A Feast of You (22 page)

He went around and around until I was crying out for more, and then his tongue was replaced by a finger gently pressing against me. I opened for him immediately, and his finger slipped inside. When he straightened, his thick erection brushed against my thigh.

“Christ, baby, you are so beautiful right now. I want you so much.” His finger moved in and out, filling me and causing me to rock back to keep him inside me.

“Please,” I panted. “Please.”

I felt another thick finger probing and then it was inside me too. My thighs were wet with my arousal as his thick fingers just kept sliding in and out, in and out. I could feel myself edging closer and closer to completely shattering.

“Fuuuuuuckkk,” I called out. My cry was guttural and ragged as the head of his cock slid through my folds to my slick entrance and he pushed into me with tantalizing slowness.

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe and push back against me.”

I did what William said and raised my hips a little, pushing back against him until he was fully seated inside me. I wondered for a split second if he could feel his own hot hardness. Both of my channels were full and even while we remained perfectly still, the waves of pleasure coursing through every part of my body were incredible, like nothing I’d ever felt before.

“You are so wet and hot, baby” William murmured. “I’m going to start to move now,” he groaned, sliding his cock in and out. “So fucking hot.”

He thrust a little harder, first with his cock, then with his fingers in my ass, alternating one with the other. I was pinned under him and there was nothing gentle about the way he was fucking me, yet I knew he loved me, knew the intensity that existed between us at this moment wouldn’t have been possible without that love.

I surrendered to it completely.

I couldn’t hold back my orgasm for much longer and William growled, “Not yet,” and thrust harder and deeper. Every pump moved my whole body, pounding me into the bed as he pounded my body. If he’d touched my clit or my nipples, I would have exploded, but he ignored them both. His whole effort was on my ass, on his fingers’ exploration alternating with the driving rhythm of his cock inside me. And then finally, finally, he swelled and his thick fingers pushed deep into my ass “Come, Catherine. Clench those muscles around me until it hurts.”

I came. I came so hard I screamed. And I kept coming, waves of pleasure crashing down on me until I didn’t know where one began and another ended. His fingers kept working me, bringing me higher and higher even as he emptied himself inside me.

Finally, William gently withdrew his fingers and his cock, then rolled me onto my back. “I so fucking love you. God, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He kissed me and pressed his forehead against mine, closing his eyes, his breathing ragged. Mine was ragged too, and the muscles of my legs were weak and trembling. We lay like that for a long time, my body still tingling, my mind still trying to wrap around what had just happened. T

Finally, I opened my eyes to look at William and saw his eyes were still closed, his chest steadily rising and falling. “William?”

No response. He was heavy on top of me and his breathing was thick. I pushed at his arm and squirmed out from under him. His head hit the pillow and then he turned on his side. He’d either passed out or was deeply asleep.

I stared down at him, and my stomach clenched. Now that we were no longer connected, I didn’t feel so good. My tears started again and I put my hands over my eyes. I didn’t know why I was crying, but I was wracked by sobs. My emotions were all over the place. I felt so vulnerable, so completely bare in a way I’d never been before. William was right next to me, yet I was trembling and so cold.

William murmured and stirred. His hand found mine, and he pulled me down beside him. His arms came around me, holding me close, wrapping me in the scent of him, the scent of us. His breath was warm on my ear. “I love you, Catherine,” he mumbled. My hair rustled as he spoke. “Please don’t leave me.”

I shook my head. I could never leave him. I snuggled into his warmth, into the safety of his arms, closed my eyes, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

“I
keep asking Hutch to let me borrow this baby for the Fourth of July,” Angela said, gesturing to the huge stainless steel box in front of us, which was billowing delicious-smelling plumes of smoke out its top. “I’d be the queen of the neighborhood.”

“This isn’t a grill. One wrong move, and you’d blow the entire block,” Hutch quipped.

Angela just smiled. “That’s when it’s helpful to have a husband who’s a firefighter. Your man like to grill, Catherine?”

“I’m sure he does,” I said. William loved to cook, but since I’d met him in January and our entire relationship had taken place in the winter months, I hadn’t had any opportunities to see him flipping burgers or cooking steaks on an open flame al fresco.

After the emotional turmoil of last night, it felt good to spend time with Hutch and Angela, making jokes and acting like my life was actually normal. I’d been smoking with them most of the afternoon in the cold back alley behind Morrison Hotel. That was, Hutch and Angela were using Hutch’s commercial-grade smoker to make Tasso, a spicy, peppery, pork shoulder that was a specialty of Southern Louisiana cuisine. Hutch was featuring Tasso in several of his dishes on the
Sticky Fingers
menu and, as he did with most things, he’d “fancied up” the dry rub he applied to the meat before it went into the smoker. I was thankful for the buffer all my layers provided against the noise of my rumbling belly. Even though he enjoyed feeding me, Hutch always seemed to leave me starving.

I lifted my camera and took a few shots of Hutch adjusting the smoker’s settings. It was about the size of a large refrigerator and had to be monitored carefully. Hutch had thrown a Canada Goose parka with a fur-trimmed hood over his usual uniform of jeans and a T-shirt. If it weren’t for the smoker, this could easily have been mistaken for a fashion shoot. Hot, tattooed model in designer garb? Hutch definitely looked the part. Edgy, industrial setting? Yes.

I liked taking shots of Hutch and Angela working together. The sous chef was decked in restaurant black-and-white checked pants, a puffy, purple Patagonia parka, and a warm winter hat. The two of them in their winter coats gave the shots a more personal look than those when they were inside and in uniform. This was Hutch and Angie having fun.

“It’s too bad I can’t capture the smell with the lens,” I said, lowering the camera. “I’m pretty sure my mouth has been watering for the past two hours.” A heady mixture of burning pecan wood chips and roasting meat permeated the air around us. If the Tasso tasted half as good as it smelled, Morrison Hotel would be sold out for months.

“I know,” Angela said. “Hutch has really outdone himself this time. I’m going to try and sneak a bit of this home for Nick. Can’t go wrong with smoked pork. He’ll be all over me the second I walk in the house. Him and the dog.”

Hutch and I laughed. I’d finished my work about thirty minutes earlier, but I’d hung around, taking extra shots here and there because it was fun to be with these two. After offering myself for service to William last night—and the manic results—my head was still reeling and I wasn’t sure I was ready to go back to the penthouse just yet. Hutch and I had an easy relationship. Things were simple and uncomplicated with him, and I genuinely liked him. Angela was a riot—I never knew what she’d say next. Plus, I loved taking “in the wild” shots and capturing the cooks’ joy as they did what they loved. So much of the past year had been filled with shots of inanimate apples or pears or asparagus. It was nice to capture people and action for a change. Or again.

“I’d better head in and whip the line cooks into shape. There’s still lots of prep work that needs to happen before we seat.” Angela glanced at Hutch. “Holler if you need me.”

He nodded and turned back to the smoker and adjusted the controls. I shoved my hands in my pockets and burrowed into my scarf. The shoot today had been fun, but I couldn’t stop thinking about William and last night. He’d been so completely devastated and he’d surprised me by the way he’d wanted to be consoled.

I won’t lose you.

My cheeks still heated when I thought about everything he’d done to make me his. I wished we’d talked about it this morning, but when he’d woken me up early to say goodbye, it had been obvious that he hadn’t wanted to talk—at all. I couldn’t decide if he’d been withdrawn or hung over. Or something else.

“You okay, Miss Catherine?” Hutch asked.

I blinked. “Oh, yeah.” I shook my head and tried to give Hutch a confident smile. Instead, I felt myself blush again.

“Yeah? You seem a million miles away.”

“Oh. Just...thinking.” I shrugged. It wasn’t like I could tell Hutch about the crazy sex William and I had had last night or how I was kind of weirded out by it.

“Uh-huh. Well, for the record, Mr. Lambourne should be putting a smile on your face, honey, not a scowl.”

“What?” I started. “He does. How did you know I was thinking about him?” I seriously hoped I wasn’t that transparent.

“Oh, I can always tell. I’ve had a lot of practice with that look.”

“What look?”

“The
love
look. The questioning look.”

“Really,” I said, folding my arms and leaning a hip against the table holding platters, various bottles of sauce, and tongs. Now I was intrigued—not to mention eager to turn the conversation away from me. I may have been confused, but Hutch was not the person I was ready to talk to about my relationship. “So, Mr. Morrison, are you the heartbreaker or the heartbreakee?”

He smiled, that easy smile that lit up his eyes. “I’ve been both.”

My brows shot up. “I’m surprised. It’s hard to see you as the one who gets hurt.”

“How do you see me then?” He’d stopped tending the meat and was looking directly at me. He was flirting, but there was also a hint of a challenge in his voice. I met his eyes.

“I bet you charm your way into a different girl’s panties every weekend. I know your type: total player.”

Hutch’s brows rose. “Player? I’m crushed.”

“Are you saying you’re not?”

“Well...” He grinned his little boy, mischievous grin. “Maybe in another life I was, Miss Catherine, but I left the band a long time ago. I’m reformed.”

“What reformed you?”

He turned back to the smoker. “I suppose I fell in love. Head over heels.” He glanced at me, his eyes serious. “I would have done anything for her, but she broke my heart,” he said softly. “And there hasn’t been anyone since.”

I gaped at him for a long moment. I think I was waiting for the punch line. When it didn’t come, I said, “Seriously, Hutch?”

“Cross my heart.” He made a little X on his chest.

“No one?”

“No one. Is it that hard to believe?”

“Maybe I’ll believe no serious relationships, but you
have
to have gone on dates or had hook-ups. I mean, nothing?”

He shook his head.

“Have you sworn off women? Hey, if you have, I know a really great guy I could fix you up with.”

Hutch guffawed loudly, the laughter echoing off the building. “I haven’t switched teams, don’t you worry. I’ve just directed my energies elsewhere.”

But I still didn’t get it. “So what are you saying? You haven’t been with anyone? No one?”

He spread his hands.

I pointed my finger at him. “I don’t believe you. I mean,” I gestured toward him, “look at you.”

He looked down at himself, his mouth curved in a grin. “You like, Kitty Cat?” Hutch asked in a seductive tone. “I’m glad to hear it.”

I knew he was just playing around but God, when he called me Kitty Cat like that he reminded me so much of Jace...of Jace
and me
having sex. I’m sure my face was positively beet red as I smiled and shook my head. “Women must throw themselves at you all the time. I’d throw myself at you, if it wasn’t for...” I closed my mouth. What the hell was I saying that for?

“Well, I’m flattered you’d even considered me. A woman like you might be exactly what I need. But really, it’s not about opportunities. You’re right about that. There’s no shortage.” He looked away as though he was considering his next words carefully. Finally, he looked back at me, his voice low. “It’s a conscious choice. Today is day 817, actually.”

My voice wouldn’t even work. I couldn’t wrap my head around this. “800...you mean days? That you haven’t...”

“It’s been 817 days since I’ve been with a woman, and yes, I count.”

I didn’t know what to say. Hutch, this gorgeous specimen of a man, hadn’t had sex in over 800 days? On purpose? I figured I should say something, but my mind was completely blown.
800 days
? That must have been some break-up. I wanted to ask him about it. When Jace had died, I’d been heartbroken, at my lowest point ever, and I’d sought comfort with Jeremy. That hadn’t been the best choice, no question, but I hadn’t denied my sexual needs. But I had learned from that mistake. There hadn’t been anyone else until I’d met William.

I glanced at Hutch again. Maybe it hadn’t been a break-up that devastated Hutch. Maybe he’d lost someone too.

“Why?” I asked finally. It seemed the most straightforward question.

“Well, that’s a story to tell over cocktails. But let’s just say I thought I had it all, and it turned out I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

While I puzzled over that, he checked the Tasso again. “This is about done. I’ll grab some help so we can get this unloaded and ready to cure.” He walked inside and left me standing beside the smoker completely dumbfounded.

Had he intentionally left me curious and wanting to know more? What drives a man to become celibate for over two years? What the hell had happened to Hutch?

* * *

G
eorge had been tapped to drive me home from Morrison Hotel. Five minutes with him made me miss Anthony. George and I never talked much, and I always had the impression he didn’t like me. I would have been perfectly happy to stare out the window, but the silence inside the car felt too deafening.