Inferno Anthology (9 page)

“Not at all,” she said with a haughty air. “I think goo suits the purpose perfectly.”

They’d tried several variations of the recipe Errol wanted to add to his cookbook, but could still not get the consistency he sought. More salt. Less baking powder. More sodium bicarbonate. Less sugar. Hotter oven. Shorter time. Cool before putting into oven. Cool immediately out of the oven.

Finally, Taryn said, “What if we were to brush a little sweetened melted butter over it before popping it into the oven?”

Errol grimaced.

“What?” she said incredulously. “I think that’s a perfectly good suggestion.”

“Sweetened with what?”

She thought for a moment. She knew he would balk at plain white sugar, and brown sugar wouldn’t be much better. No, it would have to be a liquid sweetener. “How ‘bout honey?”

“Too common.”

“Molasses?”

He grimaced. “Too vulgar.”

“Maple syrup?”

“Too hard to come by.”

“Isn’t that the whole idea?” She opened the pantry door and peered inside. Among the various bottles of fancy oils and vinegars, the many jars of rare ingredients, spices and herbs and the few more common every day items, she found a bottle of molasses. “I just found something rather vulgar in your pantry, Errol.”

He cocked a brow as he looked at her. A boyish grin made a quick appearance on his face before dashing off to leave room for a smirk. “Just because I enjoy a little molasses on my buckwheat pancakes every once in a while doesn’t mean it’s a good idea for this recipe.”

“Buckwheat pancakes? You?”

“Just because I’m a culinary genius doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a little comfort food once in a while.”

Taryn grabbed the bottle of molasses and brought it to their working space. “I think this will work. Are you ready to give it a shot?”

He looked at the bottle then at her. “I honestly don’t think the flavor is going to harmonize well with the…”

“Goo?” she finished for him.

“Right,” he said with a chuckle.

Ignoring his doubt and skepticism, Taryn placed a small saucepan on the stovetop, threw in a generous pat of butter and gently melted it. When it was reduced to a golden liquid, she opened the bottle of molasses. “Just a soupcon,” she said as she poured a small dollop in.

“Why do I have a feeling you’re about to ruin the last batch?”

“Because you’re a cynical old man hiding in the body of…” She caught herself and looked sheepishly at him.

“The body of…?” he said as he rolled his hand in the air, urging her to continue.

With a nonchalant shrug she dipped her pastry brush into the now black butter. “The body of a young guy. That’s all.”

“Hmm.” He watched the workings of her brush. “I’m not really sure that’s the look I was going for.”

“Once it’s cooked, it won’t look that bad.”

“We’ll see.”

With a very Parisian ‘voila,’ Taryn opened the oven, popped in the cookie sheet and shut the door. “In eight minutes you’ll have your crispy goo.”

Facing one another, they leaned against the counter, waiting.

“You know, if this doesn’t work out, I have half a mind to shower you with the remainder of that molasses.”

“In…” In dramatic fashion, Taryn raised her wrist to her face and looked at her watch. “Four minutes,
mon cher Errol
, I’ll make you eat your words.”

“Of course you will. I’ll have nothing else to eat because you’ll have ruined my last batch.” Grinning, he drummed his fingers on the stovetop.

“Why, the nerve…” She pushed the rolling pin aside and picked up a fistful of flour.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Errol chanted as he waved a finger at her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“No,” she argued. “If it were you, you would have pushed the flour aside and tossed me the rolling pin.”

He bellowed with laughter, a laugh that came from the depths of his being; a laugh that was innocent and playful; a laugh she’d never heard before.

“I think you’re getting to know me a little too well.” He looked at his watch. “The moment of truth has arrived.”

Taryn threw her fistful of flour on the counter and clapped her hands clean. Feeling triumphant, she opened the oven door, but quickly shut it again.

“What’s the matter?” Errol said with a knowing grin.

“They’re not ready yet.”

“That’s impossible. They’ve been in there the full eight minutes.” He reached for the oven door.

“I said they’re not ready.” Putting her hand over his she tried to keep him from opening the door.

“Another few minutes won’t salvage your disaster, Taryn.” He opened the door and smiled as he pulled out the cookie sheet. “Perhaps when I mentioned that I wanted them crispy and not crunchy, I should have also mentioned that I wanted them golden… not tarred.”

She looked at the unappetizing result of her inspiration. “Sorry.”

His eyes hardened with displeasure. “I think you can take your apron off now,” he said in a tone that nearly demolished her. “You’re finished here.”

“Errol…” She hesitated a moment, remembering she’d not put on a bra under her cami that morning. Another harsh glare from Errol, however, and she untied her apron, pulled it over her head and set it on the counter. “I was only trying to…”

He put up a silencing finger.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“On the contrary. I want you to stay and learn.”

He set the cookie sheet on the stove and reached for the bottle of molasses. Turning the bottle over, he read the label then tilted the bottle one side and the other, letting the thick liquid run along the walls of the bottle.

Watching him, she tried to gauge his mood. Was he truly disappointed in the result? Angry even? Or was he toying with her?

With a quick sniff in the air, he looked into the saucepan she’d used then dipped his finger into the buttery molasses. He looked at it, smelled it then tasted it. Without saying a word, he wiped his finger off on a towel then uncapped the bottle and smelled it.

As if looking for something, he ran his finger along the edge of the bottle cleaning off the few sticky drops that remained. He licked his finger, flapping his lips together as he tasted. “I guess there is a certain…” He puckered and swished his tongue around his mouth. “A certain
je ne sais quoi
about the flavor of molasses.”

“Just because they look a little funny doesn’t mean they won’t taste good,” Taryn said with complete lack of conviction. “Why don’t you try…?”

Errol put his hand up to quiet her and continued to examine the bottle of molasses. “Dark, sticky, sweet,” he murmured. He turned the bottle upside down and let a large dollop drop over his fingers.

Glaring at her, he held up his molasses covered fingers. “Do you see how utterly opaque this is?”

“Yes,” she muttered.

“You can’t even see my fingers through this black goo.”

“I thought that, maybe, with the melted butter it would…”

“Honey is golden and translucent. Maple syrup is amber and clear. But this…?”

“I’ll be sure never to make the same mistake again.”

Without warning, Errol reached out and slathered the molasses over her chest from one shoulder to the other.

“I want you to remember this day, Taryn.”

“I will.” She glanced down. The molasses had already reached the top of her white cami. She didn’t know whether she should feel humiliated or infuriated.

He brought the bottle above her heaving breasts and let the thick dark liquid slide into her cami. “I want you to remember how molasses looks… how it feels.”

Saying nothing, she felt the sticky liquid make its slow descent between her breasts.

“How does it feel, Taryn?” His voice had dropped to a deep, smoldering tone.

“Wet,” she whispered.

He brought the bottle up to her shoulder and poured the remaining content.

“Wet and…?”

“Sticky.”

Licking his lips, he set the bottle down on the counter and scrutinized her. “Wet, sticky, and…?”

She looked at him, looked into his eyes and tried to see… What did he want from her?

“Wet, sticky, and…?” he repeated.

“Sweet?” she ventured.

He brought his hand to her shoulder and rubbed the molasses over her skin. With dainty fingers, he pulled up the thin straps of her cami and let them fall over her shoulders. His hands continued to work the black syrup around and around. “You hardly look sweet, my dear.”

His voice had turned husky, almost dark and Taryn knew the game had changed. It was no longer a matter of an angry professor berating a clumsy student, or the irate chef degrading his assistant.

The temperature in the room suddenly rose, as did Taryn’s chest as it heaved with labored breaths. Her breasts were on alert, her nipples nudging relentlessly at the thin fabric of her cami.

“No, my dear…” Errol took a hold of the straps of her cami once more and pulled them down past her elbows, exposing her breasts as he did so. He let out a brief gasp of excitement, but quickly contained himself. With hooded eyes and parted lips, he brought his sticky, black hands over her breasts, covering them until they were glossy. “You are dirty. You are exquisitely dirty.”

Taryn swallowed the ball of confusion that nearly left her drooling. Her body cried out with so many conflicting messages, she didn’t know how to react. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to touch her like this, and she should stop him.

But his hands… She inhaled, pressing her breasts further into his hands, hands that were warm, hands that were gentle, hands that made her feel…

“Do you feel dirty, Taryn?”

Her lips parted and her tongue toyed with the notion of coming out, but not to speak. There were no words. Her tongue wanted him, wanted to taste him.

His thumbs flickered over her erect nipples, and Taryn let out a wanton groan as a pulsating wave of ecstasy gathered between her thighs.

“Yes,” he sighed. “You do feel dirty, don’t you?”

He brought his hands to the small of her back, bringing her closer. The slight pressure of his hands arched her back, making it easier for him to sweep his mouth over her breast. The tip of his tongue circled around, slow and teasing as it licked off some of the molasses.

Groaning from deep in his throat, he leaned back to look at his handiwork. He licked his lips and tilted his head to the side as he looked at her.

Taryn looked down at her milky white breast, now clearly visible under the thinned veil of black sugar. She swallowed the lump of uncertainty as she met Errol’s gaze. Something playful lingered in his gaze, teasing… almost mocking.

“I think I should…” Taryn choked out as she considered putting an end to this game.

Before she could finish her thought, Errol leaned in and licked the underside of her breast, this time using the full breadth of his tongue. He swept his tongue over her nipple and onward to her collar bone. But it was her nipple who begged for more attention.

“Errol,” she groaned. Her head fell back as her fingers raked through his hair and led him back to her nipple.

He obliged, and suckled; hard and pulling one moment; gentle and teasing the next. Taryn reached back to lean against the counter as he traveled through the valley of her breasts to assault the other nipple. Her legs were about to give out on her as an explosion of sensations threatened to bubble over.

Breathless, Errol pulled back, his face smeared in black. The playfulness was gone and his eyes reflected the urgency they both felt. He looked down at her breasts and brought his hands around her waist to smudge molasses along her belly.

“Beautiful,” he muttered. He reached for the fastenings of her jeans and quickly peeled them off. “Beautiful.”

Her cotton underwear were damp with want and she felt a blush of embarrassment rise to her cheeks. Would he think her odd or strange because she had such a lack of control over her body?

With a soiled finger, he pulled back the top elastic band of her panties and looked inside. “The more I discover of you the more beautiful you get.” He shoved both hands in and reached around to grab her ass. “I think we’ve gotten ourselves into a real sticky mess,” he whispered as he leaned into her, burying his face into her folds and licking her with long savoring strokes.

Taryn arched her back and push her pelvis closer to him, clenching her teeth to keep from screaming with pleasure. Errol’s tongue devouring her, his teeth grazing against her sensitive nub was sending her to a point she’d never experienced before…to a point she no longer had any control of her body. She convulsed, shuddered, and shook with an intense pressure of pleasure, it rocked her to the core. “Oh God, Errol,” she cried.

“So responsive,” Errol grinned, looking up at her where he was now lightly stroking her with his long fingers. “And so beautifully dirty.”

“Like I was trying to say earlier,” she finally managed to utter between breaths and shudders. “I think I should take a shower.”

“Good idea,” Errol said, tearing off the remainder of her clothes.

He looked down his molasses-soiled shirt and strip down to nothing except his hardness, and said, “There is no way I’m not joining you in the showers now.”

Before the alarm clock went off, Taryn was awakened by a subtle but insistent movement in the bed. It was Errol who nudged his hard erection against her backside. Smiling, she cracked her eyes open, eager to have him take her again.

“I should be sated,” he whispered into her ear. “I should be exhausted, but I don’t think I can stop wanting more of you.”

The night had indeed been exhausting.

After a long and titillating shower, Errol had sat her on the bathroom counter and gently parted her legs. With bated breath, she’d watched him, intrigued… eager. He’d already brought her such wondrous sensations with his mouth and fingers while he washed her in the shower. What more did he have in store?

But she could never have imagined the sensations to come. Errol brought his mouth, warm and wet, to a heavenly little nub of flesh she’d never known existed until that night. Stunned by the initial sensation, so intense, so pleasurable, Taryn let out a small cry of surprise, grabbed the edge of the counter and leaned back.