leaned in and started to lick the sugar away.

She started to shake. He didn’t simply swipe at it with his tongue, he traced every line that he had just drawn there. She shivered, and he wrapped his arms around her, large hands splayed on her back as he continued to devour her. Then he sucked one of her nipples deep into his mouth.

He picked her up then, laid her down on the bed, and drew a star of icing on her rib cage, one just above her belly button, one at her hip bone. He was without a doubt the most attentive, intense lover she’d ever had, and that was saying something.

There was just something different about him. Something about this. He was a true artist in every sense of the word. Just like he could turn a dessert into an experience, he could turn sex into a whole new experience. What his mouth could do transcended mere skill. There was art.

There was attention to detail.

There was absolutely taking her to another planet because all of the things he did and thought of were the sexiest, most glorious thing she had ever experienced.

He licked the star away from her rib cage, then licked slowly around the outside of the one on her belly button.

“Pike,” she whispered.

“You’re delicious,” he said. And then he licked it away.

He took his time getting down to her hip bone, and then, he teased her. Didn’t lick that star away. Instead, he forced her thighs wide, and buried his face between them. She arched her hips up off the mattress, surrendered to that, to him.

They had explored each other’s bodies pretty thoroughly at this point. Neither of them had any inhibitions, but this still felt different. She felt seen, plundered, taken in a way that she could honestly say she’d never felt before.

She was used to being in control, used to being the one in charge—the chef.

But he came and he took that control, didn’t leave her feeling small or helpless because of it, but left her feeling in awe. Like she was in the presence of a true master.

And perhaps that was why it felt so different.

An inferior man, an inferior chef, had made her feel small and stupid because he hadn’t been skilled enough—not in the kitchen or the bedroom—to have hurt her the way that he did.

But Pike had those skills. In the bedroom, in the kitchen, and just as a man.

He was a father, an addict who had gone to the abyss and back up again. A man with pride who had done everything he could to earn the forgiveness of the people that he had hurt. A man who had made himself vulnerable, a man who had experienced life out of control, and had taken hold of it firmly again.

A man who had succeeded, yes, but also a man who had failed.

And those were all the things that made Pike perfect.

A good dish needed elements that on their own would be undesirable. But without bitterness, sweetness couldn’t truly be appreciated.

It was the presence of everything that created a truly layered and nuanced dish.

And Pike was that. And then some.

He also made her realize that her dreams were not as layered as they should be.

That she had allowed her focus on her career to do so much heavy lifting. To save her from ever having to really put her heart out there.

But suddenly now she wanted to. Now she wanted everything.

Because she wanted to be complete.

She wanted the sweet and the sour and the bitter. She had demanded a one-night stand and gotten so much more.

She had gotten something that had fundamentally changed her.